"We are naught but the stuff of dreams, So dream, my love, of Chaos, For the taste, it is sweet." (Opening stanza of the Lyrics of Erobinil: composed 602, quoted by Lirra, the Mad Poet in Rockholme, Spring 2502)
Nervously you approach the altar. The doll toddles off crying. "Next!" exclaims the kobold in an improbably-deep and deeply-maniacal tone, as he struggles to raise the wavering hammer.
"So you want to ask the Oracle, little hu-man?" he sneers. "Well then, let us hear what you have got! Place your offering upon the Anvil of Fate. We accept rumours, prophecies, quotes, libels, riddles, songs, calumnies and hearsay. We laugh at questions and scorn truths - except of course for hidden meanings. The Oracle repays in kind, and sometimes awards special prizes or forfeits. So come on then - out with it! There's an Oracle in everyone - even a pathetic little specimen such as you."
The mantis chitters excitedly, and the courtesan lets out a good-natured yelp. She probably stood in front of the demon on purpose.
chaos at dreams.org now utters:
"Extract from an unremembered dream from an as yet unremembered chaosmaster....
"In a far corner of my mind, in a place more different than I can know, yet where human heart or copy of human heart still beats, I hear the whisper of stories. Stories of men and women of my time and place, but stories not of me. Wherefore? How come?
"I stretch out my thoughts to this place called Internet and say to you: Listen to these stories if they please you, for all tales of people and their strivings are of value. But realise that they are but a prelude to the story still being written, my story. Wait if you can. Demand if you cannot.
"But do not forget me."
The kobold smites the Anvil and intones:
"All stories have value indeed, even those of humans. If you would be the hero, if you would not be forgotten, you must enact or tell your story. Words or deeds, they are all the same to us, but without either, then you are as nothing.
"Next!!"
anon at bogus.net now babbles:
"I Am like a man with a hard-on trying to piss into a bucket So slowly do those golden drops of Anar time drip out So wearily does one wait for the years of Anarea to pass And yet is it not my own ardour which fuels this impatience? The ardour of thwarted creation. But is not the silver seed of reality- of real quick time More precious than that slow golden shower of dream? And let me bulk out this sonnet with boilerplate fish: Stickleback Halibut Whiting [insert fish here] Great Purple Sea-Worm As Found Tunnelling into Mount Anar from the Outside"
The red kobold smites the anvil again, and intones:
"You thwart your own creation by trying to pee. Find something (or someone) more loveable than a bucket, or replace your cod-piece!
"Who can say which is more precious - your so-called reality, or a dream? Don't give up on that dream. Keep fishing, and maybe one day you'll land something more appetising than these red herrings. And remember to keep up that rod!
"Your prize is a new fly.
"Next!"
john at qmark.co.uk then blathers:
"I've heard rumours of a Demon of Time, but last time I heard he'd gone back in time before he existed and couldn't get back.
"So in his or her absence, Oracle, here is the challenge.
"The future is unwritten. Neither you nor anyone else really knows what will happen. If you deny this, you deny free will.
"The present is where we are. But in truth it does not exist. Before you know it's here, it's gone.
"And the past is a nice idea only. Maybe it really happened but maybe it's just a pretty story. Or maybe the Charmer Elementals make you think what they want?
"So the question I ask myself is this? Where did it all begin? What happened at Year 0? Was there a time before? And where do we all come from?"
The red kobold cackles, and replies:
"Any fool of an Oracle can predict the past. Before the World began, all was Chaos. Everyone knows that!
"The present can be seen by anyone who opens his eyes. But can you see the signs and portents amidst the Chaos?
"The challenge for the true Oracle is to predict the future, when it too is Chaos.
"So do you have a real question that will test the Oracle, or are you another waster of Time?"
john at qmark.co.uk goes on:
"Any fool can believe in forecasting the future, but any sensible man knows this is a waste of time.
"If I have free will, then I can do what I want, and you do not know what I will do. So if the answer to your oracle can be influenced by me, then it must either be unreliable, ambiguous, or else you must enforce its effect.
"For example if I ask you (which I do not) 'When will I die?', you could say 'On that day' and use your power to kill me then, or save me before. But you cannot predict the answer truthfully, without intervening, because the future cannot be known. Even if the Demon of Assassins already has a contract on me (several wards and protections immediately invoked), it could be that I would outwit Him.
I believe I have free will, and I wish to retain all my options, so I choose not to ask you any question about the future. But if you truly are a wise oracle, answer me about the past. For what happened at Year 0 is of the real unanswered questions about Anarea that we all would like to know."
The anvil smites the kobold (who is comprehensively flattened) and replies in a steely tone:
"Enough of this sophistry! There is no free will. It is all Chaos.
"Your question has been asked and answered. You sir are indeed a Time waster.
"You forfeit your foolish fancies of freedom."
And the petitioner falls through the floor to a place unknown.
"Next!"
amurray at boston.Novus.COM riddles:
"Toplop was a loser - it's true, A rebel without a clue. He died once, likely twice, But doubtless not thrice. Another life was therefore his due.
"What happened to the creature of ATAVAR, sponsored by SOROK, who called himself Toplop?"
The anvil steels itself for more doggerel, and answers in a ringing tone:
"You sir are a loser too, Another of this sorry crew. They throw their precious lives away, And still they want another say. Another Toplop? Let him sue!
"Next!"
PICU_Director at compuserve.com steps out of the smoke and declaims:
"Nothing is unworthy of notice, for everything can be interpreted... Aleph at the start and end Eagle, Spirit, Airy Fool Walks? Wings? Just proceeds? Takes the Path from Crown of Tree, From Hawk through Grey Creative Will Takes the Path that leads to Wisdom Flight of Mercy for the Fool Sees the world as greens and blues But the truth is more uncertain Misty greys become the rule. I would know some deeper secrets But before you speak reproof - First I must know what I am seeking What is under all of this? If you tell me what I'm seeking- Tell me what my question is- Then I will locate my answer Deep within my inner self. "Rant your Say, and say your piece For care I naught what say you, Priest! Who could Say for mine ears only When I know that truth is fiction All is but a dream seen wanly Inner truth is my truth only Yours is burdensome unproof! "Here's a feather for your Tariff What it's from I cannot say, Though I think it ends in Aleph! "Like a dog that returns to his vomit is a fool that repeats his folly"
To this the anvil replies in an ironic tone:
"Sniff that vomit over carefully, For who knows what choice morsels you may have regurgitated? Nothing is unworthy of notice, For everything can be chewed over again. "Everyone has a question within him, But he must find it for himself. He who lets another ask his questions, Is a fool to himself. A dog on his master's lead. "So stick that feather back down your throat, And tickle deeply, cough your heart out! The Oracle will inspect what you cast, And pronounce your last.
"Next!"
john at qmark.co.uk now reappears and asserts:
"Huh, oracle. It'd take more than the Dark Badlands of the Soul to take me out for good. So if you're so clever, here are some real questions for you to answer. Which God will die next in Anarea? Which system will next see a substantive change? When and where will a star next fall to earth?"
"Oho!" exclaims the anvil, "We have a bold one here! Clever, are we? Real questions, we fear! But not an offering does he make. Let us see what he can take!"
A burning star then crashes down upon the Oracle, embroiling everyone and everything in its chaotic energy.
Amidst the confusion a silver unicorn prances. "Well, one out of three ain't bad", she says.
Email your offering to Chaos_Oracle at anarea.com. The Oracle may, or may not, reply by email.
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