Armphid
Crowned Sun
- Joined
- May 18, 2003
- Posts
- 9,831
The world of Velgarth was a land of wonder, terror, mystery, and magic. The land, water, and wind all still bore the marks and legacy of the ancient Mage Wars that were no longer even a legend among most of the sentient beings that lived on the planet. Each land had its' own monsters, its' own horrors and marvels, and its own magic. Each nation within those lands had its' myths and tales, gods, traditions and cultures; some more than others.
Remarkable among them all was a large nation in the northwest formed over a thousand years ago by a displaced nobleman and his people, fleeing war and wicked politics. Valdemar was a nation founded by refugees and it had taken in thousands more in the centuries since the Founding, making it a patchwork of religions, cultures, and beliefs, all within the borders of one land. Joined by the uniting belief that "there is no true, one way" the many peoples had become one. This surely would have led to its destruction, either by outside parties such as the hateful Sun Priests of Karse who despised the open minded society, or from pressures of the different cultures within, yet it endured.
In so small part, this was due to one of the few universal forces in that unusual nation. The Heralds of Valdemar in their white uniforms were known through the country and beyond it as powerful, extremely well trained, fair, and were the utterly loyal and duty bound force that created unity and held the nation together. Chosen by the mysterious equine-like Companions, the Heralds possessed magic of their own; potent Gifts of the mind that allowed them to see great distances, read minds, and more. The Heralds were incorruptible and devoted to duty more than anything else in their lives...which tended to be short. As such, Heralds had a reputation as hedonists and rakes, tending to take joy in their lives where they could find it as the Crown could send them to their deaths any day. The order might be given with a heavy heart but it would be given if needed, and they would obey. They served as circuit judges, marshals, arbiters of disputes, messengers, advisors, assassins, spies, diplomats, and more. When the ruler gave orders, they flew like arrows. Without the Heralds and the Companions, Valdemar would have fallen centuries ago. Even with them, it was sometimes close.
As it was now. This last year, the Tedrel War had been fought on the southern border. Nationless mercenary nomads, the Tedrels had been given safe have, arms, and a promise by the Sun Priests of Karse. They could have all of Valdemar for their new home if they could bring the nation to its knees. So last winter, the Tedrels fortified in the demilitarized zone between the two nations and then in the spring, ravaged into Valdemar. They killed indiscriminately, stole what their forces could carry and burned or spoiled what was left. They obeyed no rules of war, gave no quarter, raped and ruined all those they did not outright kill. The lands they left behind were barren, worn, and practically depopulated; straining the resources of the kingdom. As autumn turned cold, they fled back to safety in Karse and knew that Valdemar's mighty Guard could not follow without outright war erupting. King Sendar knew this and knew the Karsites and Tedrels did as well. He knew also they would come again and winter was already waning.
The mood in the capital of Haven was one of desperate cheer slathered over grim fear. Many were trying to convince themselves the Tedrels had fled for good, that their defeat at the last few battles had demoralized them too much to continue, that the Karsites surely wouldn't spend the money to hire an entire half nation of killers again. But almost as many knew better. They saw the preparations the Guard was making and heard that every Herald not on circuit or required elsewhere was in the south. They knew another war was coming.
Owyn Lavellan heard plenty of both kinds of talk. The oldest son of a master woodworker, his father discussed it with visiting customers and fellow tradesmen alike, particularly since his mother was a sergeant in the Guard infantry and had left home a week ago with her unit. Duty to the south was all they knew but that was enough. His twin younger siblings were brave and grief stricken by her departure at turns. He had a hard enough time dealing with it but he was kept busier.
Being fourteen, he was now an active part of his father's trade and business. With his mother gone, it was Owyn who kept the books and made the notes of accounts, the youth having a talent for scholarly work that both pleased and distressed his father. His parents had educated the boy as they could best afford to but both had also expected him to be more interested in woodworking; as eldest he was intended to take over the business, after all. But he had little passion for it. He did have skill and a good deal of knowledge of it, having grown up with it, but it did not move or speak to him. His work was solid but lacked heart. He had always been bookish and read voraciously all his life, always studying about the rest of Valdemar, stories and history, always looking away over the horizon or into the past. His present and future paled in comparison.
