Jithaz
01-09-2006, 02:24 PM
<div></div><div>(I may edit this later for clarity and as more ideas come to mind, but for now, I wanted to get back into the habit of writing, something I used to do quite a bit. It's my first piece of fiction in two or more years, so I would appreciate critique. Thanks. ;p )</div><div> </div><div>There are times when the sun hasn't yet crested and the land is bathed in a warm orange-red glow, held tight in its grip like the loving embrace of a faithful mate that I can still taste the salt of the sea and hear the waves as they crash against the hull of the Mistmaiden. Times when I still feel young and alive, hopeful for my people and for the ever-living world, even though I can almost see it as it decays...</div><div> </div><div>I am Iszjin Jithaz, and this is my tale.</div><div> </div><div>Six years have passed since I saw my father, Jithaz Rihtas. He was a good and righteous iksar by all accounts; a faithful and devoted acolyte of Thule's teachings, a powerful and ranked Crusader of the Greenmist, a loving mate and father. Even when the waters of the lake of Ill Omen spread through Cabilis like death itself, he did what he could to save my broodlings, my brothers and sisters... unfortunately, even the bravest efforts sometimes go unrewarded. I was the only of my brood to survive.</div><div> </div><div>He took me in, became a sellsword, peddling his services as an adventurer, bouncer, fighter, mercenary... all of this just to keep food in my mouth and clothes on my back. When he was able, he would teach me all that he knew. Tales of our history and our Father, our heritage and why we should be the proud warriors of legend. The very first gift that I remember him giving me was a copy of the Doctrines of Thule... a ponderous tome by all standards, but one that I cherished. Even though I was far too young to understand most of what was laid out there, I must have read it through a hundred times, and whenever I would read through some of the historical texts and philosophical tracts that he managed to stow away for me, I would always cross-reference these with the teachings of Thule.</div><div> </div><div>I asked him once to train me to be a crusader as he was, to teach me to fight with honor, blade and claw. I can still remember the expression on his face... not quite shock and not quite benevolence. "My son," he said to me, kneeling down and placing a large, scarred hand on my shoulder, "It is not your destiny to fight, to live by the sword as I have and to die by it as I shall. We are iksar... and you must take the truth to our brothers and sisters, though they've scattered to the four winds. Cabilis, though it was our home, was rank with strife and corruption. Brother against brother, backstabbing and plotting like Tier`Dal. We are iksar... we are above this."</div><div> </div><div>He drew his sword and held it toward me, and with trembling fingers I touched the blade, feeling dried blood flake away beneath my claws.</div><div> </div><div>"This is a fine weapon, Iszjin. A powerful weapon when wielded by one of skill and strength, but it pales in comparison to the weapon that you posess."</div><div>I looked up at him, confused. What weapon could a youngling possibly have that could compare to the cold steel that I was so fascinated by?</div><div>Sheathing the blade, my father stood once again, touching his hands to either side of my head as a priest might during a blessing. I stared up, wide-eyed and confused.</div><div> </div><div>"Your mind, Iszjin. Your will. Your heart. Wisdom and love to lead our people to our rightful place. You must be the example. You must be the teacher. I have no doubt that our people will lose touch with Thule and their heritage, with our history. They will lose touch with each other. The invading softskins from Faydwer, the so-called adventurers... the influence those beasts had on us will pale in comparison to what I know is going to happen. We'll be forced to cast our lots with softskins, and in doing so, we will weaken and degrade until we finally fade away... nothing more than a footnote in some softskin history book."</div><div> </div><div>I blinked, still far too young to truly understand what he meant. How could a race so powerful as the iksar fade away? How could we lose touch with a history as unmatched as ours? My father knelt before me once again, bowing his head and removing the horned helm that was his trademark.</div><div> </div><div>"Even if you yourself follow another of our kind, you must be an example to them all. Even if the throne is not yours, you must show them. Teach them. Love them. Yes, we are the children of Fear, but Fear is in all things. Love and hate. Happiness and sadness. It is behind all emotion. The softskins, they will tell you that the gods have left us... they will try to poison your mind and break your will until you see no difference between us and them, but you must remain steadfast. So long as you live, so long as true iksar survive, our Empire will never die and Cazic-Thule will never leave us... for so long as one iksar survives, so shall he."</div><div>If I knew then what I knew now, I'd like to think I would have been more persistant with my father. I would have demanded he take me with him when he worked, rather than leaving me to my books in cluttered inn rooms. He would disappear for larger and larger amounts of time, toward the end... until one day, he never returned. I waited for weeks, months possibly... living off what coin he left to me in a small softskin village until that coin ran out. I'm no theif or beggar, so I found what work I could. I studied healing and the arts of the Priesthood, and began to adventure alone. I'm sure it was a comical sight, a hatchling barely six feet tall in oversized hand-me-down chainmail with the Doctrines in one hand and a club in the other, panicking as he shouted incantations and muttered prayers. My father would have scolded me for the danger I put myself in, but I have no doubt he would have been proud at the little holy warrior that he had raised.</div><div> </div><div>My father, in an ironic twist of fate, was murdered by one of the very soldiers under his command back in Cabilis. Setiss Daimon.</div><div> </div><div>Whoever said that Fate lacks a sense of humor was very, very wrong. Not long after I arrived in Freeport, a strange iksar with a mind as shattered as Luclin pledged his life to me after my skill in healing saved his life from a pack of orcs. His name was Setiss, and though he had no memory, he would work for me until his debt was paid. He was a loyal right-hand and adventuring companion, serving me as I began to form various iksar under the banner of our Empire and the name of the Shadow of Fear, an organization of like-minded freedom fighters that I formed with two 'brothers' that I had known since my arrival.</div><div> </div><div>I would later discover that this Setiss was the very one who had bested my father and murdered him in cold blood. He tracked my father for years, and finally, on an island that was likely a shard of Faydwer, he caught up to him. They fought, though in the end, my father lost, no doubt trying to save his old friend until the end. Always honorable and always loving of our people, my father was.</div><div> </div><div>There are times when I look at myself in the mirror, times when after long periods of meditation, I am forced to ask myself... would my father be ashamed of what I have become, of what our people have become? I suppose I'll never know the answer until I sit at Thule's side, long after my time here has run out. All that I can really do is hope for the best and prepare for the worst. The softskins are treacherous, but we iksar are strong. If the Shissar could not keep us in chains and the armies of Rallos Zek could not breach the walls of Cabilis... what could these soft whelps possibly do to hold us down?</div><div>It is our destiny that we shall again stand astride the world like a Colossus, and even if it takes my death, I can rest in peace knowing that I was one of the first to set into motion events that would lead us back home.</div><div> </div><div>Ah... Azreala has returned with the hatchlings. I'll continue writing these thoughts later, if only for my own peace of mind.</div><div> </div><div>For brood, for blood, for Thule and for freedom - Iszjin Jithaz</div><p>Message Edited by Jithaz on <span class="date_text">01-09-2006</span><span class="time_text">01:24 AM</span></p>