Post by itanyablade on Jan 29, 2007 2:15:45 GMT -5
Legends will tell you that Amaryllis and Raoh were great heroes. Human and Skarath united in a great purpose to return the Powers to the world. My parents were not heroes. Nothing they did was for others. Legends are all lies and fairy dust. History prettied up to fit someone's vision of the way things should be.
Oh, some of the legends are true. Amaryllis was of Skarath blood. A daughter of a line of the powerful and she held power of her own. The same applies to Raoh, though he was, of course, human. And, as disgustingly trite as it sounds, they did love each other.
What the legends won't tell you is that neither one of them intended to help the world. They were after personal power. Both of them were obsessed with magic. Just ignore the bards and storytellers. What do they know anyway?
My mother died in the birthing of me, the miracle child, herald of a new age. Remember, I said don't listen to all those phonies? This is another lie, whispered into my father's ear as he buried the woman he had expected to outlive him.
Afshied looked up from the words she was writing and sighed as she looked about the small room that contained her entire life. The sounds of the outside world drifted in from the curtained entrance to the round building. A small figured waited in her doorway. Her rueful smile was her sole apology to the man who had been waiting for her attention.
"I am sorry, Goreth. I was distracted.” She gestured at the object of her attention and irritation and then dismissed them in favor of her guest. “It must be important for you to come up the tree on your own."
Gorreth moved across the room, looking only slightly less green than the last time he had climbed up to her aerie. As he did so, the small pup that lay at her feet looked up from his nap. He gave a small yelp of recognition and then went back to sleep. Curled where it was, the dog melted into the shadows; natural camouflage that Afshied envied more and more often these days.
"Your father is calling for you, Afshied. He seems almost coherent this time." With bushy brows and a flowing beard, it was difficult to read Gorreth’s expression. She did not even try. Her eyes drifted down the parchment before her.
"I can't write a history. He always said that history is written by the victors. We were not the victors. Victors do not hide, afraid of their own shadows." Afshied brushed dark honey-colored locks from the sides of her face.
When she was little, her father would tell her that her mother saw the color of the fuzz on her head and whispered her name before she died. It was a sweet story but Afshied suspected it was a lie. She had seen babies born since then and rarely did they have any trace of hair on their bald pates.
Goreth was still waiting. Ever so patiently, he waited. A trait he had developed from waiting on her father. She grew irritable at the man’s patience, but held back the sharpness of her tongue. "Did he say what he wanted?" Guilt threatened to swamp her. She was looking for another reason not to see him. There had been many excuses over the years. So many valid reasons for putting off a visit.
"He doesn't trust me. Doesn't trust anyone but you and that damnable beast." Goreth's lips pressed tightly against each other, hiding themselves between his mustache and beard. "Will you come or no?"
Her sour mood was not helping. Gorreth had never had patience with her. His devotion was solely to her father and perversely that devotion had grown greater after the disaster. "I'll come." Afshied just hoped this was not another facet of her father's madness.
Leaving behind the drying piece of parchment, she descended the tree with her father’s caretaker. It lightened the day to hear the little man cursing every thing he could think of. Far too soon, they were at the entrance to her father's prison. No, that was not exactly true. Raoh was imprisoned by more than stone walls. He was trapped in his mind.
Looking up at the cliff ruin, Afshied renewed her pledge for vengeance.
Oh, some of the legends are true. Amaryllis was of Skarath blood. A daughter of a line of the powerful and she held power of her own. The same applies to Raoh, though he was, of course, human. And, as disgustingly trite as it sounds, they did love each other.
What the legends won't tell you is that neither one of them intended to help the world. They were after personal power. Both of them were obsessed with magic. Just ignore the bards and storytellers. What do they know anyway?
My mother died in the birthing of me, the miracle child, herald of a new age. Remember, I said don't listen to all those phonies? This is another lie, whispered into my father's ear as he buried the woman he had expected to outlive him.
Afshied looked up from the words she was writing and sighed as she looked about the small room that contained her entire life. The sounds of the outside world drifted in from the curtained entrance to the round building. A small figured waited in her doorway. Her rueful smile was her sole apology to the man who had been waiting for her attention.
"I am sorry, Goreth. I was distracted.” She gestured at the object of her attention and irritation and then dismissed them in favor of her guest. “It must be important for you to come up the tree on your own."
Gorreth moved across the room, looking only slightly less green than the last time he had climbed up to her aerie. As he did so, the small pup that lay at her feet looked up from his nap. He gave a small yelp of recognition and then went back to sleep. Curled where it was, the dog melted into the shadows; natural camouflage that Afshied envied more and more often these days.
"Your father is calling for you, Afshied. He seems almost coherent this time." With bushy brows and a flowing beard, it was difficult to read Gorreth’s expression. She did not even try. Her eyes drifted down the parchment before her.
"I can't write a history. He always said that history is written by the victors. We were not the victors. Victors do not hide, afraid of their own shadows." Afshied brushed dark honey-colored locks from the sides of her face.
When she was little, her father would tell her that her mother saw the color of the fuzz on her head and whispered her name before she died. It was a sweet story but Afshied suspected it was a lie. She had seen babies born since then and rarely did they have any trace of hair on their bald pates.
Goreth was still waiting. Ever so patiently, he waited. A trait he had developed from waiting on her father. She grew irritable at the man’s patience, but held back the sharpness of her tongue. "Did he say what he wanted?" Guilt threatened to swamp her. She was looking for another reason not to see him. There had been many excuses over the years. So many valid reasons for putting off a visit.
"He doesn't trust me. Doesn't trust anyone but you and that damnable beast." Goreth's lips pressed tightly against each other, hiding themselves between his mustache and beard. "Will you come or no?"
Her sour mood was not helping. Gorreth had never had patience with her. His devotion was solely to her father and perversely that devotion had grown greater after the disaster. "I'll come." Afshied just hoped this was not another facet of her father's madness.
Leaving behind the drying piece of parchment, she descended the tree with her father’s caretaker. It lightened the day to hear the little man cursing every thing he could think of. Far too soon, they were at the entrance to her father's prison. No, that was not exactly true. Raoh was imprisoned by more than stone walls. He was trapped in his mind.
Looking up at the cliff ruin, Afshied renewed her pledge for vengeance.