Moonrise - Act 4

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition) 

ACT 4: WANDS

SCENE 1: QUEEN OF WANDS

I turned the pages over, no longer wanting to look at them, and took a moment to sit in silence and contemplate their blank backs. My mind was filled with the echoes of my past actions, swirling fragments becoming ensnared in a web of implications. I didn't like the pattern taking shape, and the looming presence lurking at the centre of the web - something patiently observing my reflections - was all too real. I stood and began to ransack the room, pulling open cupboard doors and desk drawers until I found, at last, my stylus and a small pot of ink that had not entirely dried up. I gathered the pages from the box and stacked them, still face down, on my antique wooden desk beside the stylus and ink pot. I took a seat at the desk, allowed my breathing to settle, and began to write.

The stylus scratched on the dry, gossamer-thin pages as my shaky hand inscribed a halting letter to my family. I tried to find adequate words to express what I'd seen since my return, how the sight of the fallen grandeur of the palace had shocked me, and how seeing their final resting place had rendered me silent. As I wrote, the shadows of my past deeds gathered about me, peering over my shoulder and whispering to themselves about the omissions in my account. I pushed them from my awareness and wrote as if in a trance, my stylus tearing the pages in places, until finally I could write no more and dropped the stylus. As I clenched and unclenched my hand to relieve the cramp, I felt my eyes drawn to the page, compelled to read the words that had flowed from me in an uncontrolled torrent. The handwriting was little more than a scrawl in places, but I was nonetheless able to discern key words and phrases. What I saw confirmed my fears and I pushed the pages away from me in the vain hope that they now held the memories and that I could cast them away forever.

SCENE 2: PAGE OF WANDS

I gathered myself and rose to my feet, I could remain here no longer. As I crossed the room to the door, my attention was drawn to the orb, it still lay where I had left it, but the bloody fingerprints somehow seemed more prominent, more accusatory. It stopped me in my tracks and, after a long moment, I picked it up and carried it with me as I left the palace. I retraced my steps back to the great dining hall, where my family were waiting for me, patient as ever. I reverently placed the orb in the hands of who I assumed was my eldest child; it was only fitting that they take their long overdue place on the throne. Gathering my shroud about me, I exited the palace, closing the ornate bird- and flower-carved doors behind me for the last time. The gates swung open at my touch, as before, and sealed behind me after I crossed back into the city. I did not pause to check if they would readmit me to the palace grounds, instead venturing along the main boulevard towards the city gates.

At each junction, I paused and listened in all directions, hoping in vain to hear the sounds of life somewhere in the city. Silence hung over the city like a shroud and I was accompanied only by my guilt. As I passed the ornate park, where I had taken my past paramours to break their hearts, I heard the words of that last one as loud as if they were standing beside me. I picked up the pace and practically ran to the gates, not stopping to listen at the junctions I raced over. I only paused once I was safely through the gates and had put a fair distance between them and myself. The dark night around me offered no indication of where else I might go, so I returned to the only other place that I knew; the cliffside tomb where I had first awakened.

SCENE 3: TWO OF WANDS

I sat on the edge of the cave mouth, crossed-legged and in silent contemplation of the crashing waves beneath me. There was no place here in this world for me anymore, and I confess that for the longest time I gave serious consideration to leaping from the cliff to the rocks below. My grim reverie was interrupted by the rise of the sun on the horizon before me. What began as a soft glow became a pale blue light spreading across the sky, and then a river of gold began to extend itself lazily towards me. I raised an outstretched hand as if to grasp the golden light, but it remained forever just out of reach. Realising that it wasn't me that it was trying to take hold of I crept back into the cave and gently lifted the crown from the dais. Holding it out in front of me, I edged towards the cave mouth, offering the crown to the rising sun. As it pulled itself free of the horizon I had to close my eyes in the face of its glory, but kept the crown extended to it. As the sun's warmth touched my skin and I felt its embrace fill me, the weight in my hands slowly lessened until my hands were empty. I opened my eyes, shielding them with my now empty hands, and saw that the sun was now clear of the horizon, surrounded by an intense corona unlike anything I had seen before. I slowly lowered my hands, feeling the shroud slip from my shoulders and crumple to the floor. I stood in the full light of the sun and allowed its light to fill the cavern utterly. Its light touched every surface, washing away all shadows, until there was no trace of the past left.

