My OperaStories about Kuftys (1)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009 4:23:33 PM
Ashtyn of Kuftys sat on the throne as bored as could be; his father was away and his mother was absent. Jyshiin Fyçiin adorned herself in the mirror, appreciating the scarlet moon backdrop provided by the open windows that made her ruby-clad neck gleam most brilliantly. Ationyn stoked the storefront, waiting for the night to be over so he could read the new book his favorite author wrote. Piankhi Ma’at sat in silence in the shadow of the Phoenix Palace of Kuftys, awaiting the signal to do his part.
And by the witness of the Creator, the gods, the spirits and the beasts: There was a great cry in all of Kuftys, such as there never has been or ever would be again.
From the west the cry came, causing everything in its radial path to shudder in uncertainty of its existence. So unreal, so demonic the cry. So unimaginable, so rebellious the sound. But more remarkable was the shimmer that encompassed the whole of the western sky. It might have been the heat of a fire; Kuftys had its share of those.
But this fire was not natural. As its many tips came into view over the horizon, it became plainly obvious that the fire was composed of hundreds of smaller ones, all on torches. All held by mad-faced peasants. The Revolution of the New Blood Moon had begun, and the family of the Phoenix Palace—the family that ruled for over five hundred years—was the target.
In lieu of the deranged cry and the shimmering western sky, Ashtyn of Kuftys fixed the Phoenix-Cobra diadem squarely on his head and ordered his men to prepare the court for public viewing. Jyshiin Fyçiin looked out of the window, shivering at the approaching army of lesser class people as her parents shouted in the background to pack valuables and make haste. Ationyn decided to leave the stocking of the store for later as he pulled on his coat and locked the door behind him, having less to fear than some, but realizing the potential damage that can come to his store and his person if he stayed around the westerners. Piankhi Ma’at rejoiced in the sound of the cry and put his hands together, praying to various pre-summoned spirits and spilling oils and herbs along the wall.
From their place so far away, one could begin to hear the chant of the fire-wielding marchers.
“Drown the Phoenix,
Slit the Snake!
Un-wing the Dragon,
Make them shake!”
Blaspheming the Holy Animals of Kuftys—such sacrilege would not be tolerated. There was no drum, no movement melody—only voice. But this was Kuftys, where only an utterance was needed to change the universe forever. Words were power, and power was increased by volume and intensity. And that is why this story has survived. The story of the Revolution of the New Blood Moon is alive because the participants etched it into the very fibers of the Cosmos.
//So this was meant to be a teaser. It's written in this weird all-knowing narrator voice that I'm not used to writing in, but it was worth a try. If it sounds like a dry recount of otherwise exciting events, then I've done my job haha. Comments? questions? Review?
And by the witness of the Creator, the gods, the spirits and the beasts: There was a great cry in all of Kuftys, such as there never has been or ever would be again.
From the west the cry came, causing everything in its radial path to shudder in uncertainty of its existence. So unreal, so demonic the cry. So unimaginable, so rebellious the sound. But more remarkable was the shimmer that encompassed the whole of the western sky. It might have been the heat of a fire; Kuftys had its share of those.
But this fire was not natural. As its many tips came into view over the horizon, it became plainly obvious that the fire was composed of hundreds of smaller ones, all on torches. All held by mad-faced peasants. The Revolution of the New Blood Moon had begun, and the family of the Phoenix Palace—the family that ruled for over five hundred years—was the target.
In lieu of the deranged cry and the shimmering western sky, Ashtyn of Kuftys fixed the Phoenix-Cobra diadem squarely on his head and ordered his men to prepare the court for public viewing. Jyshiin Fyçiin looked out of the window, shivering at the approaching army of lesser class people as her parents shouted in the background to pack valuables and make haste. Ationyn decided to leave the stocking of the store for later as he pulled on his coat and locked the door behind him, having less to fear than some, but realizing the potential damage that can come to his store and his person if he stayed around the westerners. Piankhi Ma’at rejoiced in the sound of the cry and put his hands together, praying to various pre-summoned spirits and spilling oils and herbs along the wall.
From their place so far away, one could begin to hear the chant of the fire-wielding marchers.
“Drown the Phoenix,
Slit the Snake!
Un-wing the Dragon,
Make them shake!”
Blaspheming the Holy Animals of Kuftys—such sacrilege would not be tolerated. There was no drum, no movement melody—only voice. But this was Kuftys, where only an utterance was needed to change the universe forever. Words were power, and power was increased by volume and intensity. And that is why this story has survived. The story of the Revolution of the New Blood Moon is alive because the participants etched it into the very fibers of the Cosmos.
//So this was meant to be a teaser. It's written in this weird all-knowing narrator voice that I'm not used to writing in, but it was worth a try. If it sounds like a dry recount of otherwise exciting events, then I've done my job haha. Comments? questions? Review?