He had not grown as tall or as broad as his parents had hoped, though he still had plenty of growing yet to do. Owyn had a slender and agile build that made him almost look frail at times. His features were clean and shapely; a bit to the pretty side of handsome, with deep set, thoughtful brown eyes and full lips. His hair was a pale platinum blond and hadn't been cut in the winter to give a little extra warmth; a clean but otherwise unschooled mess of wild locks.
Today his eyes were brighter even than normal and he was keenly interested in the day's labor. They were delivering a load of chairs that had been months in crafting and finishing but not for one of Haven's nobles or the new money merchant families; these were going to the Collegium. Where the Heralds were trained...and Bards and Healers too, but it was the Heralds who caught his imagination. Well, them and the Companions. Would he get to see any of them up close? He'd seen a few at a distance several times, you just did growing up in the capital, but to see one close would be...incredible.
He and his father had loaded up the cart and got their old mule underway in the light just after dawn. The sun had risen brightly on a chill winter day and their breath steamed in the cold air. They were bundled up in quality thick coats and clothes, a bit worn, but of good make in somewhat faded brown and grey. These were work clothes, after all, and even going to the Collegium which abutted the Palace, there was no sense in wearing nice work clothes.
The boy's wide, dark eyes moved eagerly as they approached the walls of the joined Palace/Collegium complex. They were waved through the gates and directed by an older woman in the midnight blue of the Guard to where the furniture was to be unloaded. She made Owyn feel a slight pang of worry for his mother, so far away. He was aware of his father and the Guard speaking as he swung down from the cart. Owyn paused to sweep his curious gaze over the yard they'd been let out into. That was Bardic there, with the red shutters and the students in rust colored uniforms. Healers there; the largest, which made that...that was for the Heralds. He could see students in grey uniforms quickly leaving the morning meal and heading to class. But not a Herald was to be seen. His gaze swept out over the ground as well, noting the Salle and other outbuildings and then resting on the huge stable that adjoined the Companion's Field and the Grove. None of them seemed to be about either. It was cold, but...surely one could just stick a head out one of the windows or something.
He sighed and turned to start working on the ties to the tarp that covered the chairs for delivery. "Owyn." The youth looked up at his name but didn't speak. His father gave him a patient smile, knowing he had his son's attention even if he didn't respond. "I've been asked to take a look at something inside to see if I can build one like it. Get started out here while I'm gone."
He nodded, "All right." His voice was soft and cool, a light tenor.
The guard pointed at an entrance to an outer chamber, "That store room there, lad. It's open. I'll have your father back quick enough, and maybe see if any of the trainees are free to lend a hand."
Owyn pursed his lips and shook his head, "They have bigger things to do than move chairs. I'll be fine." After a few beats that quiet voice spoke again, as if realizing he'd forgotten something. "Thank you."
She raised an eyebrow. His father nodded, "Big things are made of little things, son, remember that. If someone comes by to help, you let them now, understand?"
Owyn's eyes were rebellious but he inclined his head in acceptance. The two adults turned and walked away. The woodworker's son looked back at the cart. No matter what the guard and his father said, anyone here had more important and better things to do than help him move wood. They were learning amazing things. Preparing to help the kingdom and the people in so many ways. That was a better use for their, for anyone's time.
He got to work unloading and carrying the cargo into the storeroom. One at a time, it was slow going, but he didn't mind. The more time he was here, the more time he might get to see a Companion or a real Herald.
There was a faint bell-like chime as the thought crossed his mind and he felt a sudden presence watching him. The bells...Companions' harnesses had bells for formal occasions...could it really be one?
Owyn glanced back and felt his chest tighten and the air in this lungs catch. Perhaps twenty feet away stood the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld. The Companion stallion was big, even for his kind, and had a brawny and solid build that was different from other Companions who often looked almost delicate. He was as big as some of the huge plowhorses he'd read about or the warhorses of the heavy cavalry in height and nearly so in bulk, but enough less so that he kept a certain nimbleness. His coat was gleaming white, as were his long, flicking tail and his proud mane. He was tacked out fully; saddle and stirrups, the bitless bridle the Companions wore, and the formal bell straps. He wore no saddlebags. The horse like creature tilted his head as he looked at the boy.