Moonrise - Act 3

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition) 

ACT 3: CUPS

SCENE 1: TWO OF CUPS

Shaken by the memories of accusations, I made haste along the boulevard. Hateful, treasonous, words echoed in my mind and my body reacted to their memory by taking flight from danger. My path was eventually blocked by a large pair of iron gates, an unfamiliar crest emblazoned across them. A featureless lock held them shut, though when my fingers made contact with it lines of sigils lit up and flowed across its surface. With a dry, rusted, creak the lock disengaged and the gates swung open. Lights alongside the path beyond lit up in pairs, moving forward from the gates to the palace ahead. As I walked along the path I heard the gates close and lock behind me but I was too distracted by the towering edifice before me to be concerned. In contrast with the buildings outside, the palace had rough stone walls fronted with colonnades and topped with cupolas. Alcoves vied for space with each other and within each was a extravagant figure, each face stirred distant memories that remained out of reach though I saw a clear family resemblance among them all. I pushed open the ornate doors, carved with bouquets of flowers and swooping birds, and entered the halls of the palace.

In contrast with the exterior, the interior's decadence had been violently rebuked. Frescoes were smashed from the walls and lay in piles of rubble, statues had been dismembered and scattered, heaps of broken furniture were piled as kindling. The palace had clearly been attacked but only inside, I wondered how this could have come to be as I crept through the chambers and passages of this once grand building. As I went I saw frequent signs of habitation post-assault; tapestries bundled into crude nest-like beds, the bones of small animals strewn across the floors of some rooms, and at every barred window were deeply gouged scratches. Eventually, at the far end of a vast ballroom, I found them. Close to a dozen withered, partially mummified, bodies huddled in a corner behind an overturned table. They held each other in their stiff arms, as if comforting each other in the face of some great tragedy. Or perhaps just the quiet end of a once great dynasty now fallen so low. I crouched beside my family and for what felt like forever I held their hands and mourned with them.

SCENE 2: SIX OF CUPS

I made my way up the vast central staircase as it wound it's way around the edges of the central hall, passages branching off and burrowing deeper into the vast mass of the palace. The weight of the cracked opulence now weighed on me as heavily as the sheer volume of stone and metal of its structure. One corridor in particular drew me along it, something about the way the shadows fell across the faded and torn tapestries perhaps? As I padded along the carpeted length my hand traced a line along the hall, my fingertips feeling the cracks and scratches that pitted its surface. I came to a halt in front of a large set of wooden doors which I felt certain barred the entrance to my personal chambers. The doors held firm despite the damage about them and I wondered if even in their madness and despair my family had spared this room out of some sense of respect. I pushed against the doors and they reluctantly gave way with a dry groan, revealing a room filled with dust, cobwebs, and discarded objects that clamoured for attention in my memory.

Louder than the rest was an iron orb resting atop a pedestal. It sat in a shaft of light from a high window, dust motes danced about the orb like an entourage, flickering away as my hand reached out to pick up the object. Much like the crown in the cave, the orb was wrought iron inlaid with gold. The gilded patterns formed whirls and spirals that my eyes struggled to follow, the effect was almost hypnotic. As I turned the orb over in my hands I saw that, as with the crown, the surface was marred with bloodstains. I froze the weight of the iron sphere threatening to slip from my hand as I recalled the moment I had pried it from my father's hand. My hands were awash with crimson though enough time had passed that they were now merely sticky as opposed to slick. The marks on the orb and crown were my own fingerprints, left when I stole them from the dead king's throne room.

SCENE 3: KNIGHT OF CUPS

The orb still in gripped tightly in my hand, I staggered across the room to the grand fireplace. It had stood cold for many years and held none of the comforting warmth and light it had once offered me. As I gazed into the ashes in the grate, I noticed that it was slightly askew and that there were the faintest finger marks in the ash around it. I knelt and with my free hand I brushed the ash away from the edges of the grate which I then slid aside. In an alcove beneath I saw an ornately carved wooden box. I knew that this box was unusual as unlike nearly every other object I apparently owned this was not carved with birds and flowers. Its surface was covered in geometric patterns of overlapping triangles and scattered, solid circles. As I ran my fingers over it I felt a shudder of anticipation and the box almost seemed to hum with the dormant power of forgotten meaning. I set the orb down beside me and used both hands to lift the box from the fireplace and rested it in my lap.

