KactusPunch
Crown Sage
MarshalSolgriev
SkyeOfStars
princess
ZerothHere are the submissions I received. As a general reminder, I have only included forum names if given permission by the author to do so - otherwise, these stories remain anonymous. Feel free to post reviews for these stories in the general conversation thread. Try to provide some helpful critiques and suggestions, and mention anything you liked.
Winners will be declared on February 15th, and any applicable Challenge Accolades will also be awarded then. All winning entries will be saved in the Twelve Labours Archive with a permanent link in my signature, as well as mentioned in a report in the News section and General Discussion subforums. Once again, thanks to @mdk and the rest of the RPGC crew for helping to schedule The Twelve Labours. Another special thanks to @mahz for cranking out the awesome trophy and titles system.
Once the results come around, if you did not win but feel you should have? Make an appeal to the judges who reviewed your entry. Keep it classy, and exercise some courtesy while making your case, and they might just reevaluate your entry. Please keep in mind, you only get the one appeal. Sometimes you just have to let it go.
If you submitted an entry before the deadline, and did not break any of the rules or conditions of the contest, then there is no reason it should not be here - so if it is not, inform me immediately, either in the Discussion Thread or else via PM.
The Stories:
Winners will be declared on February 15th, and any applicable Challenge Accolades will also be awarded then. All winning entries will be saved in the Twelve Labours Archive with a permanent link in my signature, as well as mentioned in a report in the News section and General Discussion subforums. Once again, thanks to @mdk and the rest of the RPGC crew for helping to schedule The Twelve Labours. Another special thanks to @mahz for cranking out the awesome trophy and titles system.
Once the results come around, if you did not win but feel you should have? Make an appeal to the judges who reviewed your entry. Keep it classy, and exercise some courtesy while making your case, and they might just reevaluate your entry. Please keep in mind, you only get the one appeal. Sometimes you just have to let it go.
If you submitted an entry before the deadline, and did not break any of the rules or conditions of the contest, then there is no reason it should not be here - so if it is not, inform me immediately, either in the Discussion Thread or else via PM.
The Stories:
In Greek mythology the idea of an afterlife had long existed even if the idea had changed throughout the centuries. Realms where heroic spirits wandered, realms where the ordinary soul might find its resting place, and realms where the wicked might be banished to suffer for all eternity. Souls often rally against the clutches of death, for none truly wish for death themselves. None wish to lose their memory, their fortune and the bonds which gave them so much joy in life. Yet death is as necessary as birth itself in the cycle and all souls must eventually venture beneath the surface. Some are unable to accept their mortality even after crossing the threshold and attempt to flee Hades, seeking to reclaim their lost lives above in the living realm. For many reasons this cannot be allowed, their souls have been claimed and their fates decided, they must reside in the realm of the dead. As powerful as Hades may be he cannot mind every soul within his realm personally for there are thousands upon thousands, if not more residing. So then who assists Hades in keeping his tenants?
Elyurias has spent more time than she can recall acting as a warden of Hades and his realm. Like a guard to their prisoners she ensures they remain in their designated cells, and any who dare try to escape are brought back, often kicking and screaming, to receive their punishment. She neither harbors a hatred or love for her job, only a sense of duty to the Lord of the Underworld. For millennia she has carried out her assigned task without fail and has always returned a soul to its resting place, and for this she has earned the trust of Hades himself. Her judgment is second to none, she is as much a keeper of the souls as Hades himself. Yet as mythology has proven time and time again even the greatest of deities are not infallible, and sooner or later Elyurias was bound to make a mistake.
When souls are taken into the Underworld they are designated and sent to particular realms; Elysium, a realm which heroic souls and those who bear the blood of the gods reside, the Asphodel Meadows where the souls of ordinary citizens call their home, and Tartarus, a hellish place where the souls of the damned are sent to be tormented for the rest of their days. Judged by their actions and feats in the waking world souls are thoroughly processed before being sentenced to one of these realms. It was the job of Hades himself to decide where souls would be sent, and once dispersed it fell to Elyurias to make certain none left their designated zones. Yet what were to happen if a soul was sent to the wrong region? What if, by chance, a soul sought to rectify the mistake and, incorrectly, Elyurias punished it?
A valiant and selfless soldier in his lifetime Atreus had earned himself a resting place within Elysium. So too would he have been sent had another soul, Iob, not interfered. A man that had never angered the gods until his final waking moments where he sought to escape the clutches of death. In attempting to make a deal with Thanatos himself he sought to trade his worldly fortune for everlasting youth. Seeing the man as cowardly and weak willed he was to be sent to Tartarus to pay for his misdeeds. Where Thanatos was not so easily swayed however there were others within the Underworld whose inclinations and honor were not as unyielding, and he would find aid from a minor gatekeeper, Uscelius.
In exchange for all of the gold and silver in his name Iob and Uscelius struck a deal: his soul would be sent along with those meant for Elysium, and another would be made to suffer in his place. Even one missing soul would be noticed by Elyurias and this another would be needed to deceive her, if only for a short time. Atreus would be the soul to suffer for Iob's cowardice, and as valiant and honorable as he was in life he accepted his unwarranted punishment. It was not until much later that Elyurias learned of the mistake, and in seeking to rectify it, for she never made mistakes, she removed Iob from Tartarus and banished him to its deepest depths, and in turn took Atreus to Elysium where he belonged. Though the mistake had been rectified Elyurias had incurred the wrath of the gods upon Olympus, and even Hades for all his power in the Underworld could not shield her.
Elyurias' sins had been two fold. She had denied Atreus the peace he'd earned in life by banishing him to Tartarus, staining his impeccable life with an undeserved torment. Granting Iob a stay in Elysium as well had been a grave insult to those who already resided within, and to the gods who ordained the souls which deserved such placement. Once highly respected and revered she was brought now to kneel before Zeus and his siblings upon Olympus and answer for her crimes. For her errors she had no excuses, she still had no knowledge of how such a mistake had happened and thus could not provide any excuse for her misdeeds. With nothing to defend herself with Elyurias was stripped of her rank and post, deemed unfit to serve Hades and banished to Tartarus. With her post now void a new warden of Hades was needed, and a replacement was quickly found in her stead: Uscelius.
It was not until many years later that Elyurias, ragged and broken from her torment, would learn that Uscelius had been the author of her downfall. Though lurid at learning of his deception she was no longer in a state to fight back, no gods would heed her cries and she hadn't the power to oppose Uscelius any longer. With grim resignation she remained within the hellish halls of Tartarus, enduring punishment normally reserved for only the most foul, despicable souls. The once proud and powerful vanguard of Hades had lost everything she'd had and could only look on as Uscelius performed her god given task. Where humility, pride and honor once resided now only a bitter hatred and fury grew, a disdain for the gods which had punished her and for Uscelius, who had robbed her of everything. She would find a way to seek revenge, even if it took a millennia.
Elyurias has spent more time than she can recall acting as a warden of Hades and his realm. Like a guard to their prisoners she ensures they remain in their designated cells, and any who dare try to escape are brought back, often kicking and screaming, to receive their punishment. She neither harbors a hatred or love for her job, only a sense of duty to the Lord of the Underworld. For millennia she has carried out her assigned task without fail and has always returned a soul to its resting place, and for this she has earned the trust of Hades himself. Her judgment is second to none, she is as much a keeper of the souls as Hades himself. Yet as mythology has proven time and time again even the greatest of deities are not infallible, and sooner or later Elyurias was bound to make a mistake.
When souls are taken into the Underworld they are designated and sent to particular realms; Elysium, a realm which heroic souls and those who bear the blood of the gods reside, the Asphodel Meadows where the souls of ordinary citizens call their home, and Tartarus, a hellish place where the souls of the damned are sent to be tormented for the rest of their days. Judged by their actions and feats in the waking world souls are thoroughly processed before being sentenced to one of these realms. It was the job of Hades himself to decide where souls would be sent, and once dispersed it fell to Elyurias to make certain none left their designated zones. Yet what were to happen if a soul was sent to the wrong region? What if, by chance, a soul sought to rectify the mistake and, incorrectly, Elyurias punished it?
A valiant and selfless soldier in his lifetime Atreus had earned himself a resting place within Elysium. So too would he have been sent had another soul, Iob, not interfered. A man that had never angered the gods until his final waking moments where he sought to escape the clutches of death. In attempting to make a deal with Thanatos himself he sought to trade his worldly fortune for everlasting youth. Seeing the man as cowardly and weak willed he was to be sent to Tartarus to pay for his misdeeds. Where Thanatos was not so easily swayed however there were others within the Underworld whose inclinations and honor were not as unyielding, and he would find aid from a minor gatekeeper, Uscelius.
In exchange for all of the gold and silver in his name Iob and Uscelius struck a deal: his soul would be sent along with those meant for Elysium, and another would be made to suffer in his place. Even one missing soul would be noticed by Elyurias and this another would be needed to deceive her, if only for a short time. Atreus would be the soul to suffer for Iob's cowardice, and as valiant and honorable as he was in life he accepted his unwarranted punishment. It was not until much later that Elyurias learned of the mistake, and in seeking to rectify it, for she never made mistakes, she removed Iob from Tartarus and banished him to its deepest depths, and in turn took Atreus to Elysium where he belonged. Though the mistake had been rectified Elyurias had incurred the wrath of the gods upon Olympus, and even Hades for all his power in the Underworld could not shield her.
Elyurias' sins had been two fold. She had denied Atreus the peace he'd earned in life by banishing him to Tartarus, staining his impeccable life with an undeserved torment. Granting Iob a stay in Elysium as well had been a grave insult to those who already resided within, and to the gods who ordained the souls which deserved such placement. Once highly respected and revered she was brought now to kneel before Zeus and his siblings upon Olympus and answer for her crimes. For her errors she had no excuses, she still had no knowledge of how such a mistake had happened and thus could not provide any excuse for her misdeeds. With nothing to defend herself with Elyurias was stripped of her rank and post, deemed unfit to serve Hades and banished to Tartarus. With her post now void a new warden of Hades was needed, and a replacement was quickly found in her stead: Uscelius.
It was not until many years later that Elyurias, ragged and broken from her torment, would learn that Uscelius had been the author of her downfall. Though lurid at learning of his deception she was no longer in a state to fight back, no gods would heed her cries and she hadn't the power to oppose Uscelius any longer. With grim resignation she remained within the hellish halls of Tartarus, enduring punishment normally reserved for only the most foul, despicable souls. The once proud and powerful vanguard of Hades had lost everything she'd had and could only look on as Uscelius performed her god given task. Where humility, pride and honor once resided now only a bitter hatred and fury grew, a disdain for the gods which had punished her and for Uscelius, who had robbed her of everything. She would find a way to seek revenge, even if it took a millennia.
Back in the early days of the world, there was a weapon that rested on an altar to a god that has had their name long forgotten by time. Some claim that the weapon was a sword. Others that it was an axe; When my Grandfather first told me this tale, he claimed with certainty that it had been a spear. But regardless of the form that it took, it offered the same prize and challenge to all who looked upon it:
"One who's heart is pure will gain the power to conquer all."
For countless years, men of all walks of life made the pilgrimage, each seeking to try and claim the weapon and the power that it offered... only to be turned away as unworthy each and every time.
One day, a boy and his sister approached the altar. The boy was barely a man, his sister even younger. Their parents had recently been slain during a raid by bandits and the boy had come to the altar with hopes of claiming the weapon in order to get vengeance against those that had robbed his parents (and countless friends) of their lives, but try as he might he couldn't lift the weapon from its resting place.
After spending hours trying in vain, the siblings were about to leave when the boy looked at his younger sister and had a moment of dark insight. Drawing a dagger from his belt while she was walking away, he walked up behind her and slit her throat, murdering her in the coldest of blood right there and then. As she laid dying on the stone of the shrine the boy turned and picked the weapon off the altar, power surging through him instantly.
The boy quickly started to fulfill the offer that the weapon had claimed, unleashing a path of conquest the likes of which had never been seen before. One by one those that opposed him fell to his might, unable to even harm him as weapons and arrows bounced off his skin as if they were nothing. The boy became a Tyrant and a monstrous one at that; Everywhere he walked, death and atrocity followed in his wake, those who survived quickly finding themselves enslaved under his rule. Before long, almost all the known world was united under his cruel, dark rule and it looked like it would last forever...
One night, the Tyrant was awoken from his slumber by an assassin; It hadn't been the first time someone had tried to murder him in his sleep only to discover that they couldn't do him any harm. The two battled fiercely, but it was clear as the moments passed that the Tyrant's invulnerability ensured that he would be victorious. However, before the Tyrant could land a killing blow on the Assassin a ghostly figure appeared between them.
The Tyrant met the gaze of the specter of his younger sister and for just a moment, he felt a pang of regret. Instantly, the power that the weapon had offered him fled as the weapon that had been so vital to his conquest disappeared in a flash of fire, burning his hands as it abandoned him. In a moment of pained confusion, the Assassin attacked the now mortal Tyrant and slew him.
The weapon has never been seen again, but it did leave a very important lesson in its passing. A heart that is pure of either light or darkness is short lived; And even someone who's heart is as dark as pitch can feel regret for what they have done.
"One who's heart is pure will gain the power to conquer all."
For countless years, men of all walks of life made the pilgrimage, each seeking to try and claim the weapon and the power that it offered... only to be turned away as unworthy each and every time.
One day, a boy and his sister approached the altar. The boy was barely a man, his sister even younger. Their parents had recently been slain during a raid by bandits and the boy had come to the altar with hopes of claiming the weapon in order to get vengeance against those that had robbed his parents (and countless friends) of their lives, but try as he might he couldn't lift the weapon from its resting place.
After spending hours trying in vain, the siblings were about to leave when the boy looked at his younger sister and had a moment of dark insight. Drawing a dagger from his belt while she was walking away, he walked up behind her and slit her throat, murdering her in the coldest of blood right there and then. As she laid dying on the stone of the shrine the boy turned and picked the weapon off the altar, power surging through him instantly.
The boy quickly started to fulfill the offer that the weapon had claimed, unleashing a path of conquest the likes of which had never been seen before. One by one those that opposed him fell to his might, unable to even harm him as weapons and arrows bounced off his skin as if they were nothing. The boy became a Tyrant and a monstrous one at that; Everywhere he walked, death and atrocity followed in his wake, those who survived quickly finding themselves enslaved under his rule. Before long, almost all the known world was united under his cruel, dark rule and it looked like it would last forever...
