Kieran Riley
1st of Ashan, Arc 718, Cappola - Kian's Ranch
Nails on my back. I remember them. Raking, clawing, going deep into my skin. From the faint, fair color that enwraps me, into my flesh. My muscles torn. God... I could feel her delving into me. Past the muscles, finally, into... inside. My body bled, my once strong form convulsed; singularly, in one twitch of my spine. I felt ill, violently. That was the moment in which I received her... blessing, unwanted as it was. Black wings on my skin, written in my own tainted blood. The mark appeared. I remember it easily, clearly.
It's been over an arc since then. I've had a tumultuous relationship with her -- all negativity, all disappointment, all failure. I never did hunt that Sessfiend. I never did destroy the Coven. I was a mortal instrument, but my chords were hollow. I've never been what she wanted me to be. I probably still won't be, no matter how far I chase, or how high I reach. Syroa wants everything -- she wants your talent, your voice, your flesh, your passion, your fear. She burrows into you and... she just stays there. Through life, through death.
She has followed us for some time now. I suppose it was Zvezdana who laid that curse on us, and the red skinned tyrant has since followed through. My love has been taken away; I don't know where he's gone. I can't feel him clearly anymore, despite the magic we share. It flickers, faded, and sends me in a loophole of stray paths. It's her, I know it is. She's toying with me, breaking with me. And I don't want to fight it any longer. This was not the life I chose. I wanted to be a King, of all the things one might see when looking down at the world from the stars. Ruling Idalos, making it better. I had the power, the charisma, the knowledge.
But that is not who I am. I am not King Alistair of the Great House of Venora. I am... defeated. And there is only one that may take the spoils.
- - -
The sky was a dark shade. Purple, red melding into blue, like a blend. The stars were already beginning to glow visible, and the moon appeared within the red, within the shadow of the setting sun. It was a generous view; the kind that only appeared here, in this untamed land. Surrounding Kian was a circle, written on the ground, with letters nailed into the floor at four different points. The letters were written in better moments in time. Far better than now.
"I do not wish to be King. I wish to be ruled by a proper King, and that man is not Veljorn. I know you feel the same way - every wise Andaris should, as they have brought Rynmere to great and prosperous times despite the frail state of the world around us."
A lie. He did want to be King -- he always wanted to be King. Somewhere, somehow. He felt that ambition, and followed its path. It led him to magic, to the deep dark.
"A lot's happened since I last wrote here. So much that I can't even begin to stop, or think. Every day is an endless cycle of activity; small things, big things, wild things, new things, old things. And people - beautiful, wise, educated, uninformed, hideous, crass, kind. I feel as if my life this past arc has been something of a dream, perhaps one I could have scrawled about in my mind before my fantasies went awry by the harsh touch of reality.
Oh, little me, lost in a chamber of fanciful gleaming. Where does reality begin, when this halcyon period of my life inevitably comes to an end?"
Reading those words formed tears in his eyes. 1st of Cylus, Arc 717. Only an arc ago, really. The halcyon days only lasted for that long.
"Regardless, I go on tangents. I've done well, lately. Sincerely well. I've met a man named Fridgar, and I love him. I'm a bit worried for him, and the way things will change when others know of us, but I'll stride through it. I've come to accept that maybe I'll never be the Lord I wanted to be, because of my deformity, as some would call it. My inability to simply marry a noble woman and go on with it all. My will for freedom, to pursue what I want."
He never was the Lord he wanted to be. But he had Fridgar, right? Always had him. The love of his life. The star which every constellation formed from. He was such a man. So gallant, and loving. Everything he did was for Alistair.
. . .
"I don't write in my journal, anymore. I don't want to, these days. I'm too happy. Regardless of what's to come, and what challenge I'll find, I know I'll survive. I have Fridgar, I have my dreams, and really. Not the ones assigned to me by inheritance, but my own. Life is mine to command.
This will be my last entry. Goodbye."
I'm too happy. ... Now the tears really started to flow. I have Fridgar.
No. Not anymore. That man, the love of his life, was gone from him now. And he could never, ever repair the rift that formed. He was alone, in this wildness, hiding from the Crown yet standing within view to sate the lust of his dreams. He still wanted to step through the industrious streets of Novilane, through Oxentide, take his place as Baron and command a war upon his surroundings. He wanted to rule. He wanted to command it all.
Only one could give him back his life. The devil, the beast, the red tyrant. Syroa.