The lid slide softly aside under the gentlest of touches and heard the barest hint of a sigh as if an airtight seal had been broken. Inside the box I found a sheaf of papers covered in strange diagrams and scribbled marginalia. I recognised some of the notes as being in my own handwriting but had no direct memory of writing them. I spread the pages across the floor in front of the hearth and began the laborious process of deciphering them. They hinted at some kind of ritual or perhaps alchemical operation, a working that would present a body in a state of deathlike sleep and preserve it for generations. A partial page, apparently torn from a diary, weighed doubts about the safety of the procedure but ultimately dismissed them as being worthwhile in the face of brewing rebellion. I found no traces of concern for my family's safety, either in the pages or the embers of my memory.

Moonrise - Act 2

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition) 

ACT 2: SWORDS

SCENE 1: TWO OF SWORDS

The features of the cavern had either been examined or were items that I'd rather leave alone for the time being, so I decided to venture outside to see if anything else was familiar. I carefully walked up the narrow path as it wound its way up to the top of the cliff. The wind whipped past and tugged at my shroud as if urging me forward, upward. I cast a glance down and saw the waves crashing against sharp rocks some way beneath me. I decided against looking down again and instead concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until I was at the end of the path.

Here I was confronted with a scene of vandalism. A great iron pedestal stood close to the cliff edge, a pair of feet and ankles emerging from its top. At the base lay the rest of the statue that had the once stood here. The salt air had not been kind to the statue's features, but their crown was still recognisable atop their head. It bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the one I'd left in the cavern below, and as I considered the fallen statue I came to understand that the weather-worn features were once my own. I sat at the base of the pedestal and stared at my fallen image, deep within my mind I knew the statue had been erected to survey the landscape; a representation of me surveying my kingdom. Looking further inland, I saw a land slope downward towards what appeared to be city in the distance. By this point the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, so I rose to my feet and set out towards my city.

SCENE 2: PAGE OF SWORDS

I reached the walls of the city shortly before dusk and through broad sections that had been reduced to rubble I saw the ruins of vast buildings. I picked my way across the ruins and gazed upon the desolation of what I assumed must have been my once-proud city. A open area stood a short distance from the wall and upon closer inspection appeared to be an overgrown park. The ruined buildings around me felt stifling, they pressed against me with the weight in both stone and significance, so I sought respite in the park. Among the verdant growth, lines of worn stone hinted at pathways and borders lost to nature. Perhaps these were landscaped gardens once.

I absent-mindedly followed a series of weather-beaten mounds that I suspected may have once delineated a winding path. As the light rapidly faded, replaced by the collected light of a crowded starscape, it occurred to me that I was following the path by memory. My senses were haunted by faint echoes of the aroma of exotic flowers. Where my eyes saw dense foliage either side of me, my mind's eye saw elegantly sculpted topiaries resembling mythical beasts. I felt a hand in mine and an air of tension looming; I knew that this seemingly romantic walk was destined to end in heartbreak for at least one of the two parties. With this in mind my steps slowed, both in the memory and now, as I tried to delay the walk's outcome as long as I could stand to.

SCENE 3: NINE OF SWORDS

I left the winding paths of the park onto a long boulevard which eventually took me under a crumbling arch and out of the park. The buildings that lined my way were somewhat more intact; tall, sleek structures with the remnants of geometric patterning and faded colours that must have been vibrant in their heyday. I suspected that each must have once been a monument in its own right, testaments to the might of my city. I wondered how far their reach had extended at the height of their power, and that in turn brought the dawning realisation that I knew so little about the wider world. I stopped in my tracks at this thought and gazed about me. My eyes were drawn to a curious sculpture which stood in front of a nearby building, a pair of stylised figures posed in heated debate. I wondered what was the source of their conflict, why it had be chosen to be immortalised in stone, and why it was placed here.

