Ashan 80, Arc 718
The hail and the thunderstorms that had troubled the kingdom during the previous couple of trials had finally let up and faded into clear skies, light and gentle breezes, bringing with them the sweet promises of Ymiden. Tristan was sitting in his room, behind his desk. In front of him were a multitude of documents, each one more important than the next, but he wasn’t looking at them. Instead, he was looking out of the window, thinking and occasionally taking a sip from the glass of wine that stood on his desk. Once drinking had made him happy and calmed him down. Now it only made him think of her. Ilaren.
Once upon a time he had wanted to marry her. He had fallen head over heels in love with her during the first night they had spent together, but then she had betrayed him and messed with his mind. Just like Aelig, Syroa and Lisirra. Just like the king. Cassander had been one of his closest friends once. He had been so happy for him when Zanik had marked him and loved the puppy he had gifted to him. And then he had decided to burn all mages at the stake – because one of them had thrown a door that hadn’t even been meant for him. The Cassander he had known would never have ordered the killing of innocents.
He was tired of it. He was tired of all the people using and abusing him and betraying him and being unable to do anything about it. Alistair and he had talked about the possibility of him becoming king, but how could he replace Casssander? He barely knew how to hold a weapon correctly. He was weak. He didn’t want to be weak anymore. Weak people got stepped on. Weak people died. Only the strong survived. He needed to become stronger and honor the aspect of his chosen Immortal that he had neglected so far if he didn’t want to become another side note in the annals of history, the artist that had failed at being duke and that hadn’t even been able to protect his daughter.
He abruptly jumped up, grabbed his coat that was black like the rest of his clothes (by wearing black he was protesting against Cassander’s newest law – everybody else was wearing red, red like the pyres on which the mages burned), his cane sword and his crossbow and rushed outside, into the small courtyard that he could see from his window, ignoring the servants that looked at him in bewilderment. He needed to do something!
His crossbow was quite extravagant. It was golden and pale blue, but it worked just as well as any other crossbow. He looked at it in confusion for a moment because he barely remembered anything about the lessons with Kylar, and then he put his right foot in the stirrup at the front of the bow, pulled the crossbow string back and placed a bolt in the barrel, straining himself as he did so, and aimed it at the tree that was in front of him. It didn’t go where it was supposed to go. Instead, it landed in the head of one of the sculptures that stood in the courtyard, a blue woman with a square head and three sulfur-yellow eyes.
The hail and the thunderstorms that had troubled the kingdom during the previous couple of trials had finally let up and faded into clear skies, light and gentle breezes, bringing with them the sweet promises of Ymiden. Tristan was sitting in his room, behind his desk. In front of him were a multitude of documents, each one more important than the next, but he wasn’t looking at them. Instead, he was looking out of the window, thinking and occasionally taking a sip from the glass of wine that stood on his desk. Once drinking had made him happy and calmed him down. Now it only made him think of her. Ilaren.
Once upon a time he had wanted to marry her. He had fallen head over heels in love with her during the first night they had spent together, but then she had betrayed him and messed with his mind. Just like Aelig, Syroa and Lisirra. Just like the king. Cassander had been one of his closest friends once. He had been so happy for him when Zanik had marked him and loved the puppy he had gifted to him. And then he had decided to burn all mages at the stake – because one of them had thrown a door that hadn’t even been meant for him. The Cassander he had known would never have ordered the killing of innocents.
He was tired of it. He was tired of all the people using and abusing him and betraying him and being unable to do anything about it. Alistair and he had talked about the possibility of him becoming king, but how could he replace Casssander? He barely knew how to hold a weapon correctly. He was weak. He didn’t want to be weak anymore. Weak people got stepped on. Weak people died. Only the strong survived. He needed to become stronger and honor the aspect of his chosen Immortal that he had neglected so far if he didn’t want to become another side note in the annals of history, the artist that had failed at being duke and that hadn’t even been able to protect his daughter.
He abruptly jumped up, grabbed his coat that was black like the rest of his clothes (by wearing black he was protesting against Cassander’s newest law – everybody else was wearing red, red like the pyres on which the mages burned), his cane sword and his crossbow and rushed outside, into the small courtyard that he could see from his window, ignoring the servants that looked at him in bewilderment. He needed to do something!
His crossbow was quite extravagant. It was golden and pale blue, but it worked just as well as any other crossbow. He looked at it in confusion for a moment because he barely remembered anything about the lessons with Kylar, and then he put his right foot in the stirrup at the front of the bow, pulled the crossbow string back and placed a bolt in the barrel, straining himself as he did so, and aimed it at the tree that was in front of him. It didn’t go where it was supposed to go. Instead, it landed in the head of one of the sculptures that stood in the courtyard, a blue woman with a square head and three sulfur-yellow eyes.