First meeting of the most wicked King of Mithar
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The Prophetess Aerie
The Calling of Aerie
The Oath
When his son turned seven years old, Nadan told Kyon, “Son,
people will kill me one day.”
The boy looked at
him and said, “No father do not say that.”
Nadan continued, “I
tell you this so that when it happens you will understand and not be caught off
guard. But they will and I wanted you to
know that no matter what happens, I love you and am very proud of you my son.”
His son assured
him, “I know. Gratitude father; but, why
would someone want to kill you?”
Smiling, Nadan
answered as best he could, “Some people are afraid. They only react from fear and not
understanding. They fear change. Instead of love, compassion and understanding
some reach out to hurt others they are afraid of getting to know. The more you grow up the more changes are
asked of you. When you love others there
is less of you and more of them.”
“I will father, and
they shall be humbled to tears and made to realize they were wrong.” Kyon
answered.
Exactly a year
later to the very day Nadan was killed at the Oasis of Orid. As Kyon lay beside his father’s body, he
remembered his words. Kyon stopped his
crying and stood up. Facing the priest,
with his father’s blood still dripping from his unsheathed sword, he said “I am
Kyon the son of Nadan, and I forgive you.
I am sad to see that you have not grown up, and everything you think you
know about God; are not the lessons he wanted you to learn. You may leave now that I may bury my father
for your deed is done, and there is no one left for you to kill.”
The priest and the four Tower guards were
astounded by the boy’s reaction. They
left in silence. Moments later the crowd
that had gathered about and watched everything departed as well. Afterwards, Kyon said, “Gratitude, Corlan
but I shall do this task alone.” With
that he dug a deep hole in the desert sand and buried his father by himself as
Corlan, his father’s man servant looked on and cried for his loss. For he knew Kyon would never cry again; and
for an entire year nor did he speak a word.
...
THE LONGEST CAPTIVE
MORNEL
Rarely have the prisoners of Varlendur been
given mention for they were the harshest example of the Mitharian King’s
authority. The duality of both powers:
Kings and Priest merged in the shadow of the city’s once grandest
lighthouse. Known far and wide for its
mystics and justice it became a feared forced to engage. Yet, it was the
Priesthood and their secret rites that captured the most imagination and
attention of the people and in time even those became more elite and elusive in
their teachings before the people.
Through the years the dungeon of Varlendur
took on more prisoners. Five was the
most housed at one time. By the time of the sixth king twenty seven had already
called The Tower their personal residence.
Arabraken the Mordorian was killed in trying
to escape which quelled any further attempts. Brandon Aladreth was held for the
shortest amount of time, just nine days and was released. Mornel Vanderqin was held the longest for
nearly seventeen years.
This is his tale.
Another fat brown-haired rat scurried along
the base of the smooth stone wall. The
two torches at either end of the unseen hallway flowed in through the barred
window of the jail cell's oaken door. Sandaled
steps approached. Keys clattered about.
The lock tumbled. From the flooding
burst of light there came thrusting into the small chamber, from blackened
silhouettes, a scruffy bearded young man.
Wearing but tattered cloths immersed in the rank smell of sweat the new
comer was a vagrant for sure.
Eirwe, the head of the tower guards opened
the cell door directing the new comer inside.
Smiling, he said, “I have been summoned by the king, old friend. I shall be back shortly. Enjoy your new company.” No reply came as the flood of light revealed
an old man being a large rat.
“So what are you in here for?” The new comer
asked his sudden companion.
Silence.
He was impatient.
“No tongue to speak with?” His question came with
a bite.
Silence.
“My name is Craven. Well seems the likes of me was bound to get
caught-” His offered introduction was
cut short upon seeing the old man feeding the largest of the rats climbing on
his lap.
“Yes, just a matter of time I suppose.” He
finished as the man before him gave the last crumbs of his meal away to the
rodent.
“So, how often do they feed us in here?”
No reply came as the balding man just sat
there petting another rat, smaller than the first.
He sighed in frustration at not getting
answers. “How long have you been here old man?”
Still the quiet man sat amid his pets.
“How have long they kept you locked away
down here to go crazy, I wonder?” It had only been moments since his arrival
and it was promising to be a long stay.
“Did you kill someone?” Craven’s question
almost sounded like a demand to know something, anything at this point.
Getting nowhere, the new comer confessed;
they always confess. “Two years ago I…I
was enjoying the company of a young lady.
Very lovely thing she was. Then
when her husband came home and found us together I tried my best to get out of
there.” Craven paused and slowly began
again, “There was no ill will, just escape in mind. He came at me and I brushed him aside. But when he began hitting the girl, I – I was
outraged and pulled him away. His head
was hit and he died. I knew she loved
him more than me and that understandable.
But we – well, I had to get out of there. So I ran.”
Looking at the old man, feeding the rat as if he was not listening, made
Craven continue. “Well, I ran. I left Dorshan and came to Uruk. Before I knew it the authorities were
searching for me. I was told Mithar was
a Sanctuary city. At a tavern in Uruk a
man told me his troubles and did he have them.
I told him mine and he said since I was already running he would pay me
six gold coins to kill someone. I
did. The times were hard old man and I
needed the money to eat. I did not learn
till later the ‘three’ someone’s were officials themselves. But the deed was done. I had become a murder for hire it seemed.” Looking out the barred door he said, “So then
I headed to Sinjar and happened upon another bounty man. I could tell this one was some official himself
but he was looking to hire not apprehend.
