Another restless night, and I woke up to the same dream, one night after the other. I reached out towards the lamp, and to the tiny and ruggedly bound parchment that I have been keeping beneath my pillow. I leaned my back against the wall, and took a deep breath, I feel the sweat under the soles of my feet, yet the wind of night blows the window hard enough to be heard across the other chamber. I grab a quill to write yet another same entry.
"Lying on the ground, and head down to a moss of grass. I felt the blood running from my head towards my lips. The taste of leaves as I gush out and cough. My eyes blinded with tears and blood, but I can see a woman laid in front of me, hair as black as coal but with a pint of lint towards the tip, face and skin resembles none of the persons I gazed upon of all my life in this kingdom, and clothes woven and embedded with strange markings that I haven't seen all my life. A single line of blood drips down her cheek towards her chin and into the ground. Dead cold stare but with tears as if remembering the terrors she witnessed momentarily before her demise. Eyes open wide looking at me. who is she?, what was I to her?
My last breath is upon me, my fate is sealed, and yet I can feel every bits of it. My senses has never been this precise, the wind that blows above echoing towards us, as if we were tossed in a ravine, the tiny taps and scratch of insects underneath the grass , and every drop of my tears mixed with blood falling to ground. A minute, an hour, time that passes by seems to be irrelevant. And her stare, seems to have a toll in my heart. I never knew who she was, what she was to me, but it seems as my heart remembers...., what my mind hasn't."
'Twas already time for breakfast when the grip of morning and reality has taken its snap upon my whim. And the slow creeks of the wooden floor as I stood up from my bed, the noise of the bells of the church, and the smell of food from the kitchen, are what little things that greets me up in the morning. My cut and dried life have never changed in the past 28 years in this Wich. Truth be told, I have been dwelling in this house owned by my beloved father. He'd come to pass and left us 2 years ago,and the tale of his depart is a tale to be remembered to my grave, like a nail lodged down to my head. But a tale to be told for another day, another time.
But perhaps one can say, I was born in a quite comfortable life. My father, Lord Rosowalder of the Wich of Phlipvania, the fabled wielder of the trident of the Sorvos Empire. A great man in the field of battle and strategy, but a great father? Maybe the tale of his legacy ends with the final swing of his sword, and not with the comfort of his children. A father who despite having a loyal son, who follows his steps like a shadow, gives me the title of a reeve, a collector towards the peasants. An offer of honor to some, but a spit and mockery towards mine. For three years, I have lived with the role I do not wish to fulfil. For three years. I am still pondered by the decision of my father to put one of his legacy to this form of exile. In it, I have seen the bitter truth of the life I have lived, and how often one side of the coin is a complete opposite to the other. A time of enlightenment, that maybe the Gods, we bow up above. We are theirs' to bless, but also theirs' to torment.
A new day has come in the household Pyatter as they gathered to dine. Rasgafer the third son amongst the kin seemed to to have been troubled deeply from the recurring dream he had, staring blankly as he descend from the stairs. Yet his ears seems to hear the giggling of his youngest siblings, Estholivo and Estholivina(the twins), running from their bedchamber and descending like him through the stairs. As blank as he is, he puts a smile as they passes by him.
A long trestle table of 12 seats facing one another. And another 2, one for each wing. On one side of the wing lies their mother, the widower, lady Malideth. While the eldest, Mordovik and second, Athemo lies on opposite sides beside their mother. The fourth, Zarbi sits next to Mordovik, while the twins sits besides Athemo. They leered at Rasgafer as he just stands still on the door to the hall, just staring at them as they sat on the table. The silence broke, as the new maid, Elihiya, tell Rasgafer from behind.
YOU ARE READING
MOR' EVIN
Fantasy"Would it really be necessary to add a description to the story? Well maybe to catch the attention of those who reads it in the Great Library in Sorvos. A fancy way to portrays the tales of murderers, conquerors and alike, claiming to be a hero just...