One night, the Tyrant was awoken from his slumber by an assassin; It hadn't been the first time someone had tried to murder him in his sleep only to discover that they couldn't do him any harm. The two battled fiercely, but it was clear as the moments passed that the Tyrant's invulnerability ensured that he would be victorious. However, before the Tyrant could land a killing blow on the Assassin a ghostly figure appeared between them.
The Tyrant met the gaze of the specter of his younger sister and for just a moment, he felt a pang of regret. Instantly, the power that the weapon had offered him fled as the weapon that had been so vital to his conquest disappeared in a flash of fire, burning his hands as it abandoned him. In a moment of pained confusion, the Assassin attacked the now mortal Tyrant and slew him.
The weapon has never been seen again, but it did leave a very important lesson in its passing. A heart that is pure of either light or darkness is short lived; And even someone who's heart is as dark as pitch can feel regret for what they have done.
“Gather around children, and heed my words, for I shall tell you the legend of Lady Drega the Dragon Queen.” The raspy voice of Frode carried over the fire. The shadows cast his face in long, haunting shadows. Before him, sat the youth of the village, their knees drawn to their chins, and their eyes wide with curiosity. Frode was the storyteller of the village, he claimed to know all of the myths and legends that surrounded Findorath. Of course, he also claimed that he was more than one hundred years old; an outlandish claim when most folk were lucky to reach their fifties. Magick had a funny way of lengthening the lives of those who practiced it, and Frode was no exception.
With hands raised above the fire, he moved them slowly, working a spell of illusion. The children gasped in surprise as the image of a mighty dragon emerged in the dancing flames. “When the land was ripe and young, before wars and treaties, before the rise of kingdoms, before the rise of Man, dragons flew through the sky, as bountiful as flocks of birds we see now. I tell you the tale of Lady Drega, the Dragon Queen; ruler of land, air, water, and Man.
In a village at the foot of Kal’em-sor, the mountain chain that runs the length of Findorath’s northern edge, lived a man by the name of Viggo. High above in the snowy peaks, roosted Lady Drega. She had to come to an agreement with the villagers of Kalensted. When the moon was full, there would be a blood sacrifice. She demanded that three women, who were chaste and pure, be brought to the mouth of her den. While the village elders feared the mighty Dragon Queen, for she was queen of all dragons, they could not deny her demands. For two years, they endured this pain.
It was then, during the planting season, that the inevitable happened. They no longer had women of virtue to honor the demands. The elders held council with the other members of the village. In their council hall, they asked their fellow kinsmen what they ought to do. Many suggested that they offer up cattle instead of women, for that they had plenty. Others suggested they offer up their own children, and even their wives. The hours dragged on as they debated the matter, until one man stepped forward. Viggo was his name.
Viggo lived a humble life as an unmarried farmer. He had not married, nor had he any children. Yet, when he stepped forward that evening, a hush fell across the room.” Here, Frode’s hands crafted a fiery image of Viggo standing alone before the village elders. “And he spoke unto them, ‘I will go and offer myself up as sacrifice to Lady Drega. There is naught else we can do.’ And so they protested, what could a man do to placate the Dragon Queen? Her demands were that for pure women, not a farmer like him. With his hands raised so as to silence them, he spoke again.
‘Hark unto me, I say! I will make the trek into the mountains, and I find the den of Lady Drega. I will offer myself unto her, but I will slay her. I will bring peace to our village, and no more offerings will we ever need make again.’
The elders of the village spoke in hushed tones, glancing at Viggo from time to time. Finally, they agreed. He would go and take the place of the offering to the Dragon Queen. If he failed, Kalensted would be doomed. So, by dawn of the following morn, Viggo set forth from the village. He carried with him, only what he needed to survive. Three days passed before he reached the mouth of the cave. Inside, he could see the body of the Dragon Queen slumbering. Red were her scales, the color of blood. Taking a tentative step inside the cave, Viggo cleared his throat, and then fell to his knees, his arms cast above his head in surrender.” Now the scene changed, to depict the man kneeling before the hulking body of Lady Drega, arms raised.
“The mighty Dragon Queen had heard him enter her cave, and when he made noise, she opened her great eye, the size of your heads! A low growl rumbled from her as she lifted her head to look at the man who had trespassed into her den. As she opened her maw to release a jet of flame, intended to destroy him, Viggo protested.
‘Wait! O’ great dragon! Lady Drega, Queen of the Dragons, I come before you. I ask for mercy. Hear my pleas!’ Cried Viggo. A stretch of silence filled the cave as the mighty red dragon gazed upon him.
‘Speak, human.’ She finally replied.
‘Mistress of the sky, Mighty Huntress of the lands, I am Viggo, but a mere human that comes from the village at the base of these mountains. I come to you, because we have no more women of purity to offer you, and as such, I offer myself to you as sacrifice.’ He lowered his head, waiting for her massive jaws to snap him in half. Yet, it did not come.
‘What makes you believe that I will take you as my offering? What makes you think you have the right to change the diction of the treaty with your village?’ Her voice echoed off the cavern walls, low and rumbling, the very walls shook stones loose.
‘My Queen, you have every right to consume me without hesitation. I come to you, to offer one thing. I offer companionship.’ Viggo now lifted his head, daring to look Lady Drega in the eye.
‘Ha!’ She cackled, ‘What makes you think I would need companionship? Much less from a human?!’ The red dragon lifted herself from the floor, and rose to her full height. With claws clicking against the stone floor, she moved closer to Viggo, so that if she decided to eat him, she could do so with ease.
He paused, deep in thought as he searched for the right answers, then he said, ‘Surely, even you, Lady Drega, you grow lonely in this mountain cave?’
‘Speak quickly, human, for my patience is wearing thin, and I find myself rather hungry now.’ She said, snapping her jaws feet above his head.
‘Forgive me! But I am a lonely man myself, I am but a farmer. I have naught a wife nor a family. Good conversation is hard to come by, and if you like, I could stay with you, perhaps tell you riddles or sing you ballads?’ What Viggo did not know, was that Lady Drega was a dragon full of vanity, and nothing pleased her more than hearing compliments. Perhaps, he would make a good companion after all, for the time being.
‘Very well. I shall keep you as my companion, but if I grow tired of you, I will eat you.’ Then, she snatched him up in her claw, and retreated to the far corner of the cave.
For the first night, Lady Drega kept him inside her claw, from which he could not escape. There, he told her tales and legends of Man, how they believed the land was created and the vast oceans to the east were formed. She laughed at him, at Man, for they were simple creatures in her mind. As the weeks turned to months, Viggo entertained the Dragon Queen. He sang to her, paid her compliments, and when she let him, made trifle offerings such as flower crowns and necklaces that grew outside the cave.
When weeks turned to months, Viggo knew that his plan was working. He had turned from telling tales, and whispering sweet words of nothing to telling her riddles, much of which Lady Drega enjoyed.
‘I don't have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thoughts, but now I'm white and empty, what am I?’ Viggo asked, he had taken up the task of polishing her scales, a task that Lady Drega appreciated.
‘That is an easy one, little Viggo.’ She crooned with a chortling laugh, ‘A skull, like many I have eaten.’
‘Very well, then how about this?’ He tried again with a different riddle, hoping to stump her this time around. ‘Many have heard me, but no one has seen me, and I will not speak back until spoken to. What am I?’ This time, the Dragon Queen hesitated. Many seconds passed before she answered confidently.
‘An echo. You are quick witted with these riddles.’ This time, she pulled Viggo to her, and clutched him in her claw, ‘It would be best for you livelihood, if you were not such. You might anger me, and I might decide to eat you after all.’
Many months passed, and it had become clear, that Lady Drega had developed some emotional feelings towards Viggo. He asked her another riddle.
‘My Queen,’ He said, as she enjoyed being called such, ‘I have another riddle for you.’
‘Then tell me, for I am bored, and nothing captures my attention today.’
‘Of no use to one,
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie or work for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby’s right,
The lover’s privilege,
The hypocrite’s mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I?’
Lady Drega sat in contemplative silence for several long minutes, turning over the the riddle in her head, yet it appeared that she could not answer his riddle. Frustrated that he had given her a riddle with no apparent answer, she cast him aside. Rising to her full height, she opened her maw and released a jet of fire. Viggo narrowly escaped being burned alive as he ducked for cover. Thundering towards him, she snapped her jaws at him in an attempt to devour him in one bite.” Again the image in the fire changed, a massive dragon head arose from the flames that released a fantastic bolt of fire. The children cried out in shock while the younger ones covered their faces in fear at the terrifying sight.
“Fear not! For, Viggo ran from the cave. As he ran, Lady Drega flew out, her gargantuan wings lifted her into the air as she soared into the sky above. Racing headlong down the path, Viggo did his best to outrun the dragon, yet as we all know, it is impossible to simply outrun a dragon. Circling above him, Lady Drega released numerous bolts of fire after another, trying to incinerate her captive. Each time, he managed to evade the bolts of white-hot fire erupting from between her great fearsome teeth. Then, as he came around the corner on the mountain path, Lady Drega began to land on the narrow footpath. What she did not anticipate was that her weight alone would be too much for the mountainside.
Therein upon her landing, the path beneath Viggo’s feet became loose, and the land slid, taking it with him. In horror, Lady Drega watched as the earth carried Viggo away and off a cliff face. Worried that he would fall to his death, she launched herself from the mountainside. Yet, as she soared through the air, Lady Drega could not discern the familiar figure of Viggo anywhere. She drifted to the bottom of the landslide, and settled at the foot of it. There her mighty claws sifted through the soil underfoot. Mound after mound of soil she combed through, careful to avoid piercing him, were she to find him. What seemed like hours, Lady Drega discovered the crumpled figure of Viggo. At the sight of his limp body, she loosed a roar so loud, that the very earth around her threatened to bring down the rest of the mountain.
Away in Kalensted, the villagers had witnessed the Dragon Queen take flight from her cave, and from the safety of their homes, they watched in confusion at the unfolding sight. They had witnessed the landslide, and they had heard her fearsome roar, though they knew not why she reacted this way. From the words of a shepherd, he came to tell them that he had seen the figure of a man emerge from the dirt, and that she flew away to her cave with something clutched in her claws. Their thoughts went to Viggo, and they grew worried, that he had failed in his task to subdue the Dragon Queen through love.
However, years passed, and they had not seen the Dragon Queen in the skies above. They began to wonder what had happened to Viggo, and what happened to the dragon herself. Curious, the village elders again formed a council, and this time, they sent their best warriors up the mountain pass. Uncertain of what they would find, the warriors wore their finest armor, and sharpened their blades to a razor thin edge. And ventured so they did, going forth with great caution.
It did not take them long to find the den of Lady Drega, yet when they stepped inside, they beheld a mystifying sight! Before them, lay the familiar of their adversary, the Dragon Queen. Yet, she was not alive, no, not by any means. But rather, she was a pile of bones. As the warriors approached the skeletal remains, they could see, encircled in one might claw, were the skeletal bones of a human. When they returned to the village to inform the elders of what they had discovered, it dawned upon the elders then, that Viggo had done as he set out to do. They concluded that, Viggo was killed in the landslide. And mourning his death, Lady Drega took his body, and hid inside her den. The grief of losing a lover overwhelmed her to the point that she had no desire to feed herself. It was thus, how the fear Queen of Dragons was killed. Through the power of love.” Slowly, the images in the fire disappeared, leaving the children to gaze upon Frode.
“And that my precious children, is how the Festival of Viggo came to be. We honor him every planting season, for that is when he left our village to conquer our adversary. It would do you well to remember the lesson of this tale. Never tell a riddle that a dragon cannot answer, and be wary of the price of love.”
With hands raised above the fire, he moved them slowly, working a spell of illusion. The children gasped in surprise as the image of a mighty dragon emerged in the dancing flames. “When the land was ripe and young, before wars and treaties, before the rise of kingdoms, before the rise of Man, dragons flew through the sky, as bountiful as flocks of birds we see now. I tell you the tale of Lady Drega, the Dragon Queen; ruler of land, air, water, and Man.
In a village at the foot of Kal’em-sor, the mountain chain that runs the length of Findorath’s northern edge, lived a man by the name of Viggo. High above in the snowy peaks, roosted Lady Drega. She had to come to an agreement with the villagers of Kalensted. When the moon was full, there would be a blood sacrifice. She demanded that three women, who were chaste and pure, be brought to the mouth of her den. While the village elders feared the mighty Dragon Queen, for she was queen of all dragons, they could not deny her demands. For two years, they endured this pain.
It was then, during the planting season, that the inevitable happened. They no longer had women of virtue to honor the demands. The elders held council with the other members of the village. In their council hall, they asked their fellow kinsmen what they ought to do. Many suggested that they offer up cattle instead of women, for that they had plenty. Others suggested they offer up their own children, and even their wives. The hours dragged on as they debated the matter, until one man stepped forward. Viggo was his name.
Viggo lived a humble life as an unmarried farmer. He had not married, nor had he any children. Yet, when he stepped forward that evening, a hush fell across the room.” Here, Frode’s hands crafted a fiery image of Viggo standing alone before the village elders. “And he spoke unto them, ‘I will go and offer myself up as sacrifice to Lady Drega. There is naught else we can do.’ And so they protested, what could a man do to placate the Dragon Queen? Her demands were that for pure women, not a farmer like him. With his hands raised so as to silence them, he spoke again.
‘Hark unto me, I say! I will make the trek into the mountains, and I find the den of Lady Drega. I will offer myself unto her, but I will slay her. I will bring peace to our village, and no more offerings will we ever need make again.’
The elders of the village spoke in hushed tones, glancing at Viggo from time to time. Finally, they agreed. He would go and take the place of the offering to the Dragon Queen. If he failed, Kalensted would be doomed. So, by dawn of the following morn, Viggo set forth from the village. He carried with him, only what he needed to survive. Three days passed before he reached the mouth of the cave. Inside, he could see the body of the Dragon Queen slumbering. Red were her scales, the color of blood. Taking a tentative step inside the cave, Viggo cleared his throat, and then fell to his knees, his arms cast above his head in surrender.” Now the scene changed, to depict the man kneeling before the hulking body of Lady Drega, arms raised.
