Moments passed, and to any observer who passed underneath The Spire that night, it must have seemed as though some vision of Yrkanis' past meditated on top of the jutting ridge. He was as luminescent as a spirit in the twilight, with his fiery hair loose and whipping in the wind, his eyes shut tight and his face set in a grimace, and his Matisian ******* sword resting atop his crossed knees with the blade bare to the moonlight so that any homin attempting to climb The Spire and disrupt his meditations would think twice. Slowly his breathing eased, his face relaxed as his shoulders slumped, and a radiant smile spread across his face as...
he stepped across the sylvan glade, the magnificent white trees rising all around him in every direction. The sweet spring nearby babbled and gurgled happily as the water leapt over the rocks, hurrying to nowhere in particular. He smiled at the woman sitting in the center of the glade, and as he stepped toward her she held out the child that she had been holding, her features radiant with the love of a mother and a wife, her long black tresses spilling over the folds of her shimmering azure gown as the wood around them awoke with the vibrant song of life. His face...
crumpled with a sorrow greater than any should ever know, as his body was wracked by sobs of grief and anguish. His daughter... his son... his wife... he couldn't bear the grief of the memory, as it washed over him and he...
tightened his grip on the hilt of his practice blade, spinning about the room in an almost courtly dance while the air sang with the sound of steel on steel. His opponent and he were alone in the spacious room, waltzing across the bare floors and flirting with the racks of weaponry that adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling, spinning by them as lovers would at a ball, but never quite touching. Their panting breaths and the whisper of their feet as they slid from one end of the room to another was a quiet, yet far more revealing song than the chimes of their steel. Both were exhausted, but he would not win this time, and both knew it. The green-eyed youth who was his opponent slid his feet almost imperceptibly, shifted his grip to put all his weight behind his final attack, and his eyes...
opened wide in horror, the same shining pair of emeralds that he had seen in his visions, his hair the same wisps of flame that he recognized from a face that haunted his reality. His own, or was it? How could he tell? How could he know where the one man ended and the other began? The memories were coming faster now, an unbearable torrent in his mind, a current so strong that try as he might to resist it, try as he might to guide it, it swept him away to places unknown and unheard of, places never before seen by the eyes of hominkind, and places that he feared would drive him slowly out of his mind.
The beautiful teenage girl, so beautiful that his body back on The Spire began to weep furiously with the knowledge that he could never again see her in the full glory that had been her life, hummed a tune so beautiful that it outshone her face as the light of a thousand suns would outshine the moon, and she danced about the ancient and wonderful white trees as gracefully as a beam of starlight might play among the heavens. When she noticed him staring, his voice choked with emotion, his body paralyzed with the joy of this moment, the moment he knew to be the happiest of his life, She said the only thing that could have possibly made him happier.
"It's the trees, daddy" she called out to him from across the glade "they sing to me, telling me the most wonderful things. They said they would teach me a song to move the sylvan heart, and that only those who understand the white forest would understand the song, and that someone who was closer to the heart of the trees would understand it more than someone who merely thought that they were just beautiful plants. Did you hear it daddy? Did you hear Atys sing with me?"
He merely nodded, his eyes saying all that his voice could never express, chestnut eyes that...
glowed with a fierce pride as he watched his son outsmart and outfight three of Yrkanis' best border guards, alone and unaided. They had sought to deflate what they thought was hubris rising from the boy who was quickly becoming known as the city guard's finest blade. He could still recall how the combat had unfolded, how the three grown men, each with years of combat experience and commendations of valor had attempted to circle the boy, coming at him from all sides at once to negate the advantage of his skill. Yet he had still proved too much for them, for as they came at him he had twisted and turned, slid and ducked, misleading their eyes and deflecting their blades with such little effort that they had been clearly caught off guard and made hesitant. With his opponents so easily unnerved by his defenses, he quickly pressed his advantage and switched to the offensive, delivering lightning fast blows at first one, then another, then the final guardsman, which still avoiding their swords with an almost instinctual grace. His friends applauded wildly from the edges of the dueling grounds as the three guards raised their hands in the signal for surrender, and their parents clapped the man on his back as the green-eyed man met his own eyes from across the room, only to give a single nod of approval before he turned and walked out the door.
