 |
| As a child, I felt strongly connected to the spirit world, and would fancy myself a bearer of godly tidings. As I grew older, I learned of the true being who is called Myrendella, and the presence of her dark omen. The omen that has forced me to my own self-imposed exile... |
| My father, Maarcheid, was an honored man amidst the elven leaders, a man of strong wills, belief, and an iron constitution. It was in the year of my passage,, where I should take my rightful place alongside Maarcheid, and, in essence, amidst my people, that the dark omen came to me. For many years now, I have silently fought the one called Myrendella, a subconcious being lurking within the depths of my soul, awaiting the moment I should drop my guard and become hers. As the evening twilight draped itself o'er the countryscapes of Ghilille, I strained my eyes to the distance in painful hope of glimpsing at the forbidden Naid's Pond. My father feared that place, claiming it to be the birthplace of daemons and faeries, a collection of Black Magics locked away and awaiting the foolish soul who should stumble upon it. My childish fantasies once more took flight with these awesome tales to feed the raging fire. My most cherished tale was that of the Four Ghillian Swords, a tale father had recited by the snapping scarlet fire on a velvet night. A tale encompasing the errant journey of a Dwarf whose mission linked the vast precice between his people and the elves. In return for the kindness he received at the hands of the elves, Daerin presented the early Council Leaders with great swords weilding the virtues of Peace, Balance, Power, and Mortality. It was in this dark eve I speak of when Myrendella first appeared to me as an almost tangible being, more real than the flighty daydreams that filled my head prehence. This evil siren hedged at the fall of Ghilille under my father's reign, and under his faulty leadership, the Four Swords would wander into the hands of Firii's followers, brining forth the downfall of the world. Although the words never fell from her lips, the message was afixed in my mind, as if seared there with a molten rod... The following night, sheathed in the velvet darkness of a moonless night, I crept to my father's beadchamber, pale feet padding softly across the richly gleaming wood. In my trembling hands I bore an ornate dagger, taken from my father's most jealously guarded treasures. Maarcheid's face glowed in an obscure light, stiking fear into the very depths of me, a wonder and awe for the tangible power of this man, and, at the same time, his precarious fate which I had come to execute. I clutched the knife in both trembling hands, and, with a painful hesitation, raised it o'er my head, the tip aligned with my father's heart. I drew in a breath and closed my eyes to block the horrible aura that had filled the room, visible only to me. I cannot do it. The device falls to floor with the light consequence of a leaf drifting from it's mother tree in the autumn winds. I and the knife rose once again to the percarious balance, but, this time, the miseable servent found it's way to it's master's heart, and there-upon ended his influence upon me forever. Or so I though... Now, overy three hundred years later, I sit by the mirrored surface of the Naid's Pond alone, with my people and my swords both safe from precievable harm. But what good does it do? His life weighs heavilly still upon my soul. The people I sacrificed my being to save I can only wish to watch from afar, never to walk amidst them as my father did. But now the One called Myrendella has become one with myself, and I have fullfilled her destiny. Now I shall fullfill mine... |
| The Beginning Has Risen |