“The mighty Dragon Queen had heard him enter her cave, and when he made noise, she opened her great eye, the size of your heads! A low growl rumbled from her as she lifted her head to look at the man who had trespassed into her den. As she opened her maw to release a jet of flame, intended to destroy him, Viggo protested.
‘Wait! O’ great dragon! Lady Drega, Queen of the Dragons, I come before you. I ask for mercy. Hear my pleas!’ Cried Viggo. A stretch of silence filled the cave as the mighty red dragon gazed upon him.
‘Speak, human.’ She finally replied.
‘Mistress of the sky, Mighty Huntress of the lands, I am Viggo, but a mere human that comes from the village at the base of these mountains. I come to you, because we have no more women of purity to offer you, and as such, I offer myself to you as sacrifice.’ He lowered his head, waiting for her massive jaws to snap him in half. Yet, it did not come.
‘What makes you believe that I will take you as my offering? What makes you think you have the right to change the diction of the treaty with your village?’ Her voice echoed off the cavern walls, low and rumbling, the very walls shook stones loose.
‘My Queen, you have every right to consume me without hesitation. I come to you, to offer one thing. I offer companionship.’ Viggo now lifted his head, daring to look Lady Drega in the eye.
‘Ha!’ She cackled, ‘What makes you think I would need companionship? Much less from a human?!’ The red dragon lifted herself from the floor, and rose to her full height. With claws clicking against the stone floor, she moved closer to Viggo, so that if she decided to eat him, she could do so with ease.
He paused, deep in thought as he searched for the right answers, then he said, ‘Surely, even you, Lady Drega, you grow lonely in this mountain cave?’
‘Speak quickly, human, for my patience is wearing thin, and I find myself rather hungry now.’ She said, snapping her jaws feet above his head.
‘Forgive me! But I am a lonely man myself, I am but a farmer. I have naught a wife nor a family. Good conversation is hard to come by, and if you like, I could stay with you, perhaps tell you riddles or sing you ballads?’ What Viggo did not know, was that Lady Drega was a dragon full of vanity, and nothing pleased her more than hearing compliments. Perhaps, he would make a good companion after all, for the time being.
‘Very well. I shall keep you as my companion, but if I grow tired of you, I will eat you.’ Then, she snatched him up in her claw, and retreated to the far corner of the cave.
For the first night, Lady Drega kept him inside her claw, from which he could not escape. There, he told her tales and legends of Man, how they believed the land was created and the vast oceans to the east were formed. She laughed at him, at Man, for they were simple creatures in her mind. As the weeks turned to months, Viggo entertained the Dragon Queen. He sang to her, paid her compliments, and when she let him, made trifle offerings such as flower crowns and necklaces that grew outside the cave.
When weeks turned to months, Viggo knew that his plan was working. He had turned from telling tales, and whispering sweet words of nothing to telling her riddles, much of which Lady Drega enjoyed.
‘I don't have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thoughts, but now I'm white and empty, what am I?’ Viggo asked, he had taken up the task of polishing her scales, a task that Lady Drega appreciated.
‘That is an easy one, little Viggo.’ She crooned with a chortling laugh, ‘A skull, like many I have eaten.’
‘Very well, then how about this?’ He tried again with a different riddle, hoping to stump her this time around. ‘Many have heard me, but no one has seen me, and I will not speak back until spoken to. What am I?’ This time, the Dragon Queen hesitated. Many seconds passed before she answered confidently.
‘An echo. You are quick witted with these riddles.’ This time, she pulled Viggo to her, and clutched him in her claw, ‘It would be best for you livelihood, if you were not such. You might anger me, and I might decide to eat you after all.’
Many months passed, and it had become clear, that Lady Drega had developed some emotional feelings towards Viggo. He asked her another riddle.
‘My Queen,’ He said, as she enjoyed being called such, ‘I have another riddle for you.’
‘Then tell me, for I am bored, and nothing captures my attention today.’
‘Of no use to one,
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie or work for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby’s right,
The lover’s privilege,
The hypocrite’s mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I?’
Lady Drega sat in contemplative silence for several long minutes, turning over the the riddle in her head, yet it appeared that she could not answer his riddle. Frustrated that he had given her a riddle with no apparent answer, she cast him aside. Rising to her full height, she opened her maw and released a jet of fire. Viggo narrowly escaped being burned alive as he ducked for cover. Thundering towards him, she snapped her jaws at him in an attempt to devour him in one bite.” Again the image in the fire changed, a massive dragon head arose from the flames that released a fantastic bolt of fire. The children cried out in shock while the younger ones covered their faces in fear at the terrifying sight.
“Fear not! For, Viggo ran from the cave. As he ran, Lady Drega flew out, her gargantuan wings lifted her into the air as she soared into the sky above. Racing headlong down the path, Viggo did his best to outrun the dragon, yet as we all know, it is impossible to simply outrun a dragon. Circling above him, Lady Drega released numerous bolts of fire after another, trying to incinerate her captive. Each time, he managed to evade the bolts of white-hot fire erupting from between her great fearsome teeth. Then, as he came around the corner on the mountain path, Lady Drega began to land on the narrow footpath. What she did not anticipate was that her weight alone would be too much for the mountainside.
Therein upon her landing, the path beneath Viggo’s feet became loose, and the land slid, taking it with him. In horror, Lady Drega watched as the earth carried Viggo away and off a cliff face. Worried that he would fall to his death, she launched herself from the mountainside. Yet, as she soared through the air, Lady Drega could not discern the familiar figure of Viggo anywhere. She drifted to the bottom of the landslide, and settled at the foot of it. There her mighty claws sifted through the soil underfoot. Mound after mound of soil she combed through, careful to avoid piercing him, were she to find him. What seemed like hours, Lady Drega discovered the crumpled figure of Viggo. At the sight of his limp body, she loosed a roar so loud, that the very earth around her threatened to bring down the rest of the mountain.
Away in Kalensted, the villagers had witnessed the Dragon Queen take flight from her cave, and from the safety of their homes, they watched in confusion at the unfolding sight. They had witnessed the landslide, and they had heard her fearsome roar, though they knew not why she reacted this way. From the words of a shepherd, he came to tell them that he had seen the figure of a man emerge from the dirt, and that she flew away to her cave with something clutched in her claws. Their thoughts went to Viggo, and they grew worried, that he had failed in his task to subdue the Dragon Queen through love.
However, years passed, and they had not seen the Dragon Queen in the skies above. They began to wonder what had happened to Viggo, and what happened to the dragon herself. Curious, the village elders again formed a council, and this time, they sent their best warriors up the mountain pass. Uncertain of what they would find, the warriors wore their finest armor, and sharpened their blades to a razor thin edge. And ventured so they did, going forth with great caution.
It did not take them long to find the den of Lady Drega, yet when they stepped inside, they beheld a mystifying sight! Before them, lay the familiar of their adversary, the Dragon Queen. Yet, she was not alive, no, not by any means. But rather, she was a pile of bones. As the warriors approached the skeletal remains, they could see, encircled in one might claw, were the skeletal bones of a human. When they returned to the village to inform the elders of what they had discovered, it dawned upon the elders then, that Viggo had done as he set out to do. They concluded that, Viggo was killed in the landslide. And mourning his death, Lady Drega took his body, and hid inside her den. The grief of losing a lover overwhelmed her to the point that she had no desire to feed herself. It was thus, how the fear Queen of Dragons was killed. Through the power of love.” Slowly, the images in the fire disappeared, leaving the children to gaze upon Frode.
“And that my precious children, is how the Festival of Viggo came to be. We honor him every planting season, for that is when he left our village to conquer our adversary. It would do you well to remember the lesson of this tale. Never tell a riddle that a dragon cannot answer, and be wary of the price of love.”
There has existed, for time immemorial, a figure so great and revered, that his very name bestrode the lands of men for many long centuries of history. This figure without equal and beyond compare, was a man by the name of Erubaishur. Erubaishur’s home was a small village in the plains of his kingdom. Amidst the crops, livestock, and bartering of farmers, Erubaishur learned the humble ways of his forefathers. He spent many hours tilling the earth, feeding the herds, and scourging the tools of their marks of wear and use. The earth yielded great and fertile bounty, the herds multiplied many times over, and the implements of all of this work gleamed like newly tempered silver. All of this, in Erubaishur’s hands, made his family prosperous and renowned among farmers. The glorious emperor of that nation of Erubaishur’s birth, whose name is lost to time, even personally anointed Erubaishur with a holy blessing from the gods, granted only to those with the divine touch. A favoured one of all thirty and seven of the noblest deities, Erubaishur’s blessing was such that in the span of a whole decade, Erubaishur aged not a day, and in fact grew stronger and more able with each passing day. There was however, one problem. Erubaishur’s works were perfect, and in many ways his Greatness was also a paragon of human achievement. Sadly Erubaishur’s bastard brother, born of witch’s blood and deceit, was not so splendid. The Bastard’s name is not lost, but angrily thrown back into the sea of time, as disgusting and perverse a thing as the aborted remnants of a mule’s offal. We do homage only to Blessed Erubaishur, by remembering the circumstances by which he came to his glory. The bastard was jealous of course, but could not blaspheme so openly as to try to murder Erubaishur in public. The bastard sent goat’s covered in hemlock sheaves to Erubaishur’s bed. The bastard sent cowardly men with crooked knives to Erubaishur’s bed. The bastard himself set fire to Erubaishur’s home. None of these methods felled Blessed Erubaishur. The goats and the thieves in tandem fled the home of Erubaishur, as the gods impressed on them holy wrath should they assault dear Erubaishur. The fire that the bastard started was put out with the grace of the gods when the skies yawned wide and the saliva of Holy Ikarrishti poured over the flames and doused them. Finally the bastard decided that in order to take the providence of Erubaishur as he had always planned to, after Erubaishur married the bastard’s aunt, the bastard decided to kill Erubaishur himself. When the wedding was ended, and Blessed Erubaishur and Beautiful Lerunali went to consummate the marriage, the bastard was waiting in Erubaishur’s room. As the Blessed and the Beautiful made love, the bastard watched lustily after them with intent to violence thick in his mind. When the pair had finished and gone to sleep, the bastard crept up on Erubaishur and raised his knife high to strike the Blessed one down. As he drove the knife deep into Erubaishur’s sacred breast, the bastard felt the might and wrath of the gods sweep across him. The many years of providence that Blessed Erubaishur was to bring about had been only momentarily stalled by this pathetic attempt at ending Erubaishur’s life. The bastard’s body was then rent into sixteen pieces and fed to pigs. The pigs’ offal was then burned on the altar of Holy Veruherua, Arbiter of Vengeance. The Erubaishuri Empire which arose with the son of great Erubaishur II would no longer accept blessings from the gods, for they knew that Blessed ones could only do good in the world whilst hounded by those who would tear them down. The Glory of the Thirty and Seven, and the Providence of Erubaishur preserve. My humble wealth goes back to you, Blessed Erubaishur, and the Empire serves you. -Excerpt of an Elegaic Poem discovered in modern-day Jericho, attributed to Shurbairu, Proseweaver of the Erubaishuri Gods
“And there was our hero, a shining paragon of might in this world of darkness, as his eyes stared down the infernal eyes of the great beast before him. There the darkness hungered for his very soul, the craven enemy licked its hungry jowls as the knight gazed into the pits of death. The ghostly wails of those long departed surrounding him like gadflies, whispering their truths of mortality to the champion of the kingdom. How their voices taunted him, their haunting words weighing down upon his shoulders heavily into the mind, reminding him that his journey was a perilous one that would culminate in his death. For like many who had come before him, he too would join them in their realm, this horrid afterlife where the dead rested not under the tyranny of the unholy creature that he faced. Their mutterings biting into his spirit as flies may in an attempt to sway the good knight from challenging this hellish abomination. Yet his spirit was strong, stronger than that of any man who came this far, so swearing his oath to complete the quest, the man leapt at the beast!”
The old man leapt into action, mimicking the characters of his story perhaps, as his patrons looked on. The crackling firepit of the tavern invited many a traveller to warm their bones from the brisk winter’s night. The frothy mugs and simmering pot offered a jolly lot of food and drink, and even a room for a greater sum of coins. Yet, as the bar wench made her rounds of rounds, bringing ale and stews from table to table, twas not her bust nor bosom which had the eyes of the men. Nay, for though comely as her body was and decent her countenance enchanted perhaps by a pint or two, her charms could not stand to the animated old man telling his riveting tale. No doubt a favourite, the codger, recounting the stories of his youth as oft the story teller had, it was his livelihood to which travellers ears wanted more of. So they spent their coins, buying the old man drink and food so that he may continue, and even a room for themselves to hear another one of his tales the coming night.
As one could imagine, having the old man was a lucrative business for the proprietor, and thus the word-weaver was allowed to spin his yarn, attracting ears and stomachs and coinpurses. It mattered not that the tavern was dark, the candles spent dim and the scent nearly running afoul of overburnt coals. Nor did the rickety beds, or unkempt sheets, or weak beers detract from the quality of the stories the old man pantomimed in the corner of the bar. Something of them was alive, the legends coming to life before the eyes of the audience, like magic. Of course there was no such thing in these days, magic died with the advent of science. The age of reasoning which had casted out the beliefs of gods and monsters, in favour for concrete data and observations. Yet the audience wanted to believe his words, watching as the old man sank to all fours and growled at the invisible hero as the beast he had just described.
“Brave Sir Alekson, how mighty did he look, a champion of champions of King Hughbert and renown across the land as a warrior supreme. How he vanquished the many and returned with the glorious boon from his quests for the honor of the Lady Juna. I could many recount a tale as of his gallantry, as I had many day ago here in this very place, but tonight as so many of you have asked and begged me to finish my tale, perhaps I shall indeed tell of how Sir Alekson conquered death itself!”