He remembered so clearly the feeling of pride that had flooded him at that single nod, that feeling of well being that had drowned out every other sensation, till all he could feel was...
the blinding agony of the kinchers stinger driving straight through his middle. His son lay dead behind him, but he could hardly see the beautiful boy he had brought into this cruel, cruel world as the recollection of a far more bitter memory, the death of his wife and daughter, haunted his mind, their cries of fright seeming to last an eternity compared to all of the other memories of his life, excepting only their smiles, which flooded him with a warmth he did not know he could have felt after their passing. The past few weeks had been a blur, ever since their deaths. He and his son had walked in a haze, killing the kitin wherever they could be found, pausing only for instants to rest or eat, or extending a hand to a fallen homin to place them back on their feet, and shove them, stumbling headfirst to the portal of the Kami and the Karavan. They had piled the corpses of the kitin around them, never really hoping for victory, only for the sweet, sweet release that they knew death would bring. Other men had remakred on their bravery, or their skill, but they knew that it was only a matter of time. They knew that you could only fling yourself headlong at an enemy with such violent rage for so long before you grew scared of the demon lurking inside your soul, and wished for nothing but release. And so, he was glad. He had finally found peace at the hands of his enemy. It was finally over.
The warmth was seeping through his very soul even as it left his body, and he could see his son waiting for him, smiling at him, and telling him that they should go to find the rest of their family, so that they could be reunited at last. He was only vaguely aware of all the other guardsmen, still fighting for their lives, and even of the red-haired man that he had admired so much in life performing his deadly dance around, over, and even sometimes on top of the kitin, seemingly untouched by their stingers. He was hardly aware of the Matis refugees still crowding around the teleporters, desperate to escape even when they knew it to be impossible, even when they had lost as much as he. He was aware of nothing but the bliss he felt at being reunited at last with what he had lost, of the gaping blackness in his being that was at last filling with light once again. He had never realized how lonely his existence was without them, and at last he felt complete.
His body still collapsed upon the spire, still wracked with agony and sorrow, he let out a primal scream of fury and despair that, despite the great emotion behind it, failed to reach the ears of the homin in the camp. He knew that he needed to do what would come next alone, no matter what the cost to himself might be, and he would not have any come to his aid. He sprang to his feet, and raced down The Spire and out into the night, his hand still tightly gripping his sword as he ran as fast as he could towards the jungle of the kitin. He darted past javings, leapt over rendor, and outran the torbaks of the lake, so great was his need to destroy the creatures that he blamed for all he had lost.
When he stood at last in their jungle, shaking and gasping, he paused for but a moment to gather his breath, and then let his dance begin. It was not as graceful as it had been in his memories. It was not as deadly to the creatures he hated so, but for now, it sufficed. He ran past other homin, whether they were alone or in groups, paying no heed to their greetings or offers of aid, and set upon the nearest kitin that he could find with a thirst for vengeance that permeated his entire being. His mind was a haze, but he knew that he was working his way ever onwards, leaving a trail of destruction as wide as any on the island could have mustered as he worked his way ever northwards, towards the lair of the greatest of the beasts that lurked upon this haven for the refugees of Atys.
The next memory he had had been resting, his body and mind nearly broken, with all his energies, his sap, his stamina, his physical health, nearly exhausted and spent. As he sat with his back to the wall of the Kirosta's cave, looking at the corpse of the Kirosta he had slain, he knew that he had proved nothing. He knew that the kitin would only send more of their foul kind to harry the ranger encampment, for the foul substance that was eating away at the heart of Atys had been placed nearby by the hands of homins, and in all honesty, they seemed to not be able to differentiate one race or group from another.
His rage spent, he wondered what it all meant. With his mind relaxed, not actively seeking answers, or redemption from the misery that engulfed his conscious being, his thoughts drifted on the winds till
they reached a great, white forest, unseen by the eyes of any homin on Atys. He walked through its clearing and pathways as the green-eyed man, drinking in its splendor with his eyes, while his ears heard the most beautiful of songs, a song to move the sylvan heart, for Atys itself sung to him, and bade him to be at peace.
His thoughts were troubled, for he knew that some imminent disaster was coming to these lands, and that the world would be forever changed by its coming. Yet, it seemed of such little import to him, since it would affect only the homins of Atys, while the white forest would remain unchanged.