1st of Ashan, Arc 718, Cappola - Kian's Ranch
Nails on my back. I remember them. Raking, clawing, going deep into my skin. From the faint, fair color that enwraps me, into my flesh. My muscles torn. God... I could feel her delving into me. Past the muscles, finally, into... inside. My body bled, my once strong form convulsed; singularly, in one twitch of my spine. I felt ill, violently. That was the moment in which I received her... blessing, unwanted as it was. Black wings on my skin, written in my own tainted blood. The mark appeared. I remember it easily, clearly.
It's been over an arc since then. I've had a tumultuous relationship with her -- all negativity, all disappointment, all failure. I never did hunt that Sessfiend. I never did destroy the Coven. I was a mortal instrument, but my chords were hollow. I've never been what she wanted me to be. I probably still won't be, no matter how far I chase, or how high I reach. Syroa wants everything -- she wants your talent, your voice, your flesh, your passion, your fear. She burrows into you and... she just stays there. Through life, through death.
She has followed us for some time now. I suppose it was Zvezdana who laid that curse on us, and the red skinned tyrant has since followed through. My love has been taken away; I don't know where he's gone. I can't feel him clearly anymore, despite the magic we share. It flickers, faded, and sends me in a loophole of stray paths. It's her, I know it is. She's toying with me, breaking with me. And I don't want to fight it any longer. This was not the life I chose. I wanted to be a King, of all the things one might see when looking down at the world from the stars. Ruling Idalos, making it better. I had the power, the charisma, the knowledge.
But that is not who I am. I am not King Alistair of the Great House of Venora. I am... defeated. And there is only one that may take the spoils.
- - -
The sky was a dark shade. Purple, red melding into blue, like a blend. The stars were already beginning to glow visible, and the moon appeared within the red, within the shadow of the setting sun. It was a generous view; the kind that only appeared here, in this untamed land. Surrounding Kian was a circle, written on the ground, with letters nailed into the floor at four different points. The letters were written in better moments in time. Far better than now.
"I do not wish to be King. I wish to be ruled by a proper King, and that man is not Veljorn. I know you feel the same way - every wise Andaris should, as they have brought Rynmere to great and prosperous times despite the frail state of the world around us."
A lie. He did want to be King -- he always wanted to be King. Somewhere, somehow. He felt that ambition, and followed its path. It led him to magic, to the deep dark.
"A lot's happened since I last wrote here. So much that I can't even begin to stop, or think. Every day is an endless cycle of activity; small things, big things, wild things, new things, old things. And people - beautiful, wise, educated, uninformed, hideous, crass, kind. I feel as if my life this past arc has been something of a dream, perhaps one I could have scrawled about in my mind before my fantasies went awry by the harsh touch of reality.
Oh, little me, lost in a chamber of fanciful gleaming. Where does reality begin, when this halcyon period of my life inevitably comes to an end?"
Reading those words formed tears in his eyes. 1st of Cylus, Arc 717. Only an arc ago, really. The halcyon days only lasted for that long.
"Regardless, I go on tangents. I've done well, lately. Sincerely well. I've met a man named Fridgar, and I love him. I'm a bit worried for him, and the way things will change when others know of us, but I'll stride through it. I've come to accept that maybe I'll never be the Lord I wanted to be, because of my deformity, as some would call it. My inability to simply marry a noble woman and go on with it all. My will for freedom, to pursue what I want."
He never was the Lord he wanted to be. But he had Fridgar, right? Always had him. The love of his life. The star which every constellation formed from. He was such a man. So gallant, and loving. Everything he did was for Alistair.
. . .
"I don't write in my journal, anymore. I don't want to, these days. I'm too happy. Regardless of what's to come, and what challenge I'll find, I know I'll survive. I have Fridgar, I have my dreams, and really. Not the ones assigned to me by inheritance, but my own. Life is mine to command.
This will be my last entry. Goodbye."
I'm too happy. ... Now the tears really started to flow. I have Fridgar.
No. Not anymore. That man, the love of his life, was gone from him now. And he could never, ever repair the rift that formed. He was alone, in this wildness, hiding from the Crown yet standing within view to sate the lust of his dreams. He still wanted to step through the industrious streets of Novilane, through Oxentide, take his place as Baron and command a war upon his surroundings. He wanted to rule. He wanted to command it all.
Only one could give him back his life. The devil, the beast, the red tyrant. Syroa.