The cheers of the gathered crowd, some drunk, some wide-eyed and waiting, other slipping into the haze of sleep as the hour drew long. Good, if he could finish this tale, but certainly there would be more adventures to tell? Hopefully there would be, there must be, for without the stories, this bar would be emptied as soon as the illusion of quality service disappeared with the last of the old man’s words. Then the patrons would notice just how bad things were, but for the moment, they believed in a better place, a better world full of hope and dreams. Where good and heroic triumphed over the horrors of this world. Of how this promise to win over death, the enemy of all mortals instilled the human spirit with the possibility of tomorrow. And that was all which was needed to keep the immortal soul living for the next day onward. It was the magic of a good story.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes, There Sir Alekson charged the great beast, fearing not the terrible teeth it bore gnashing and snapping. His muscles coiled sprung like limber green willow, youthful as his days as a mere squire. He had no fear of those fangs, for they could not ever hope to penetrate his armor, the impenetrable coat of Sir Alekson! And though the beast tried and tried to sink those flesh-tearers in, the knight simply tackled the beast and wrestled it into submission! Oh how did they tussle in the damp earth, deep beneath our feet, perhaps in this very spot! Jaws clenching arm and hands strangling neck. A battle which was said to cause the very earth to rise and spilt, quaking and trembling the entire kingdom for three days as hero and monster faced off in their deadlock. Neither side capable of taking the leverage needed to finish off the other…”
“Excuse me, old man, how did this evil ‘creature’ of yours not kill this man? If it was indeed the powerful and scary freak of nature you claim it to be, something that large should have simply torn him apart. What sort of nonsense is this so-called impenetrable armor? Where do you get such a convenient thing?”
Just then, as the old man grasped his own arms to demonstrate the futility of it all. A young man rose from his chair. A well-dressed young man who had travelled the world and seen much, learned much from the many schools he had visited and under the many masters of the arts. He had heard of this old storyteller and sought to hear these absurd tales of fantasy for himself. Keen to disprove that which was destroyed with logic and knowledge.
“Oh, well if you had been here two nights before son, you would have heard me finish my tale of how Sir Alekson slew the mighty two-headed dragon of Lernemia! Perhaps I should recount last moments of how he did such a thing for you? For you see, the Twin-headed Dragon of Lernemia was another terror which rampaged the land, and King Hughbert sought the creature killed. The trouble was no knight could do so, for it was a powerful creature which two abilities that made it impossible to harm. The first was its scaly hide, like snakeskin, but tougher than any steel you could create. Nothing could cut past the scales, it was impenetrable by any means. And even if you could find a weapon which could penetrate through the creature’s natural armor, the last great hero who tried found that the dragon had another advantage as his blade cut off the head! See back then it only had one head, and was just the Dragon of Lernemia, but after the first knight with a relic blade tried to be the dragonslayer, from the bleeding stump two heads emerged! Thus the only way to kill the dragon was to pierce its chest and strike the heart dead. But the dragon’s heart scales were far stronger than anything and the relic sword was lost with the sudden defeat of the hero who failed. But Sir Alekson, clearly succeeded and from the scales had an armor made from him such that he would be invulnerable to anything but himself!”
Ruminating a bit, as the old man beamed, thinking he had defeated his heckler, outsmarting the upstart youth as the crowd nodded along, or at least those who had been there to hear the full tale of how Sir Alekson felled the dragon. Yet the clever scholar found another hole in the bard’s tale..
“So if the relic sword was lost, how did Sir Alekson manage to pierce a heart protected by these so-called impenetrable scales? Did he just happen to have some sort of arrow or something that was ‘enchanted’ to pierce anything? You expect us to believe that old man?”
“Why of course not, lad, don’t be preposterous. Magic arrows? For the great Sir Alekson? No he had a spear.The Spear of Sir Alekson, made from the fabled horn of the Cerymanth Unicorn. A creature so fast that no arrow could strike it, and it roamed the mountains of Cerymanth wild and free that no man could capture such a graceful thing. No man but Sir Alekson, as he caught the beast and broke off its wondrous horn said to be able to break down mountains into pebbles before letting it go forever blemished by this act that proved his greatness! From this horn he commissioned a spear to be made. A spear with which he struck down the Dragon of Lernemia, and would soon do the very same to the Guardian beast of the realm of the dead! Had you been here five days ago, you would know this. Now let me finish my tale young man, interrupt me no further for the night is not so young like you and my voice and I grow weary…”
A warning delivered, much to the chargin of the crowd who hoped to hear not the summaries of these old stories already spoken. But some parts of the crowd began to wonder, perhaps some of the words exchanged had taken seed into fertile fields, bringing doubts to the mind. Maybe they hoped for the youth to overturn the wise elder, a challenge which in itself was as entertaining as the tales they came to hear.
“But if the Unicorn was so fast and that not even an arrow could strike it, how did Sir Alekson catch such a quick beast? Let me guess, he had magic shoes which let him fly? Come on old man your stories are full of it.”
“Oh settle down, this is a simple answer, he had the Steed of Augedes. A Steed which swifter than lightning, and hooves resounded like thunder! Gifted to him by King Hughbert himself. After of course taming the stallion and cleaning its forlorn stable. Ever since Sir Augedes died, in a perilous quest for the chalice of eternity, the horse was unruly, it returned on its own to its stables. Without a master, the once glorious battle horse grew irritated, chomping the the stable hands sent to tend to it and its quarters. Until finally it grew feral and King Hughbert decreed that only the greatest knight of his court could try to tame such a magnificent steed. And our lowly Squire Alekson won the favour of the king you see, becoming a knight and claiming his place as the King’s champion Sir Alekson. And before you ask how he became knighted, I shall tell you.
For you see lad, had you been here the last week when I told of how Squire Alekson became Sir Alekson you’d know these things. But for the sake of your curiosity, I’ll save you your questioning, and say Squire Alekson slew the giant known as Creton. He stole back from the monster the cattle and bulls of the kingdom’s farmers which it demanded as blood tribute each year. A task worthy of knighthood to defeat a giant as a man, not with a sling or arrow or sword or staff, but with his bare hands. Just as Sir Alekson wrestled with Death in my current story, he too grappled with a powerful adversary, ten times his size who could crush you without an effort! Stomping on you as I would the ground right now! But Squire Alekson succeeded, and returned with the not only the bovines as he road a bull back to King Hughbert, but also with Creton’s head that he snapped and tore off to have the giant’s skull displayed as a trophy of his new found might.”
“And how did a mere man beat a brute many times his size over with his bare hands? Was it magic old man? Some sort of potion which made him impossibly strong?”
By now the crowd was held by the edge, the drinks flowed like words from the bard’s lips. Hungry for more between the exchange of the old and new ages. The parallels drawn and complete as the doubter swayed many to rethink the fantasies they had invested so much in. Their hero Sir Alekson once embodied by the old bones, now attacked by a new enemy.
“Of course. But it was not a potion you see. For Sir Alekson was a handsome youth, far more handsome than one such as yourself. Believe me, for he had caught the eye of a particular woman who favoured him dearly. For in his time amongst the castle grounds, Squire Alekson trained with and tended to his superior knights, dreaming one day to be like them. And his admirer saw him from her garden, and amongst the chirping of the birds and the colours of the flowers, she watched him grow. She had always loved him, and yet he was not of a noble birth, and it was improper for girl of her status to marry him unless he was a knight. So her tender heart followed after his wanton steps. The young lady Juna, who fell in love with squire Alekson.
It a tale of love and romance, of how they courted shyly with each other until one summer day, she promised him her heart as they lay together in her garden. Like paired birds they long to fly away, but she could not leave her home, and he would not leave his dream. So together they swore their lives to be together, no matter what may happen. So she gave him a ring her ancestors wore, a ring of power which symbolized the strength of their love. So that he may succeed in all his ordeals and labours to bring them both together as one couple. And as a knight he could thread upon the ground she walked, and they would soar like the birds as they sang to the world of their love at last.
And this, this story of love is something you, you of cold and unyielding heart could never understand. For your logic is born from the mind, and not the soulful heart. The heart which yearns for your lover’s to beat once more. To escape the darkness of death and return to life. For why was it that Sir Alekson sought the sacred apples of eternal life? Why did he venture into this dreary gloom to tear apart the jaws of death to pluck the shimmering fruit from the tree of life everlasting? For love! For love he beheaded the giant. For love he tamed the stallion, for love he chased the fable, and for love he slew the dragon! Lady Juna had fallen ill, and only the apples of eternal life could restore her from such pallor state. The King had promised her hand should anyone be able to save her from her dire malady. Sir Alekson did it all for love! For her! Do you understand? The magic is Love and it will never ever die! Even now there in the blackest pits of the world below, fighting with the bloodless beast called death, brave Sir Alekson reached for his blessed spear and thr-”
And there was silence. Neither young nor old spoke any longer. The young man sitting back down as the elder bard grew into a crescendo of passion, the old man’s form peeling away layer by layer of time as his white hairs turned golden, his whiskers shaved, and his wrinkles ironed. His thin body rebuffed, his splendor returned, the spark of brilliance alive in those eyes again. Widen and exhilarated, his heart thumping loud and strong as his back straightened and no longer was there an old man but a proud and gallant knight before the audience. Cheers and applause, rallied by the sheer bravado which swept the spirits of the crowd high to stand with their Sir Alekson.
But alas, Sir Alekson fell. The body slumping to the side as legs crumbled. The collapse sudden and unforeseen. The silence broken by a thud upon the floor and the gasps of the shocked. The bard had died, his old heart could not take the excitement perhaps, as he shined once more gloriously in his role as the gallant knight in the story he told.
And perhaps most horribly tragic of all, there with the still warm body of the silver-tongued story teller, the legendary Sir Alekson died. The tale of a man who held the greatest title in the land, the fastest steed, the mightiest weapon and the untouchable armor, and the truest love… With the last moments unfinished, and no one to tell the tale, and no one left to listen…
Sir Alekson died with his author.
The old man leapt into action, mimicking the characters of his story perhaps, as his patrons looked on. The crackling firepit of the tavern invited many a traveller to warm their bones from the brisk winter’s night. The frothy mugs and simmering pot offered a jolly lot of food and drink, and even a room for a greater sum of coins. Yet, as the bar wench made her rounds of rounds, bringing ale and stews from table to table, twas not her bust nor bosom which had the eyes of the men. Nay, for though comely as her body was and decent her countenance enchanted perhaps by a pint or two, her charms could not stand to the animated old man telling his riveting tale. No doubt a favourite, the codger, recounting the stories of his youth as oft the story teller had, it was his livelihood to which travellers ears wanted more of. So they spent their coins, buying the old man drink and food so that he may continue, and even a room for themselves to hear another one of his tales the coming night.
As one could imagine, having the old man was a lucrative business for the proprietor, and thus the word-weaver was allowed to spin his yarn, attracting ears and stomachs and coinpurses. It mattered not that the tavern was dark, the candles spent dim and the scent nearly running afoul of overburnt coals. Nor did the rickety beds, or unkempt sheets, or weak beers detract from the quality of the stories the old man pantomimed in the corner of the bar. Something of them was alive, the legends coming to life before the eyes of the audience, like magic. Of course there was no such thing in these days, magic died with the advent of science. The age of reasoning which had casted out the beliefs of gods and monsters, in favour for concrete data and observations. Yet the audience wanted to believe his words, watching as the old man sank to all fours and growled at the invisible hero as the beast he had just described.
“Brave Sir Alekson, how mighty did he look, a champion of champions of King Hughbert and renown across the land as a warrior supreme. How he vanquished the many and returned with the glorious boon from his quests for the honor of the Lady Juna. I could many recount a tale as of his gallantry, as I had many day ago here in this very place, but tonight as so many of you have asked and begged me to finish my tale, perhaps I shall indeed tell of how Sir Alekson conquered death itself!”
The cheers of the gathered crowd, some drunk, some wide-eyed and waiting, other slipping into the haze of sleep as the hour drew long. Good, if he could finish this tale, but certainly there would be more adventures to tell? Hopefully there would be, there must be, for without the stories, this bar would be emptied as soon as the illusion of quality service disappeared with the last of the old man’s words. Then the patrons would notice just how bad things were, but for the moment, they believed in a better place, a better world full of hope and dreams. Where good and heroic triumphed over the horrors of this world. Of how this promise to win over death, the enemy of all mortals instilled the human spirit with the possibility of tomorrow. And that was all which was needed to keep the immortal soul living for the next day onward. It was the magic of a good story.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes, There Sir Alekson charged the great beast, fearing not the terrible teeth it bore gnashing and snapping. His muscles coiled sprung like limber green willow, youthful as his days as a mere squire. He had no fear of those fangs, for they could not ever hope to penetrate his armor, the impenetrable coat of Sir Alekson! And though the beast tried and tried to sink those flesh-tearers in, the knight simply tackled the beast and wrestled it into submission! Oh how did they tussle in the damp earth, deep beneath our feet, perhaps in this very spot! Jaws clenching arm and hands strangling neck. A battle which was said to cause the very earth to rise and spilt, quaking and trembling the entire kingdom for three days as hero and monster faced off in their deadlock. Neither side capable of taking the leverage needed to finish off the other…”
“Excuse me, old man, how did this evil ‘creature’ of yours not kill this man? If it was indeed the powerful and scary freak of nature you claim it to be, something that large should have simply torn him apart. What sort of nonsense is this so-called impenetrable armor? Where do you get such a convenient thing?”
Just then, as the old man grasped his own arms to demonstrate the futility of it all. A young man rose from his chair. A well-dressed young man who had travelled the world and seen much, learned much from the many schools he had visited and under the many masters of the arts. He had heard of this old storyteller and sought to hear these absurd tales of fantasy for himself. Keen to disprove that which was destroyed with logic and knowledge.
“Oh, well if you had been here two nights before son, you would have heard me finish my tale of how Sir Alekson slew the mighty two-headed dragon of Lernemia! Perhaps I should recount last moments of how he did such a thing for you? For you see, the Twin-headed Dragon of Lernemia was another terror which rampaged the land, and King Hughbert sought the creature killed. The trouble was no knight could do so, for it was a powerful creature which two abilities that made it impossible to harm. The first was its scaly hide, like snakeskin, but tougher than any steel you could create. Nothing could cut past the scales, it was impenetrable by any means. And even if you could find a weapon which could penetrate through the creature’s natural armor, the last great hero who tried found that the dragon had another advantage as his blade cut off the head! See back then it only had one head, and was just the Dragon of Lernemia, but after the first knight with a relic blade tried to be the dragonslayer, from the bleeding stump two heads emerged! Thus the only way to kill the dragon was to pierce its chest and strike the heart dead. But the dragon’s heart scales were far stronger than anything and the relic sword was lost with the sudden defeat of the hero who failed. But Sir Alekson, clearly succeeded and from the scales had an armor made from him such that he would be invulnerable to anything but himself!”