But then, he heard something he had never before expected to hear. The voices of a Matis man and woman rang through his forest, obscuring the song of Atys in his mind, and filling him with such a terrible anger that he ran through the trees, heedless of the usual wonders of the forest around him to reach the source of the voices and to demand to know how they had breached his sanctuary.
Yet, before he could reach the clearing, he was shocked yet again by a sound he had never expected to hear. He glanced to his side, and saw a dark haired youth playing amonst the trees. The youth was laughing, and smelling the flowers of the sylvan glades, drinking in the life of the forest in ways that he had thought only he could. His eyes began to mist as he realized that the laughter of this boy strengthed the song of Atys, until he could hear nothing else once more, and his heart was at peace.
He moved once more towards the homin who he now knew to be the parents of this child, and stopped just outside of the clearing that they had chosen to rest in. This time he felt that he was prepared to be surprised, to have his beliefs shaken once more, but nevertheless he was still caught off guard by the black eyes of the baby girl who glanced directly at him as she was being passed from mother to father, even though no other homin had seen him for many more years than he cared to count. He relaxed against the trunk of a nearby tree, to consider what it all meant.
He knew that he was the King of the white forest.
He knew that he was an ordinary man, haunted by the whispers of a false seed that showed him memories of a time and place he knew could never exist.
He knew that Atys itself spoke to him, and that everything there was to learn, he could learn, that every art there was to master, he could master. He knew that the world itself would open for him, if he but asked it politely, and gave what he could in return.
He knew that he was a refugee, bereft of all knowledge, even that of his own past. He knew that he could learn only a few things at a time, and that some knowledges would elude his grasp, even as he strove for them. He knew that all he was could be contained in a single shell of a man.
Yet...
Yet...
he knew that the hearts of homin were far more difficult to understand than the hearts of the trees, or of the planet itself. And, obviously, there were still surprises left for him in this world. He glanced at the family again, and wondered whether the forest desired to have two kings, or three, or a hundred. After all, saying that he was a King of the white forest meant only that he was his own master, free to learn and live as he desired, free from pain and strife, and connected to the heart of the world he cherished.
he knew little of himself, of where he came from, of what the images of the white trees meant. He did not know whose family he yearned for, or how he could learn any of these things if he did not first understand himself. Was he the homin who laughed politely with the other refugees in the camp, or was he the bloodthirsty man intent on avenging those he loved and thought to be lost? Was he the man who gently drew forth the riches of Atys, thanking the living planet for what she had offered him as he let his mind drift in a forest of such great beauty that he had to shake the tears from his eyes and resume his work, or was he the blind and stumbling refugee who had wearily travelled for years with the blinding agony of memories he could not place inside of his own mind? Was he the brooding man who ignored the greetings of others as he set about his work, or the playful one who grinned widely at them and waved back? Was he the healer, or the killer? The master of his own self and mind, or the confused man who was trying to piece a life together for himself on this planet we know as Atys?
As he drew himself up from the wall of the cave, his body restored from the rest and his mind more at peace than it had been for several years, he wondered if it really mattered. His seed had stopped whispering to him this confused jumble of images and memories quite some time ago, and maybe it did not matter if he sorted them all out. As long as his mind was his own, perhaps he was free to shape it as he desired, and use the memories of both lives to forge himself anew, for better or worse, in any way that he desired. After all, all that meant was that he would be
his own master, free to learn and live as he desired, free from the pain and strife of memories he did not need, free to be connected to the heart of the world he cherished. He smiled as he considered the fact that his life was truly his own to decide, for the first time in ages, and he
shook his head, considering that such a strange thought to have. Hadn't it always been his own? He shook his head again, this time with some vestiges of amusement, as he started back towards the Ranger encampment, heading for the teleporter that would take him to the new Yrkanis. He felt that it was time for him to explore new lands, and to find a place for himself in the world, to shake off the disturbing memories of his past, and find something else to live for.
He was still the King of the white forest, but he somehow knew that this time he was not alone.
**Author's notes***
Thank you to anyone who read/enjoyed this, I've been wanting to post it for quite some time. But, please remember that these are the personal thoughts of my character, and that you probably aren't privy to them, so please don't post comments in this thread or start up an IC conversation about the white forest, if you think you know who I am in-game(I play on Arispotle). Thank you very much if you had the patience to read this, and I'll see you on Atys