I reached out to touch the sculpture but withdrew my hand in shock as soon as it touched the cool stone. In my mind I flashed back to the outcome of that walk in the curated gardens. The path between the topiary had led us to a small clearing with a low stone bench, the edges carved with flowers. Here we had sat in awkward silence, each unwilling to break the tranquility of the garden with our words. Eventually entropy won, as it always does, and we had quarreled. I began by trying to politely, respectfully, disengage myself from our series of trysts, claiming that the need for an appearance of integrity must be placed above our own needs. I was lying; I had been here before and had this conversation with others, my words were obviously rehearsed. They were seen through, how could they not be, and not only was my own honour challenged but that of my dynasty. I recoiled in shock at the anger I was being presented with, stood shakily, and crossed to the edge of the clearing. It wasn't meant to be like this, it was never like this. As I returned to myself I saw that my still outstretched hand was trembling.

Moonrise - Act 1

A series played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Shadow: The Moon (Anxiety, Illusion, Intuition)

ACT 1: PENTACLES

SCENE 1: FOUR OF PENTACLES

My eyes snapped open suddenly and I saw stone high above me. I woke up laid out on a stone slab in what appeared to be a cave overlooking the sea. The floor was worn smooth by the passage of feet but the curved walls and ceiling retained their rough-hewn texture. I eased myself down from the slab, testing my legs against my weight and finding that I could stand firm by myself. I cautiously walked towards the mouth of the cave, it opened directly onto the cliff face and I could see the waves crashing against the rocks below. A thin ledge ran left to right across the cave mouth, leading to narrow steps carved into the cliff face that reached upward to the clifftop above.

As I took in my surroundings I realised that I was wearing a loose sheet - a shroud? It had slipped from my shoulders and as I pulled it back around them I noticed a tattoo emblazoned across my chest. In the centre was a stylised heart with a crown atop it. Spreading out from around it were dozens of roses, gradually shrinking in size until the reached my shoulders. I placed my hand over my heart, both the tattoo and my actual heart, and felt the latter hammering in my chest. I frantically examined myself more thoroughly, wondering if I had any other tattoos; I didn't find any in places that I could see without a mirror. Wrapping the sheet around me more securely, I tentatively edged back to the mouth of the cave to further observe my surroundings.

SCENE 2: FIVE OF PENTACLES

I took a deep breath, the salty sea air filling my lungs, and something else underneath it. The baking scent of earth, perhaps ceramic, on a hot day. As the wind ruffled the sheet around me I felt my thoughts carried further. Images of a similar scene filled my mind, but in this other vista I stood on a veranda with a marble balustrade. I felt the heat of the tiles beneath my feet, the sun had been bearing down on them all day and had only now cooled to just this side of tolerable to stand on. Rather than the beauty of the scene, I felt a sense of anxiety and impending loss. I calmed my breathing and tried to step back from the memories in order to better examine them.

While the full details of the memories, and my own identity, still lay beyond my reach I was able to grasp that I had been worried about a loss of status and power. At the time I had been watching the calm of the ocean in the hopes that it would translate into mental calm, but the fear was persistent. Unable to quell the fear outright my grip on the balustrade's edge had tightened as I tried to force my mind to quieten. Reliving the experience I found that this time the efforts succeeded, albeit now it was unwanted, and I felt the memory slip from my mind as my thoughts stilled.

SCENE 3: KING OF PENTACLES

I turned back from the edge and walked back into the cave, toward the slab I had awakened on. In contrast to the rest of the cave the slab had clearly been carved by hand. It was hewn from the living rock of the cavern but decorated with flowers and birds. Roses and doves as far as I could tell though the dais had clearly been exposed to the elements for some time and the finer details had been worn smooth. For the first time I noticed a bundle of silk laid at the foot of the dais, purple silk held down by the weight of some object wrapped in it's folds. I cautiously approached it, kneeling to feel the parcel in my hands. Beneath the soft, smooth silk I felt something hard and rough. After a tentative lift revealed the item was light enough to carry, I placed it on the dais and slowly unwrapped it.

At the heart of the unfurled silk sat a crown. A crudely wrought ring of iron with jagged, cruel, spines arrayed along one side. The surface was cracked and scarred as if exposed to a great heat and then cooled too quickly. Glistening detailing had been applied to create a delicate web of inlaid gold. For a time I stood in quiet contemplation. The crown stirred memories but they stayed at the edge of my awareness, shrouded in  the same looming dread from my earlier recollection. Hand trembling slightly, I reached out slowly before darting fingers made brief contact. The crown sat there unfazed, but I caught a glimpse of what for a moment looked like a bloody fingerprint on the rim.