Ruminating a bit, as the old man beamed, thinking he had defeated his heckler, outsmarting the upstart youth as the crowd nodded along, or at least those who had been there to hear the full tale of how Sir Alekson felled the dragon. Yet the clever scholar found another hole in the bard’s tale..
“So if the relic sword was lost, how did Sir Alekson manage to pierce a heart protected by these so-called impenetrable scales? Did he just happen to have some sort of arrow or something that was ‘enchanted’ to pierce anything? You expect us to believe that old man?”
“Why of course not, lad, don’t be preposterous. Magic arrows? For the great Sir Alekson? No he had a spear.The Spear of Sir Alekson, made from the fabled horn of the Cerymanth Unicorn. A creature so fast that no arrow could strike it, and it roamed the mountains of Cerymanth wild and free that no man could capture such a graceful thing. No man but Sir Alekson, as he caught the beast and broke off its wondrous horn said to be able to break down mountains into pebbles before letting it go forever blemished by this act that proved his greatness! From this horn he commissioned a spear to be made. A spear with which he struck down the Dragon of Lernemia, and would soon do the very same to the Guardian beast of the realm of the dead! Had you been here five days ago, you would know this. Now let me finish my tale young man, interrupt me no further for the night is not so young like you and my voice and I grow weary…”
A warning delivered, much to the chargin of the crowd who hoped to hear not the summaries of these old stories already spoken. But some parts of the crowd began to wonder, perhaps some of the words exchanged had taken seed into fertile fields, bringing doubts to the mind. Maybe they hoped for the youth to overturn the wise elder, a challenge which in itself was as entertaining as the tales they came to hear.
“But if the Unicorn was so fast and that not even an arrow could strike it, how did Sir Alekson catch such a quick beast? Let me guess, he had magic shoes which let him fly? Come on old man your stories are full of it.”
“Oh settle down, this is a simple answer, he had the Steed of Augedes. A Steed which swifter than lightning, and hooves resounded like thunder! Gifted to him by King Hughbert himself. After of course taming the stallion and cleaning its forlorn stable. Ever since Sir Augedes died, in a perilous quest for the chalice of eternity, the horse was unruly, it returned on its own to its stables. Without a master, the once glorious battle horse grew irritated, chomping the the stable hands sent to tend to it and its quarters. Until finally it grew feral and King Hughbert decreed that only the greatest knight of his court could try to tame such a magnificent steed. And our lowly Squire Alekson won the favour of the king you see, becoming a knight and claiming his place as the King’s champion Sir Alekson. And before you ask how he became knighted, I shall tell you.
For you see lad, had you been here the last week when I told of how Squire Alekson became Sir Alekson you’d know these things. But for the sake of your curiosity, I’ll save you your questioning, and say Squire Alekson slew the giant known as Creton. He stole back from the monster the cattle and bulls of the kingdom’s farmers which it demanded as blood tribute each year. A task worthy of knighthood to defeat a giant as a man, not with a sling or arrow or sword or staff, but with his bare hands. Just as Sir Alekson wrestled with Death in my current story, he too grappled with a powerful adversary, ten times his size who could crush you without an effort! Stomping on you as I would the ground right now! But Squire Alekson succeeded, and returned with the not only the bovines as he road a bull back to King Hughbert, but also with Creton’s head that he snapped and tore off to have the giant’s skull displayed as a trophy of his new found might.”
“And how did a mere man beat a brute many times his size over with his bare hands? Was it magic old man? Some sort of potion which made him impossibly strong?”
By now the crowd was held by the edge, the drinks flowed like words from the bard’s lips. Hungry for more between the exchange of the old and new ages. The parallels drawn and complete as the doubter swayed many to rethink the fantasies they had invested so much in. Their hero Sir Alekson once embodied by the old bones, now attacked by a new enemy.
“Of course. But it was not a potion you see. For Sir Alekson was a handsome youth, far more handsome than one such as yourself. Believe me, for he had caught the eye of a particular woman who favoured him dearly. For in his time amongst the castle grounds, Squire Alekson trained with and tended to his superior knights, dreaming one day to be like them. And his admirer saw him from her garden, and amongst the chirping of the birds and the colours of the flowers, she watched him grow. She had always loved him, and yet he was not of a noble birth, and it was improper for girl of her status to marry him unless he was a knight. So her tender heart followed after his wanton steps. The young lady Juna, who fell in love with squire Alekson.
It a tale of love and romance, of how they courted shyly with each other until one summer day, she promised him her heart as they lay together in her garden. Like paired birds they long to fly away, but she could not leave her home, and he would not leave his dream. So together they swore their lives to be together, no matter what may happen. So she gave him a ring her ancestors wore, a ring of power which symbolized the strength of their love. So that he may succeed in all his ordeals and labours to bring them both together as one couple. And as a knight he could thread upon the ground she walked, and they would soar like the birds as they sang to the world of their love at last.
And this, this story of love is something you, you of cold and unyielding heart could never understand. For your logic is born from the mind, and not the soulful heart. The heart which yearns for your lover’s to beat once more. To escape the darkness of death and return to life. For why was it that Sir Alekson sought the sacred apples of eternal life? Why did he venture into this dreary gloom to tear apart the jaws of death to pluck the shimmering fruit from the tree of life everlasting? For love! For love he beheaded the giant. For love he tamed the stallion, for love he chased the fable, and for love he slew the dragon! Lady Juna had fallen ill, and only the apples of eternal life could restore her from such pallor state. The King had promised her hand should anyone be able to save her from her dire malady. Sir Alekson did it all for love! For her! Do you understand? The magic is Love and it will never ever die! Even now there in the blackest pits of the world below, fighting with the bloodless beast called death, brave Sir Alekson reached for his blessed spear and thr-”
And there was silence. Neither young nor old spoke any longer. The young man sitting back down as the elder bard grew into a crescendo of passion, the old man’s form peeling away layer by layer of time as his white hairs turned golden, his whiskers shaved, and his wrinkles ironed. His thin body rebuffed, his splendor returned, the spark of brilliance alive in those eyes again. Widen and exhilarated, his heart thumping loud and strong as his back straightened and no longer was there an old man but a proud and gallant knight before the audience. Cheers and applause, rallied by the sheer bravado which swept the spirits of the crowd high to stand with their Sir Alekson.
But alas, Sir Alekson fell. The body slumping to the side as legs crumbled. The collapse sudden and unforeseen. The silence broken by a thud upon the floor and the gasps of the shocked. The bard had died, his old heart could not take the excitement perhaps, as he shined once more gloriously in his role as the gallant knight in the story he told.
And perhaps most horribly tragic of all, there with the still warm body of the silver-tongued story teller, the legendary Sir Alekson died. The tale of a man who held the greatest title in the land, the fastest steed, the mightiest weapon and the untouchable armor, and the truest love… With the last moments unfinished, and no one to tell the tale, and no one left to listen…
Sir Alekson died with his author.
There was a babe, once, like any other. A babe that cried, and laughed, and slept, yet destined for greatness. The prophets foretold her fate, its legacy, and consequence. At that time, the prophets were as interchangeable as the leaves on the trees; if ever one fell, another would grow in the coming season. All spoke with the single voice, the irrefutable truth, of Fate.
Across the world, they sang of her glory. Their voice rose in a unanimous tribute, to the woman who would conquer the world. She would free the people from the tyranny of the ruthless king of men, and she would unite them in an immortal peace. She could not be touched or hurt by anything, protected by the words dictated by Fate.
When she was identified, she began her quest. She gathered her armies from the slums, from the whorehouses, the sick beds. She chose the condemned and damned to fill the ranks, their visage more terrifying than even the most well trained soldier. They marched on cities that had already surrendered. Soon, civilians joined, and warriors. They came from the streets and the palaces alike, marching behind this woman, destined to rule the world.
Her army became plural, a massive and almost religious following. Her words inspired, as she repeated those told so often, originally from the mouths of those channeling Fate. Her appearance was confident, dominant, the sort that would terrify a god himself. She lived up to the glory assigned to her, as Fate dictated she must.
She walked through fields of battles, and rarely was she ever defied passage. In those rare instances, she would not be touched. No, the men and women who supported her would lay down their bodies and lives, to protect her, rather than let her be harmed. No one could lay a hand on this woman, this woman who held such a destiny.
Finally, it came time to test Fate, to see the end of her path, the final battle. She faced the king.
He stood across from her, complete in his defiance of her right, granted by Fate itself. He wore a grin, one stronger and more protective than any armor she had ever seen. Proud, he faced her staff without fear, only with words.
He offered her a choice.
“You may strike me down, and claim your rightful Fate. You may spend your days in servitude of an ungrateful people, never able to satisfy all. You may never know thanks, until after your death, and that will not come for decades. You may fulfill Fate’s command. You may follow the path set before you, or, you may not.
“I give you the chance to deny Fate.”
She had never heard such words, and stepped forward.
“You may choose your life, for once, over this people. You may choose to set down your staff, and walk away, to begin a life of your choosing, rather than something chosen for you. Why should you let another, even something so inevitable as Fate, dictate your journey through life? Before today, you have not truly lived, you’ve merely followed.
“I give you the chance to live.”
She stepped forward once more, raising her staff, to strike the king of men down.
“I give you the chance to be free.”
She stopped in her tracks, and lowered the staff to the ground. After a moment of hesitation, she turned away from destiny, and began to retreat to a real life of her own choices. A figure stopped her egress. Nameless and faceless, they were a prophet, a voice of Fate.
“You are destined to free the world, to better the lives of every being to come from now until the end of time. Your name is to be remembered. Your life will be praised endlessly. You will be immortal as Fate itself! Do not deny your life and the lives to come that which is meant to be!”
The woman, for the first time since she was a babe, laughed.
“You are confusing freedom with ignorance. What world is free that is dictated by Fate? Men may rule with tyranny and hate, but Fate is the monster which condemns us to follow blindly. I would rather see a world truly free and thrust into the throes of Hell, than a world entirely ignorant, believing this place to be Heaven.”
With those final words, she continued to walk. With those final words, she defied Fate. Defied and denied, the inevitable truth of Fate itself died that day. And from its ashes, free will arose.
There is no longer any grand design. There is no longer any purpose to life.
And we are truly free.
Across the world, they sang of her glory. Their voice rose in a unanimous tribute, to the woman who would conquer the world. She would free the people from the tyranny of the ruthless king of men, and she would unite them in an immortal peace. She could not be touched or hurt by anything, protected by the words dictated by Fate.
When she was identified, she began her quest. She gathered her armies from the slums, from the whorehouses, the sick beds. She chose the condemned and damned to fill the ranks, their visage more terrifying than even the most well trained soldier. They marched on cities that had already surrendered. Soon, civilians joined, and warriors. They came from the streets and the palaces alike, marching behind this woman, destined to rule the world.
Her army became plural, a massive and almost religious following. Her words inspired, as she repeated those told so often, originally from the mouths of those channeling Fate. Her appearance was confident, dominant, the sort that would terrify a god himself. She lived up to the glory assigned to her, as Fate dictated she must.
She walked through fields of battles, and rarely was she ever defied passage. In those rare instances, she would not be touched. No, the men and women who supported her would lay down their bodies and lives, to protect her, rather than let her be harmed. No one could lay a hand on this woman, this woman who held such a destiny.
Finally, it came time to test Fate, to see the end of her path, the final battle. She faced the king.
He stood across from her, complete in his defiance of her right, granted by Fate itself. He wore a grin, one stronger and more protective than any armor she had ever seen. Proud, he faced her staff without fear, only with words.
He offered her a choice.
“You may strike me down, and claim your rightful Fate. You may spend your days in servitude of an ungrateful people, never able to satisfy all. You may never know thanks, until after your death, and that will not come for decades. You may fulfill Fate’s command. You may follow the path set before you, or, you may not.
“I give you the chance to deny Fate.”
She had never heard such words, and stepped forward.
“You may choose your life, for once, over this people. You may choose to set down your staff, and walk away, to begin a life of your choosing, rather than something chosen for you. Why should you let another, even something so inevitable as Fate, dictate your journey through life? Before today, you have not truly lived, you’ve merely followed.
“I give you the chance to live.”
She stepped forward once more, raising her staff, to strike the king of men down.
“I give you the chance to be free.”
She stopped in her tracks, and lowered the staff to the ground. After a moment of hesitation, she turned away from destiny, and began to retreat to a real life of her own choices. A figure stopped her egress. Nameless and faceless, they were a prophet, a voice of Fate.
“You are destined to free the world, to better the lives of every being to come from now until the end of time. Your name is to be remembered. Your life will be praised endlessly. You will be immortal as Fate itself! Do not deny your life and the lives to come that which is meant to be!”
The woman, for the first time since she was a babe, laughed.
“You are confusing freedom with ignorance. What world is free that is dictated by Fate? Men may rule with tyranny and hate, but Fate is the monster which condemns us to follow blindly. I would rather see a world truly free and thrust into the throes of Hell, than a world entirely ignorant, believing this place to be Heaven.”
With those final words, she continued to walk. With those final words, she defied Fate. Defied and denied, the inevitable truth of Fate itself died that day. And from its ashes, free will arose.
There is no longer any grand design. There is no longer any purpose to life.
And we are truly free.
By @WiseDragonGirl.
There once was a man whose skin was made of stone. He stood high above the common man, measuring up to ten feet, or more. No blade could make a scratch, no arrow could pierce his skin, no hammer left a mark and no weapon caused him pain. His mighty hands could crush a skull as if it were a mere egg. And when he hit the ground with them, the earth trembled and shook. He once hit the ground so hard that the earthquake that followed destroyed half of the king’s town.
He defended his country in glamorous battles, he sought out and fought the strongest of opponents and he defeated armies by himself. The stone man had no fear, he knew no enemy would be able to take him down. He was always victorious, the man that would defeat him did not exist.
And when there was no battle, no chance to proof his strength, he travelled. He travelled alone, for he had a quest. A quest to find another like him.