He said he would take me before the King himself unless –“The old man
only petted the rats as several had gathered around him. Craven continued, “It was a boy. He did not tell me at the time I was to kill
a child. But in my situation and under
threat, what could I do old man? I went
to the Oasis of Orid and waited. Thirty
pieces of silver was good coin to have along with freedom.” The old man exhaled as the rats left him with
no more bread. Talking into the darkness
the talkative new comer finished, “Some boy named Kyon, he who was purported to be a witch or something. I cut his throat in
the night as he slept. Then I ran to
Mithar, seeking it as the Sanctuary city.
Questioned by some priests, I told them what I have just told you. Then, the humorous part was when the king told
me that Sinjar was the Sanctuary city and not Mithar. With a smile he added I was to be hanged
tomorrow in the square.”
Finally, after all but one of the rats left,
the old man spoke, “Mornel. I am Mornel
Vanderqin of Mithar’s eastern gate. For
sixteen years, seven months, twenty-three days and nine hours have
Varlendur’s guards shown me their
hospitality.”
“Goodness man,” Gasped Craven aloud!
Ignoring the young man’s dismay, Mornel
continued, “It was long ago, and for the sake of love that found me here.”
Interrupting what sounded like the
beginnings of a long story, Craven whispered, “Knew a jealous husband had to figure
in somewhere.”
The old man continued, brushing off the
comment of the impatient youth, he began, “A long time ago, now that I actually
recall those days. We were going to live
forever.
My best friend Balinthane Silmeth and I were
inseparable. We had been co-conspirators
of embracing the moment and exploring all the taboos of the world that our
parents abhorred. We were young and fearless in those by-gone days. We finished
the thoughts of the other and inspired the others imaginations with insights. We loved learning as much as we did adventure.
Yet in time his seemed to lead into more trouble than my own had the courage
for. I envied Balinthane greatly for such ventures into the Lore of Lindol and
the secret paths of her Priestesses yet. In time we grew apart and children
become men.
He was always in my thoughts and the biggest
influence upon my thoughts. We corresponded by currieries and even then our
brotherly bonds grew firm. Then there came a brief season when our paths
crossed again in person.
Balinthane
hesitantly handed his friend poignant words, "My father received your
letter instead of me. I had gone to into town and missed the messenger."
Mornel caught
the tone, knowing his cared for his aging father, "I am sorry he has been
so ill as of late. - Oh - THE letter..." Then suddenly catching the full
meaning of Balinthan’s word s added, "HE READ IT?"
"He read it." Balinthane
Mornel: "I am forever sorry my friend."
Sincerely hoping the reminder of their status was not fully crushed by the
secret revelations of passed deeds.
Balinthane: "So am I. But, he is my father and must
come first."
The next day we had cut off all ties with
one another for a very long time. Our
open friendship before the eyes of his father had been severed. I freely
accepted the banishment from brother’s love so as not to hinder the bond of
father and son. In accepting that
role of instigator in the grave mischief that had occurred I knew wrath would
soon find me. The local authorities came upon me and from the Lord Magistrate
was I imprisoned within the very walls of Varlendur itself.
The guard, Eirwe
returned. “You are being released.”
Stunned for a moment the old man gave no indication of
change.
Carven repeated the guard’s words, “Mornel, you are a
free man, you can leave.”
“He must have been here too long, afraid of leaving I
suppose.”
Seeing the last
of his rats trail away the old man smiled at the guard who held the door open
for him and looked longingly with a deep smile, “Thank you, for all your
kindness.” The guard seemed to a smirk in return.
Carven asked,
“Where will you go? What will you do after having wasted all your time here?”
Turning about he
answered slowly. “What I have always done.
Live.” Then added, pointing to a rat standing on its hind legs begging
to be picked up. Mornel did not comply
this time but added, “The rats taught me tenacity as they and time shall teach
you. Good bye.”
Upon leaving the
Grey Tower's massive front doors the newly released prisoner saw his old
childhood friend standing at the bottom of the steep stair. He had waited all
those years later to see him, though they spoke seldom and never of the old
grievance. He stood there all alone.
With each step the old man took toward the bottom ancient
memories began to flood his thoughts. Memories before the rats, the beatings
and the engulfing darkness flooded his mind. Finally many years later they came
face to face. The old childhood friend's face was streamed with tears and a
trembling chin. Yet all the newly freed man could say was, "I am so very
sorry for the loss of your father, he was a great man."
INTRODUCTION TWR
In a post middle
earth world, a remnant of the elves stayed behind. In doing so they developed a cultic history where
idealist doctrines centered themselves as divine teachers. Beginning with a boxed-scroll, the Watcher’s
personal stories and later histories; these collected works became their sacred
Scriptures. The Keepers were called: The
Order of the Red Brotherhood. Their
WATCHER’S BOOK and its forgotten religion witnessed the coming, not only of
Noah’s Flood but the end of The Nephilim Age as well.
................................................................................
The Last Days of Kyon
When Kyon, the son of Nadan turned twelve years of age he revisited the Oasis of Orid on the anniversary of his father’s passing. By now a small gathering of tent dwellers resided and many travelers passed that way. Before the polished flat-faced stone he called to the people, “Is it not... ot the way
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