Zi’da 58, Arc 721
There were a lot of things that the son of Ziell regretted – which was probably to be expected when you had already been alive for nearly four centuries. His greatest and deepest regret was and would always be his attack on the Immortal of Hope during the Battle at Treid’s Tomb, that attempted murder. He didn’t understand how he could ever have been so wrong, so very, very wrong. Idalos was not doomed, there was hope and the potential for love, and there was so much beauty in the world, so much more than he had ever thought possible.
There were also other, more personal regrets though, regrets that only affected him anymore – everybody else that had been touched by those events had perished a long time ago and turned to dust. There was his daughter, the only child that he knew of, his daughter whose face he couldn’t remember anymore, no matter how hard he tried. She had died before her life had really begun, and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
And then there was a man. He had been his companion for several decades, and for a while, his lover. There had been other lovers before him and after him, of course, men as well as women, but he stood out. They had tried to uncover the secrets of the Idalos together. They had tried to change the world together, because Idalos deserved so much better, a brighter and happier future. When his companion had grown old, and a disease had ravaged him, he had tried to prolong his life. He had prayed to the Immortals and begged them to save him, on his knees, but all of his efforts had been in vain.
Nowadays, he knew that the Immortals weren’t capable of saving everybody and that his lover was unlikely to have been more deserving of salvation than all those others that were suffering and on the brink of death – they had had great plans, but there had been far too many failures - but for some time, the light had left his life. His daughter had been dead for nearly four centuries now, and his lover for approximately two, but he could still remember his face, at least. Syroa had tainted his memory. He had been one of the stars in her perversion of a play during the Mummer’s Ball but an arc before.
She had turned a man who had been good and kind into a monster.
It was of her and of him that he thought as he stood at the docks of Scalvoris Town, bundled up in a warm winter coat that was made of deep blue wool and gazed at the ocean that seemed to extent endlessly in front of him. There was something about the time of the arc, about the snowfall and the sky that was already darkening even though it was only afternoon that often made him think of the past. He had been born of winter and in shadows and spent much of his life among snow and ice until he had arrived on this wondrous island.
As he stood there, and as his thoughts wandered, as he thought of his life so far, of the good things and the bad things, of his regrets and of the multitude of things that he was grateful for – and of all the things that were yet to come, for the ocean made him think of that, of the potential that was hidden just behind the horizon – he suddenly noticed something. There, at the edge of his field of vision was a ship. A ship was slowly approaching Scalvoris Town. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out details; there seemed something strange about it. It didn’t look quite like the other ships around these parts.
There were a lot of things that the son of Ziell regretted – which was probably to be expected when you had already been alive for nearly four centuries. His greatest and deepest regret was and would always be his attack on the Immortal of Hope during the Battle at Treid’s Tomb, that attempted murder. He didn’t understand how he could ever have been so wrong, so very, very wrong. Idalos was not doomed, there was hope and the potential for love, and there was so much beauty in the world, so much more than he had ever thought possible.
There were also other, more personal regrets though, regrets that only affected him anymore – everybody else that had been touched by those events had perished a long time ago and turned to dust. There was his daughter, the only child that he knew of, his daughter whose face he couldn’t remember anymore, no matter how hard he tried. She had died before her life had really begun, and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
And then there was a man. He had been his companion for several decades, and for a while, his lover. There had been other lovers before him and after him, of course, men as well as women, but he stood out. They had tried to uncover the secrets of the Idalos together. They had tried to change the world together, because Idalos deserved so much better, a brighter and happier future. When his companion had grown old, and a disease had ravaged him, he had tried to prolong his life. He had prayed to the Immortals and begged them to save him, on his knees, but all of his efforts had been in vain.
Nowadays, he knew that the Immortals weren’t capable of saving everybody and that his lover was unlikely to have been more deserving of salvation than all those others that were suffering and on the brink of death – they had had great plans, but there had been far too many failures - but for some time, the light had left his life. His daughter had been dead for nearly four centuries now, and his lover for approximately two, but he could still remember his face, at least. Syroa had tainted his memory. He had been one of the stars in her perversion of a play during the Mummer’s Ball but an arc before.
She had turned a man who had been good and kind into a monster.
It was of her and of him that he thought as he stood at the docks of Scalvoris Town, bundled up in a warm winter coat that was made of deep blue wool and gazed at the ocean that seemed to extent endlessly in front of him. There was something about the time of the arc, about the snowfall and the sky that was already darkening even though it was only afternoon that often made him think of the past. He had been born of winter and in shadows and spent much of his life among snow and ice until he had arrived on this wondrous island.
As he stood there, and as his thoughts wandered, as he thought of his life so far, of the good things and the bad things, of his regrets and of the multitude of things that he was grateful for – and of all the things that were yet to come, for the ocean made him think of that, of the potential that was hidden just behind the horizon – he suddenly noticed something. There, at the edge of his field of vision was a ship. A ship was slowly approaching Scalvoris Town. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out details; there seemed something strange about it. It didn’t look quite like the other ships around these parts.
Notes
From the Scalvoris calendar:
A fleet of ships arrive on Scalvoris, docking around the island. The people who arrive are very confused, though, as they believe it's Arc 521.
A fleet of ships arrive on Scalvoris, docking around the island. The people who arrive are very confused, though, as they believe it's Arc 521.