One day his travel brought him to a cove and he stood there to admire the view. Unbeknown to him a dangerous creature lurked in the water. A creature of misleading beauty and grace, with the upper body of a woman and a tail like that of a fish, but with scales in a colour that can be found in a rainbow. Fishermen call it a mermaid and warn each other about them, for they prey on men and lure them into the water, but the stone man had never heard such tales. The mermaid swam around, the light reflecting on the scales of her tail shimmered on the surface of the water, and he watched it in amazement.
When her head surfaced he did not run or cover his ears. Enthralled by her beauty he stepped forward until he reached the waterline, where he watched her swim and smile lovingly to him. Then she sang her song, her beautiful song that had lead many men to their watery grave. Unable to resist the stone man walked into the water, to the white, slender arms that reached out to him. He followed the mermaid into the sea, deeper and deeper he went until his head disappeared under the water.
No-one ever saw him again.
There once was a man whose skin was made of stone. He stood high above the common man, measuring up to ten feet, or more. No blade could make a scratch, no arrow could pierce his skin, no hammer left a mark and no weapon caused him pain. His mighty hands could crush a skull as if it were a mere egg. And when he hit the ground with them, the earth trembled and shook. He once hit the ground so hard that the earthquake that followed destroyed half of the king’s town.
He defended his country in glamorous battles, he sought out and fought the strongest of opponents and he defeated armies by himself. The stone man had no fear, he knew no enemy would be able to take him down. He was always victorious, the man that would defeat him did not exist.
And when there was no battle, no chance to proof his strength, he travelled. He travelled alone, for he had a quest. A quest to find another like him.
One day his travel brought him to a cove and he stood there to admire the view. Unbeknown to him a dangerous creature lurked in the water. A creature of misleading beauty and grace, with the upper body of a woman and a tail like that of a fish, but with scales in a colour that can be found in a rainbow. Fishermen call it a mermaid and warn each other about them, for they prey on men and lure them into the water, but the stone man had never heard such tales. The mermaid swam around, the light reflecting on the scales of her tail shimmered on the surface of the water, and he watched it in amazement.
When her head surfaced he did not run or cover his ears. Enthralled by her beauty he stepped forward until he reached the waterline, where he watched her swim and smile lovingly to him. Then she sang her song, her beautiful song that had lead many men to their watery grave. Unable to resist the stone man walked into the water, to the white, slender arms that reached out to him. He followed the mermaid into the sea, deeper and deeper he went until his head disappeared under the water.
No-one ever saw him again.
By @PlatinumSkink.
A night below the stars, illuminated by the white moon. Around stood trees without leaves, the ground colored orange, red or dead by their tint. A single girl with black hair, white skin and a red tattered dress stood alone among the trees. She looked with her brown eyes into the distance, where the people were sewing their seeds in the fields by their hastily built wooden buildings, and she saw that her task had been completed.
Knowing there was but one final step left on her journey, she wandered into the forest. There, underneath a majestic spruce with its green needles sprouting in an area of otherwise leafless trees like a great green cloud, lay a girl in white. White long hair spread over the ground, her frail body clothed in lightly blue sheet of unnatural cloth. Her skin was as white as her hair, and her body perfectly preserved. The girl in black and red sighed, knowing what came next.
“It is time,” Autumn said. “It is your turn, now.”
And with that, the girl woke up. She instantly drew a deep intake of air. Her blue eyes opened wide in surprise, staring aimlessly into the starry night sky. The first thing that struck her was how beautiful it was, and the moon sat in the sky watching over her from above. She looked around her. There was a dreary forest of trees without leaves. The only green was in the spruce she had woke up under. The girl was alone, except for with the colors of the leaves under the trees. They felt oddly comforting to her. It felt she could relax and go back to sleep right here.
Yet, she knew she had things to do. The girl stood up with determination, taking a moment to dust off nature's touch from her cloth that she wore like a dress, before she lifted her hands into the air. A calm but cold wind blew through the forest as she willed it. Along with the sound of trees brushed by the moving air came small white specks drifting down as if it was raining stars. The snow collected, a little at a time, as the temperature dropped around her. Soon enough, the forest floor and the trees around were covered in a thin sheet of white snow. The girl smiled, knowing she was doing her job. For she was Winter.
Winter followed her instincts, a set of instructions imbued upon her mind which she followed tirelessly. She brought cold which killed the hostile insects that had been plaguing the land, she lay her blanket of white upon everything in her reach. Birds flew south, she saw the humans huddling in their homes by fires, working to take advantage of the area around them to survive the cold. This wasn’t the natural environment for such creatures, and they were struggling. Seeing their troubles, Winter wondered what she was doing. Her instincts told her to do this, but for what reason?
That's when she was distracted by the sounds of children playing and laughing in the snow. It was a sound she had never heard before, that of laughter. Curious, the girl sought her way to them, to listen to their tales. There, a young boy with black hair, dressed in a thick brown fur coat approached her, his brown eyes looking curious about the girl with white hair wearing so little.
“Aren't you cold?” the boy asked.
“Why are you so happy?” the baffled Winter asked, looking at the playing children. The need to respond to his question when the answer was so obvious did not even occur to her. “It is cold, everything is dead, and you have to work so hard to stay warm and alive. How can you laugh?” she continued. The boy looked at her in surprise, but then smiled and responded.
“Because, it is fun!” he replied. “Before the snow came, beasts big and small threatened us and mother would not let us play outside. But with the cold, the beasts have retreated and we can play! We're safe in the winter! The snow makes everything so bright, and we can do so much with it! Even if it is cold, it is so cozy when we huddle together around the fire at night, as a family! This is the best time I've had in my life!” he announced. Winter was stunned at his words, but considered them deeply. Not letting her stand around, the boy invited her to play. They built a snowman, they sled down hills together and fought in snowball fights with their friends. Winter regained her smile, for she experienced fun.
Winter found her personal purpose. She didn't have to do this all just because her instincts told her so. She was protecting the humans, and letting the children play in the snow! She saw it in their eyes as she peeked at them from a distance through their windows. The families were happy, comfortable and warm inside their houses. The trees in their white winter wonderland stood merely as background and firewood, and Winter found her happiness. Day and day again, she'd come play with the boy, and the humans accepted her for whom she appeared to be. Winter continued to make things white.
So it continued, for months upon end. Winter enjoyed herself, obeying her instincts, making everything white and shiny, and the children happy. That was her purpose in life. She smiled everyday playing with the boy and the children of the humans, and watched on as they hunted for survival and tended their crops in the midst of winter. The human species mystified her so much. Yet, she loved them all. She never wanted to leave them. She never wanted it to end.
Then one day, Winter felt something odd in her instincts. They were telling her to let the snow melt, to let the temperature rise and the season come to pass. But, this defied her purpose. She was to keep the families safe, to allow the children to play in her white snow and let the happiness remain. So, she didn't. For the first time ever, Winter defied her instincts and did what she wanted. She kept the air cold, she kept the snow as it were, and all would continue as it had.
At first, it worked! They were having as much fun as they had before, and Winter could ride in the sled with the boy as much as she wanted. This truly was life! One day, when she and the boy sat in their sled at the top of a hill, he spoke to her.
“I've been wondering, who are you?” he asked.
“I am Winter,” she replied automatically.
“So you've said before, but, what are you really?” the boy asked with more specification. It took Winter a little by surprise, but she saw no reason to conceal the truth.
“I'm a Spirit of the Earth, the Causer of Cold and Spreader of Snow. I am Winter, and I keep you safe.” So she said. For to her, that was the truth. Everything felt so right, except for that nagging feeling of discomfort at defying her instincts.
“You really are,” the boy commented, and then he looked a bit sad. Winter became worried and was about to ask why, but then he told her. “Mother has told us we cannot play with you anymore.”
“What!?” Winter yelled and rose to her feet. “Why!?”
“Because if we don't, you might never end,” the boy answered honestly, looking up to her.
Winter's eyes flared out in anger at the boy at this statement, and she turned around and blew away, powerful cold winds catching her body and flinging her off where she wanted to go. The boy yelled after her to stop, for he had more to say and didn't mean her any ill, but she wasn't giving him the chance. He couldn't possibly catch a spirit flying away from him at full power. Serves him right for angering her, Winter thought. That night, a very fearsome and chilling snowstorm hit the town, as the vengeful Winter vented her anger at those who did not feel thankful for her protection.
Everything felt wrong. In the days that followed, she saw it. The humans were running out of the supplies that they had stored for her arrival. Plants were dying, food was hard to get, and as the children grew hungrier so too did their smiles disappear. Never again did they play with her, for their mother's kept them inside to prevent contact with her. But, this couldn't be. It couldn't be her purpose to simply wane away. Her instincts still told her to end the season... but she did not want to. She kept the temperature cold, and she kept the snow falling. This couldn't be it.
The Sun, sensing that Winter was defying her place in the balance of nature, launched an attack at her snow-covered lands. The girl who had simply been roaming her lands gasped out in surprise as powerful warm rays shot down through the trees, melting her snow. Once again, her anger flared up, and she counter-attacked with snow clouds. For the days that followed, the Sun and Winter were locked in battle, and one day the ground would be peeking out and then the next everything was covered in snow. On the day the Sun would melt the snow, but come night Winter would once again spread her white influence across the land.
As using her powers for a purpose it wasn't meant for was very taxing on her, Winter felt stressed. As the time of her season came and went, so too did her power grow weaker and she couldn't win her battle against the Sun, her snow melting all over the land. But, she refused to be defeated. As a spirit, the Sun could not actually kill her. So as she could no longer snow over the land under the Sun's supervision, she instead froze the ground and trees. The ground grew hard and cold, the trees died and little could survive in her land. That would do for now, Winter thought, her objection would be heard.
That's when he appeared. The boy she had befriended approached her where she sat on her knees beneath her spruce, which it too had been completely frozen over by now. At first she believed he had arrived to apologize, which she accepted happily at the thought of comfort. However, with alarm she realized that it was not him at all. It was a greater, much more powerful being taking his form. Winter stood, readying her powers for battle, yet the being held up a hand of peace to her.
“Who are you!?” Winter demanded, her patience having worn thin.
“Earth,” he declared in a straight voice much too deep for the boy. “I am your father.”
Winter recoiled, eyes wide, but realized with a start that her father had come to berate her for her wrongdoings. With that, her will to fight vanished and she regretfully relaxed in defeat. Father looked at her grimly, and then waved in a direction.
“Let us take a walk,” he said to her. Winter complied, and they walked.
They walked through the frost-bitten forest that Winter had created. As they walked, Earth told her a story. Once long ago, he, the Moon and the Sun were the only beings in existence anywhere close. There were the Stars in the Skies, but they were too far away for any of them to interact with. So, they decided to create life. The Sun would support their growth with warmth and limitless energy. The Moon would turn the skies, guiding the Earth around the Sun and rotate him so to sort the Sun’s energy in a way hospitable for life, creating night and day. The Earth would produce the air, minerals and also offer his own body for them to live on.
For a while, this was enough. They experimented, and managed to produce life. Their finest creations were humans, who were intelligent and could adapt to their environments. However, the things around the humans were not developing as intended. Disease-filled bugs and great beasts wandered the lands, crops and vegetation was not growing as intended in the constantly similar nature, and only a thin band of the planet was inhabitable as the ends were frozen and the middle too hot. A solution was needed.
And so, Earth created the Spirits of the Seasons, each to govern a fourth of the passage of the Earth around the Sun, each blessed with powers from the Moon. To ensure life would never stagnate, they would ensure that life would follow a flow, from warmth to cold, from birth to death. Winter blinked a bit in realization, looking to her father as he started explaining her duty.
Winter's purpose was always to protect. By bringing cold for a fourth of the year, she could expel the creation of the smallest and most dangerous of life-forms. The snow she spread over the land kept the seeds in the ground below warm for the season, and when it then melted the ground would be well nurtured with the water she gave it. Without her, the ground would die and humans would not be able to live on crops as they now did. By spreading the time into a cold time and a warm time, more of the Earth was available for life to live on, as no area would stagnate.
“However…” Father Earth said, before stopping by a tree. Winter wondered briefly why they had stopped, before she looked down at the base of a tree and gasped.
A blonde young girl lay there, in a short green tattered dress, her eyes closed and her white skin was frozen whiter than it should be, her naked legs and arms lying on the frozen ground around her. Winter knew instinctively who this was. It was her sister, Spring, who would not wake until Winter accepted that her mission was complete. … And she looked like she was freezing to death, lying there lifelessly, her limbs frostbit and powerless. Winter staring down in terror at her.
“... Your efforts are for naught if you do not let Spring capitalize on your work. For Spring will take the seeds which Autumn planted, which you protected, and let them grow into new life across the land. With that, life will return, and life can continue living. Summer will then watch over life and keep it warm and alive until it is time once again for Autumn to prepare it for the next Winter. For that to happen, for life not to end right here… you need to end,” Father explained.
Winter recoiled, feeling tears come down her cheeks on her own, looking down on Spring's frozen body.
“Only you can call your mission successful,” he continued, turning away from the scene and looking back through the forest. “You can choose to keep on living. However, know that if you keep on what you're doing, then life will die. It is your call.”
So he said, before wandering back into the woods. Winter was left staring down at Spring, horror and hesitance equal inside her. But, she finally realized her true purpose, first after being told it. Her instincts were simply meant to guide her for that purpose, but she had been misled by the more immediate benefits. She had never been meant to last forever, despite her means to do so. Winter remained there for many hours, coming to terms with her situation. As the hours went by, she slowly grew calmer, slowly grew more sure of what she had to do.
With a heavy heart, she breathed out, and then leaned down over Spring. She smiled a sad little smile, running a hand through the spirit's blonde hair while looking down into her still expression, before finally saying her final words.
“C'mon, Spring,” she said. “You're late. Everyone's waiting for you.”
And so, Winter completed her mission and faded from this world, finally at peace with herself.
As the spell was cast, a surge of warmth shot out through Spring's body, and she blinked awake. Taking a deep breath, the girl stretched her limbs, the frozen particles simply falling off the spirit's invulnerable form. Then, her instincts kicked into place and the girl realized she was late, and she agitatedly jumped onto her feet and threw out her hands. Her power stretched out, and plants recovered their will to live as she used the water she could save to nurture the seeds, and plants started to grow out of the dying grounds, once again restoring life to the world.
In the town nearby, the citizens were all collectively gripped by relief, but also by regret at how they'd been forced to treat their Winter who had protected them and played with their children just to make her go away. After all, to them, she had always been their beloved Winter, no matter her nature. The boy himself cried at her passing, but would soon enough regain his strength to continue his life, as Spring meant a lot of work to rebuild what Winter had left behind.
Seasons would pass. After Spring, Summer would rise, the bright red-head with gaudy yellow dress dancing on a hill somewhere shining warmth and light on all, before then Autumn would rise again to do her part. Then finally, a new Winter would arise, and the Cycle of Seasons would continue.
And so it continues up to this day.
A night below the stars, illuminated by the white moon. Around stood trees without leaves, the ground colored orange, red or dead by their tint. A single girl with black hair, white skin and a red tattered dress stood alone among the trees. She looked with her brown eyes into the distance, where the people were sewing their seeds in the fields by their hastily built wooden buildings, and she saw that her task had been completed.
Knowing there was but one final step left on her journey, she wandered into the forest. There, underneath a majestic spruce with its green needles sprouting in an area of otherwise leafless trees like a great green cloud, lay a girl in white. White long hair spread over the ground, her frail body clothed in lightly blue sheet of unnatural cloth. Her skin was as white as her hair, and her body perfectly preserved. The girl in black and red sighed, knowing what came next.
“It is time,” Autumn said. “It is your turn, now.”
And with that, the girl woke up. She instantly drew a deep intake of air. Her blue eyes opened wide in surprise, staring aimlessly into the starry night sky. The first thing that struck her was how beautiful it was, and the moon sat in the sky watching over her from above. She looked around her. There was a dreary forest of trees without leaves. The only green was in the spruce she had woke up under. The girl was alone, except for with the colors of the leaves under the trees. They felt oddly comforting to her. It felt she could relax and go back to sleep right here.
Yet, she knew she had things to do. The girl stood up with determination, taking a moment to dust off nature's touch from her cloth that she wore like a dress, before she lifted her hands into the air. A calm but cold wind blew through the forest as she willed it. Along with the sound of trees brushed by the moving air came small white specks drifting down as if it was raining stars. The snow collected, a little at a time, as the temperature dropped around her. Soon enough, the forest floor and the trees around were covered in a thin sheet of white snow. The girl smiled, knowing she was doing her job. For she was Winter.
Winter followed her instincts, a set of instructions imbued upon her mind which she followed tirelessly. She brought cold which killed the hostile insects that had been plaguing the land, she lay her blanket of white upon everything in her reach. Birds flew south, she saw the humans huddling in their homes by fires, working to take advantage of the area around them to survive the cold. This wasn’t the natural environment for such creatures, and they were struggling. Seeing their troubles, Winter wondered what she was doing. Her instincts told her to do this, but for what reason?
That's when she was distracted by the sounds of children playing and laughing in the snow. It was a sound she had never heard before, that of laughter. Curious, the girl sought her way to them, to listen to their tales. There, a young boy with black hair, dressed in a thick brown fur coat approached her, his brown eyes looking curious about the girl with white hair wearing so little.
“Aren't you cold?” the boy asked.
“Why are you so happy?” the baffled Winter asked, looking at the playing children. The need to respond to his question when the answer was so obvious did not even occur to her. “It is cold, everything is dead, and you have to work so hard to stay warm and alive. How can you laugh?” she continued. The boy looked at her in surprise, but then smiled and responded.
“Because, it is fun!” he replied. “Before the snow came, beasts big and small threatened us and mother would not let us play outside. But with the cold, the beasts have retreated and we can play! We're safe in the winter! The snow makes everything so bright, and we can do so much with it! Even if it is cold, it is so cozy when we huddle together around the fire at night, as a family! This is the best time I've had in my life!” he announced. Winter was stunned at his words, but considered them deeply. Not letting her stand around, the boy invited her to play. They built a snowman, they sled down hills together and fought in snowball fights with their friends. Winter regained her smile, for she experienced fun.
Winter found her personal purpose. She didn't have to do this all just because her instincts told her so. She was protecting the humans, and letting the children play in the snow! She saw it in their eyes as she peeked at them from a distance through their windows. The families were happy, comfortable and warm inside their houses. The trees in their white winter wonderland stood merely as background and firewood, and Winter found her happiness. Day and day again, she'd come play with the boy, and the humans accepted her for whom she appeared to be. Winter continued to make things white.
So it continued, for months upon end. Winter enjoyed herself, obeying her instincts, making everything white and shiny, and the children happy. That was her purpose in life. She smiled everyday playing with the boy and the children of the humans, and watched on as they hunted for survival and tended their crops in the midst of winter. The human species mystified her so much. Yet, she loved them all. She never wanted to leave them. She never wanted it to end.
Then one day, Winter felt something odd in her instincts. They were telling her to let the snow melt, to let the temperature rise and the season come to pass. But, this defied her purpose. She was to keep the families safe, to allow the children to play in her white snow and let the happiness remain. So, she didn't. For the first time ever, Winter defied her instincts and did what she wanted. She kept the air cold, she kept the snow as it were, and all would continue as it had.
At first, it worked! They were having as much fun as they had before, and Winter could ride in the sled with the boy as much as she wanted. This truly was life! One day, when she and the boy sat in their sled at the top of a hill, he spoke to her.
“I've been wondering, who are you?” he asked.
“I am Winter,” she replied automatically.
“So you've said before, but, what are you really?” the boy asked with more specification. It took Winter a little by surprise, but she saw no reason to conceal the truth.
“I'm a Spirit of the Earth, the Causer of Cold and Spreader of Snow. I am Winter, and I keep you safe.” So she said. For to her, that was the truth. Everything felt so right, except for that nagging feeling of discomfort at defying her instincts.
“You really are,” the boy commented, and then he looked a bit sad. Winter became worried and was about to ask why, but then he told her. “Mother has told us we cannot play with you anymore.”
“What!?” Winter yelled and rose to her feet. “Why!?”
“Because if we don't, you might never end,” the boy answered honestly, looking up to her.
Winter's eyes flared out in anger at the boy at this statement, and she turned around and blew away, powerful cold winds catching her body and flinging her off where she wanted to go. The boy yelled after her to stop, for he had more to say and didn't mean her any ill, but she wasn't giving him the chance. He couldn't possibly catch a spirit flying away from him at full power. Serves him right for angering her, Winter thought. That night, a very fearsome and chilling snowstorm hit the town, as the vengeful Winter vented her anger at those who did not feel thankful for her protection.
Everything felt wrong. In the days that followed, she saw it. The humans were running out of the supplies that they had stored for her arrival. Plants were dying, food was hard to get, and as the children grew hungrier so too did their smiles disappear. Never again did they play with her, for their mother's kept them inside to prevent contact with her. But, this couldn't be. It couldn't be her purpose to simply wane away. Her instincts still told her to end the season... but she did not want to. She kept the temperature cold, and she kept the snow falling. This couldn't be it.
The Sun, sensing that Winter was defying her place in the balance of nature, launched an attack at her snow-covered lands. The girl who had simply been roaming her lands gasped out in surprise as powerful warm rays shot down through the trees, melting her snow. Once again, her anger flared up, and she counter-attacked with snow clouds. For the days that followed, the Sun and Winter were locked in battle, and one day the ground would be peeking out and then the next everything was covered in snow. On the day the Sun would melt the snow, but come night Winter would once again spread her white influence across the land.
As using her powers for a purpose it wasn't meant for was very taxing on her, Winter felt stressed. As the time of her season came and went, so too did her power grow weaker and she couldn't win her battle against the Sun, her snow melting all over the land. But, she refused to be defeated. As a spirit, the Sun could not actually kill her. So as she could no longer snow over the land under the Sun's supervision, she instead froze the ground and trees. The ground grew hard and cold, the trees died and little could survive in her land. That would do for now, Winter thought, her objection would be heard.
That's when he appeared. The boy she had befriended approached her where she sat on her knees beneath her spruce, which it too had been completely frozen over by now. At first she believed he had arrived to apologize, which she accepted happily at the thought of comfort. However, with alarm she realized that it was not him at all. It was a greater, much more powerful being taking his form. Winter stood, readying her powers for battle, yet the being held up a hand of peace to her.
“Who are you!?” Winter demanded, her patience having worn thin.
“Earth,” he declared in a straight voice much too deep for the boy. “I am your father.”
Winter recoiled, eyes wide, but realized with a start that her father had come to berate her for her wrongdoings. With that, her will to fight vanished and she regretfully relaxed in defeat. Father looked at her grimly, and then waved in a direction.
“Let us take a walk,” he said to her. Winter complied, and they walked.
They walked through the frost-bitten forest that Winter had created. As they walked, Earth told her a story. Once long ago, he, the Moon and the Sun were the only beings in existence anywhere close. There were the Stars in the Skies, but they were too far away for any of them to interact with. So, they decided to create life. The Sun would support their growth with warmth and limitless energy. The Moon would turn the skies, guiding the Earth around the Sun and rotate him so to sort the Sun’s energy in a way hospitable for life, creating night and day. The Earth would produce the air, minerals and also offer his own body for them to live on.
For a while, this was enough. They experimented, and managed to produce life. Their finest creations were humans, who were intelligent and could adapt to their environments. However, the things around the humans were not developing as intended. Disease-filled bugs and great beasts wandered the lands, crops and vegetation was not growing as intended in the constantly similar nature, and only a thin band of the planet was inhabitable as the ends were frozen and the middle too hot. A solution was needed.
And so, Earth created the Spirits of the Seasons, each to govern a fourth of the passage of the Earth around the Sun, each blessed with powers from the Moon. To ensure life would never stagnate, they would ensure that life would follow a flow, from warmth to cold, from birth to death. Winter blinked a bit in realization, looking to her father as he started explaining her duty.
Winter's purpose was always to protect. By bringing cold for a fourth of the year, she could expel the creation of the smallest and most dangerous of life-forms. The snow she spread over the land kept the seeds in the ground below warm for the season, and when it then melted the ground would be well nurtured with the water she gave it. Without her, the ground would die and humans would not be able to live on crops as they now did. By spreading the time into a cold time and a warm time, more of the Earth was available for life to live on, as no area would stagnate.
“However…” Father Earth said, before stopping by a tree. Winter wondered briefly why they had stopped, before she looked down at the base of a tree and gasped.
A blonde young girl lay there, in a short green tattered dress, her eyes closed and her white skin was frozen whiter than it should be, her naked legs and arms lying on the frozen ground around her. Winter knew instinctively who this was. It was her sister, Spring, who would not wake until Winter accepted that her mission was complete. … And she looked like she was freezing to death, lying there lifelessly, her limbs frostbit and powerless. Winter staring down in terror at her.
“... Your efforts are for naught if you do not let Spring capitalize on your work. For Spring will take the seeds which Autumn planted, which you protected, and let them grow into new life across the land. With that, life will return, and life can continue living. Summer will then watch over life and keep it warm and alive until it is time once again for Autumn to prepare it for the next Winter. For that to happen, for life not to end right here… you need to end,” Father explained.
Winter recoiled, feeling tears come down her cheeks on her own, looking down on Spring's frozen body.
“Only you can call your mission successful,” he continued, turning away from the scene and looking back through the forest. “You can choose to keep on living. However, know that if you keep on what you're doing, then life will die. It is your call.”
So he said, before wandering back into the woods. Winter was left staring down at Spring, horror and hesitance equal inside her. But, she finally realized her true purpose, first after being told it. Her instincts were simply meant to guide her for that purpose, but she had been misled by the more immediate benefits. She had never been meant to last forever, despite her means to do so. Winter remained there for many hours, coming to terms with her situation. As the hours went by, she slowly grew calmer, slowly grew more sure of what she had to do.
With a heavy heart, she breathed out, and then leaned down over Spring. She smiled a sad little smile, running a hand through the spirit's blonde hair while looking down into her still expression, before finally saying her final words.
“C'mon, Spring,” she said. “You're late. Everyone's waiting for you.”
And so, Winter completed her mission and faded from this world, finally at peace with herself.
As the spell was cast, a surge of warmth shot out through Spring's body, and she blinked awake. Taking a deep breath, the girl stretched her limbs, the frozen particles simply falling off the spirit's invulnerable form. Then, her instincts kicked into place and the girl realized she was late, and she agitatedly jumped onto her feet and threw out her hands. Her power stretched out, and plants recovered their will to live as she used the water she could save to nurture the seeds, and plants started to grow out of the dying grounds, once again restoring life to the world.
In the town nearby, the citizens were all collectively gripped by relief, but also by regret at how they'd been forced to treat their Winter who had protected them and played with their children just to make her go away. After all, to them, she had always been their beloved Winter, no matter her nature. The boy himself cried at her passing, but would soon enough regain his strength to continue his life, as Spring meant a lot of work to rebuild what Winter had left behind.
Seasons would pass. After Spring, Summer would rise, the bright red-head with gaudy yellow dress dancing on a hill somewhere shining warmth and light on all, before then Autumn would rise again to do her part. Then finally, a new Winter would arise, and the Cycle of Seasons would continue.
And so it continues up to this day.
By @Habibi359.
Once there lived a man in ancient Babylon. His name was Tulliokan. He had great wisdom, courage and iron will. And his devotion to the Babylonian people was without equal. He watched over the children, taught the young, educated the senior and guided the leaders. But Tulliokan grew older, and he was worried over his people. "There is so much to do. There is so little time. But if I could live more than a lifetime, I could see my people prosper and die with satisfaction".
So he went to the great temple and pleaded with gods. "Creators! There is so much I can do, but so little time for me to do it. Give me more than a lifetime and I will make you proud!" He prayed to the gods.
"Very well. We shall give you eternal youth and health to keep you living, and you will live until you're satisfied with your life." The gods responded.
"Creators! I am grateful for this gift, but what is it that you want in return?" Tulliokan asked the gods. He had no love in his life nor kids to offer for servitude. He had given his wealth to poor and lived a modest life. Nothing was more dear to him than his people.
"Your satisfaction." The gods responded and then left Tulliokan.
So Tulliokan begun his work. He looked over the children, taught the young, educated the senior and guided the leaders. But decades passed and children he once looked over were looked over by distrustful, seniors were educated by others in ways unknown to Tulliokan and leaderships passed to those who listened only their own circles. And Tulliokan saw how Babylon fell from it's grace. The poor blamed the workers, who argued with the educated, who in turn demanded better from leaders, who lived without seeing what Tulliokan saw.
It was merely another decade when Babylon fought with itself and the other kingdoms saw their opportunity to conquered the shattered Babylon.
Tulliokan was devastated. No longer he had people to teach or to guide with his wisdom. The children, the young, the seniors and the leaders were all gone and he was sole man of his people left. "It was not my guidance that made a stable kingdom. Very well; I shall lead a kingdom myself, make it prosper and then be satisfied."
And then he waited, watching from the shadows how young kingdoms evolved, new kingdoms were born and old ones perished. Eventually he saw his time coming in a kingdom that would become ancient Rome. First he was a councilman, then a mayor. Soon he was known an emperor of Rome; He became an immortal leader with eternity of experience. He conquered lands and governed with iron fist. He build enormous schools and temples, chose teachers and preachers of his liking and let the kingdom flourish.
Eventually Rome was big; It's enemies beyond the borders were no longer willing to fight it and they became allies instead. But his enemies were not outside of his kingdom; As the people got smarter, not all were goodhearted. Many were thinking of their own advantages. So they formed mobs, corrupted the politicians and made conspiracies to gain power.
Tulliokan saw it all coming, but even his eternal experience wasn't enough to stop the takeover. And he was thrown in the dungeons to be forgotten once more.
He listened for years which turned decades which turned to centuries. He watched and listened how his work was credited to others, how he himself became another myth beside Rome's legendary heroes. The Rome grew unstable, it's borders divided to smaller kingdoms each teaching their own thing. And the eternal Tulliokan was eventually freed from his imprisonment as an unknown man in broken Rome.
Tulliokan was depressed once more. He wandered for decade until he decided: "Very well then. If I cannot lead people or guide people, then I will be their hero."
And Tulliokan waited, until nobody remembered or knew teacher Tulliokan or Emperor Tulliokan. Came the time when kingdoms were divided, but they all believed to a single god. And Tulliokan took banner under this god and fought it's enemies. He became a Templar, then a crusader, then a conqueror. He slew men, taught others how to fight, how to be honorable and righteous. And he became respected. His immortality was seen as blessing from gods. Paragon of faith, he fought as a footman, then he was given men to lead, then an army to be used as a general. And he lead his soldiers towards victories, conquered towns and slew pagans. He was celebrated as an invincible leader.
But give enough time and even generals will have losses. They are unforgivable in the eyes of god, if one believes the popes and priests. And thus they removed rank from the eternal man, then called him a pagan, his immortality was seen as a deal with the demons. He was being called enemy of god. His supporters were executed and his teachings were burned and credit from past victories were given to those who denied Tulliokan as their beloved general.
They chained him in the rocks and threw him in the sea, and in the abyss of seafloor Tulliokan suffered for decades until his chains were rusted and he himself washed upon shores. Once again his name had become unknown to people.
Cursing his many failures, he said "If I cannot give to my people, then I shall take from my people."
So he became forgotten once more. He made it to a new continent found in the west and resided in new settlements. There he became a drunken man, a robber and a pleasure seeker wherever he wandered. He made drunken preaches, cried in the nights, yelled at his own agony in the cells where guards, then sheriffs and deputies, then police threw him in. He became known in many towns a drunk, a madman, a poor excuse of a human. And he continued his life in the towns, which grew into cities, which grew even larger. And within these metropolises he became only one man from millions, mere dweller in slums and alleys.
But eventually he was seen and helped by someone. Most caring woman that Tulliokan had ever known. Most beautiful was her face, and equally was her heart pure and head wise. And Tulliokan fell in love with this woman. And Tulliokan knew that he would be happy with this woman and in return he could give her happiness. Hence he wandered out of the slums and swore to make himself a better man again, so that the woman would have him as a husband.
But to rise from the ditches and become respectable man of society takes time. And his loved woman became married with someone else. Angry towards himself and world he lived in, Tulliokan surrendered himself to jealousy. He got himself a weapon and with ill intentions in his mind he said "Because I cannot receive death and happiness, I shall give death and misery".
Tulliokan searched for her beloved's house. He waited outside for a day when she was away but her husband was inside. When such a day came, Tulliokan broke into their house and found the wife's companion sleeping, blanket covering his face. He attacked with his weapon and mortally wound this man who had taken his beloved. Then he pulled the blanket away to witness his rival's end.
Tulliokan was shocked to see his rival first time ever so close. He hadn't recognized the man until now. Man was Tulliokan himself, older reflection of himself giving his last breaht. The husband coughed out blood and smiled. And the cursed Tulliokan was given a message by his dying reflection in his last moments.
Eternal Tulliokan would have to witness how everything he had done during his eternal life would fade in sands of time, like a piece of sand in a hourglass. That world changes and moves onward despite what one man will do, no matter how much time is given. Eternity is cruel as things aren't meant to last. Not the mightiest kingdoms, not the most fortified walls and castles. Legends would be transformed, then forgotten. Eventually world would end, gods vanish and mankind transform unrecognizeable.
Only mortal men would have limited time to do their best to change the world, and at their final moments be satisfied with how much or how little they had accomplished. Tulliokan would never have such a closure, as he could never be satisfied with whatever he accomplished. Whatever he tried to perfect and make last would instead crumble.
Tulliokan would be a reminder of old times, desperatively trying to make something last in his lifetime and failing. Hence he wouldn't be satisfied. He would desperatively try to find peace in his eternal time and fail. Then he would give up and stop living in his time. After that he would live again.
With this message given, Tulliokan left his dying self and continued to live his doomed life. It was as was told. Kingdoms were now called countries, and they waged wars against one another. When one would end, another would rise somewhere. From ashes new ideas were born as old were burned in fires, and the world moved on ever changing.
The mankind reached skies, space and it's planets. Tulliokan walked on earth until mankind had conquered time itself. People that lived now were different from those Tulliokan had known eternity ago. But one last time he made contact with the people, not to help them but to be helped. He asked them to send him an eternity backwards. He had not in a long time belonged to the time these people lived and wished no longer to guide, lead, fight or be part of it.
And he was sent to the times old. To meet the one woman he had ever in his eternal time loved. With her Tulliokan was finally given love, an emotion which is a bliss no matter how short or long time it lasts. Compared to Tulliokan's eternal life this meant very small amount of satisfying time. But it was everything he had ever wanted.
One satisfying night turned to day. It repeated until week was full, then a month. Then a year. Eventually Tulliokan had been happy so long that it felt an eternity.
And with that he was able to die satisfied.
Once there lived a man in ancient Babylon. His name was Tulliokan. He had great wisdom, courage and iron will. And his devotion to the Babylonian people was without equal. He watched over the children, taught the young, educated the senior and guided the leaders. But Tulliokan grew older, and he was worried over his people. "There is so much to do. There is so little time. But if I could live more than a lifetime, I could see my people prosper and die with satisfaction".
So he went to the great temple and pleaded with gods. "Creators! There is so much I can do, but so little time for me to do it. Give me more than a lifetime and I will make you proud!" He prayed to the gods.
"Very well. We shall give you eternal youth and health to keep you living, and you will live until you're satisfied with your life." The gods responded.
"Creators! I am grateful for this gift, but what is it that you want in return?" Tulliokan asked the gods. He had no love in his life nor kids to offer for servitude. He had given his wealth to poor and lived a modest life. Nothing was more dear to him than his people.
"Your satisfaction." The gods responded and then left Tulliokan.
So Tulliokan begun his work. He looked over the children, taught the young, educated the senior and guided the leaders. But decades passed and children he once looked over were looked over by distrustful, seniors were educated by others in ways unknown to Tulliokan and leaderships passed to those who listened only their own circles. And Tulliokan saw how Babylon fell from it's grace. The poor blamed the workers, who argued with the educated, who in turn demanded better from leaders, who lived without seeing what Tulliokan saw.
It was merely another decade when Babylon fought with itself and the other kingdoms saw their opportunity to conquered the shattered Babylon.
Tulliokan was devastated. No longer he had people to teach or to guide with his wisdom. The children, the young, the seniors and the leaders were all gone and he was sole man of his people left. "It was not my guidance that made a stable kingdom. Very well; I shall lead a kingdom myself, make it prosper and then be satisfied."
And then he waited, watching from the shadows how young kingdoms evolved, new kingdoms were born and old ones perished. Eventually he saw his time coming in a kingdom that would become ancient Rome. First he was a councilman, then a mayor. Soon he was known an emperor of Rome; He became an immortal leader with eternity of experience. He conquered lands and governed with iron fist. He build enormous schools and temples, chose teachers and preachers of his liking and let the kingdom flourish.
Eventually Rome was big; It's enemies beyond the borders were no longer willing to fight it and they became allies instead. But his enemies were not outside of his kingdom; As the people got smarter, not all were goodhearted. Many were thinking of their own advantages. So they formed mobs, corrupted the politicians and made conspiracies to gain power.
Tulliokan saw it all coming, but even his eternal experience wasn't enough to stop the takeover. And he was thrown in the dungeons to be forgotten once more.
He listened for years which turned decades which turned to centuries. He watched and listened how his work was credited to others, how he himself became another myth beside Rome's legendary heroes. The Rome grew unstable, it's borders divided to smaller kingdoms each teaching their own thing. And the eternal Tulliokan was eventually freed from his imprisonment as an unknown man in broken Rome.
Tulliokan was depressed once more. He wandered for decade until he decided: "Very well then. If I cannot lead people or guide people, then I will be their hero."
And Tulliokan waited, until nobody remembered or knew teacher Tulliokan or Emperor Tulliokan. Came the time when kingdoms were divided, but they all believed to a single god. And Tulliokan took banner under this god and fought it's enemies. He became a Templar, then a crusader, then a conqueror. He slew men, taught others how to fight, how to be honorable and righteous. And he became respected. His immortality was seen as blessing from gods. Paragon of faith, he fought as a footman, then he was given men to lead, then an army to be used as a general. And he lead his soldiers towards victories, conquered towns and slew pagans. He was celebrated as an invincible leader.
But give enough time and even generals will have losses. They are unforgivable in the eyes of god, if one believes the popes and priests. And thus they removed rank from the eternal man, then called him a pagan, his immortality was seen as a deal with the demons. He was being called enemy of god. His supporters were executed and his teachings were burned and credit from past victories were given to those who denied Tulliokan as their beloved general.
They chained him in the rocks and threw him in the sea, and in the abyss of seafloor Tulliokan suffered for decades until his chains were rusted and he himself washed upon shores. Once again his name had become unknown to people.
Cursing his many failures, he said "If I cannot give to my people, then I shall take from my people."
So he became forgotten once more. He made it to a new continent found in the west and resided in new settlements. There he became a drunken man, a robber and a pleasure seeker wherever he wandered. He made drunken preaches, cried in the nights, yelled at his own agony in the cells where guards, then sheriffs and deputies, then police threw him in. He became known in many towns a drunk, a madman, a poor excuse of a human. And he continued his life in the towns, which grew into cities, which grew even larger. And within these metropolises he became only one man from millions, mere dweller in slums and alleys.
But eventually he was seen and helped by someone. Most caring woman that Tulliokan had ever known. Most beautiful was her face, and equally was her heart pure and head wise. And Tulliokan fell in love with this woman. And Tulliokan knew that he would be happy with this woman and in return he could give her happiness. Hence he wandered out of the slums and swore to make himself a better man again, so that the woman would have him as a husband.
But to rise from the ditches and become respectable man of society takes time. And his loved woman became married with someone else. Angry towards himself and world he lived in, Tulliokan surrendered himself to jealousy. He got himself a weapon and with ill intentions in his mind he said "Because I cannot receive death and happiness, I shall give death and misery".
Tulliokan searched for her beloved's house. He waited outside for a day when she was away but her husband was inside. When such a day came, Tulliokan broke into their house and found the wife's companion sleeping, blanket covering his face. He attacked with his weapon and mortally wound this man who had taken his beloved. Then he pulled the blanket away to witness his rival's end.
Tulliokan was shocked to see his rival first time ever so close. He hadn't recognized the man until now. Man was Tulliokan himself, older reflection of himself giving his last breaht. The husband coughed out blood and smiled. And the cursed Tulliokan was given a message by his dying reflection in his last moments.
Eternal Tulliokan would have to witness how everything he had done during his eternal life would fade in sands of time, like a piece of sand in a hourglass. That world changes and moves onward despite what one man will do, no matter how much time is given. Eternity is cruel as things aren't meant to last. Not the mightiest kingdoms, not the most fortified walls and castles. Legends would be transformed, then forgotten. Eventually world would end, gods vanish and mankind transform unrecognizeable.
Only mortal men would have limited time to do their best to change the world, and at their final moments be satisfied with how much or how little they had accomplished. Tulliokan would never have such a closure, as he could never be satisfied with whatever he accomplished. Whatever he tried to perfect and make last would instead crumble.
Tulliokan would be a reminder of old times, desperatively trying to make something last in his lifetime and failing. Hence he wouldn't be satisfied. He would desperatively try to find peace in his eternal time and fail. Then he would give up and stop living in his time. After that he would live again.
With this message given, Tulliokan left his dying self and continued to live his doomed life. It was as was told. Kingdoms were now called countries, and they waged wars against one another. When one would end, another would rise somewhere. From ashes new ideas were born as old were burned in fires, and the world moved on ever changing.
The mankind reached skies, space and it's planets. Tulliokan walked on earth until mankind had conquered time itself. People that lived now were different from those Tulliokan had known eternity ago. But one last time he made contact with the people, not to help them but to be helped. He asked them to send him an eternity backwards. He had not in a long time belonged to the time these people lived and wished no longer to guide, lead, fight or be part of it.
And he was sent to the times old. To meet the one woman he had ever in his eternal time loved. With her Tulliokan was finally given love, an emotion which is a bliss no matter how short or long time it lasts. Compared to Tulliokan's eternal life this meant very small amount of satisfying time. But it was everything he had ever wanted.
One satisfying night turned to day. It repeated until week was full, then a month. Then a year. Eventually Tulliokan had been happy so long that it felt an eternity.
And with that he was able to die satisfied.