Owyn felt his breath return and he quickly turned back. "I...I'm sorry if my work bothered you." It felt almost indecent for him to look at so splendid a creature while doing so mundane a task. "But...thank you. I'd so hoped to see a Companion, and..you're amazing. Just as wonderful as I...I'd imagined."
The Companion let out a pleased snort and he heard the bells chiming and soft footfalls as it drew closer. The bells...wait! Owyn glanced back at the Companion, which was indeed walking towards him. He was fit to go out and find his Chosen! And no saddlebags, it meant he must be looking for someone in Haven. Owyn kept his eyes on the Companion's tack and then smiled, turning back to his work. "Thank you for the closer look. I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you in return. But you should go. You're looking for someone and both of your time would be better spent than giving me a look at you."
He picked up another chair with a grunt and carried it towards the storeroom, noting the white shape of the Companion in his peripheral vision. He heard the stallion give a whicker that sounded like a laugh and a sigh together and then the bells again. Following him?
Owyn shook his head. "Go on already. You have somewhere important to be." And he didn't. He'd never be in an important place. "Go find whoever you're supposed to." He marched into the storeroom and set the latest chair down.
Turning, he all but ran into the Companion. He was standing just in the doorway with his head lowered and stuck into the room. Owyn sputtered and stumbled back, arms flailing. "Gah!" He felt a flash of embarrassment and irritation; enough to dare to raise his eyes to meet those of the stallion, "Why don't you go get who you're looking f-"
His brown eyes went wide and open; ultimately vulnerable and true as they met the brilliant summer sky blue of the Companion's eyes. He felt...everything; a whirl of sensation, of emotion, more complex and deeper than anything he could ever know again. There was a kind of click inside him; mind and soul, as if something that had been a missing part of him had just been set into place. His world seemed to fall away and expand endlessly outward all at once and the whirl of complexity gave way to love, love and acceptance so deep and so pure it made his heart ache and his eyes stung with unshed tears.
"I have," came a voice that was somehow inside his head. It was masculine and eager, energetic, and both pleased with itself and amused with him. "I am Fahn and I Choose you, soul brother."
His jaw worked. Owyn was not a boy who spoke a great deal but...but he had to say something to this. But what could you say? "...okay."
Remarkable among them all was a large nation in the northwest formed over a thousand years ago by a displaced nobleman and his people, fleeing war and wicked politics. Valdemar was a nation founded by refugees and it had taken in thousands more in the centuries since the Founding, making it a patchwork of religions, cultures, and beliefs, all within the borders of one land. Joined by the uniting belief that "there is no true, one way" the many peoples had become one. This surely would have led to its destruction, either by outside parties such as the hateful Sun Priests of Karse who despised the open minded society, or from pressures of the different cultures within, yet it endured.
In so small part, this was due to one of the few universal forces in that unusual nation. The Heralds of Valdemar in their white uniforms were known through the country and beyond it as powerful, extremely well trained, fair, and were the utterly loyal and duty bound force that created unity and held the nation together. Chosen by the mysterious equine-like Companions, the Heralds possessed magic of their own; potent Gifts of the mind that allowed them to see great distances, read minds, and more. The Heralds were incorruptible and devoted to duty more than anything else in their lives...which tended to be short. As such, Heralds had a reputation as hedonists and rakes, tending to take joy in their lives where they could find it as the Crown could send them to their deaths any day. The order might be given with a heavy heart but it would be given if needed, and they would obey. They served as circuit judges, marshals, arbiters of disputes, messengers, advisors, assassins, spies, diplomats, and more. When the ruler gave orders, they flew like arrows. Without the Heralds and the Companions, Valdemar would have fallen centuries ago. Even with them, it was sometimes close.
As it was now. This last year, the Tedrel War had been fought on the southern border. Nationless mercenary nomads, the Tedrels had been given safe have, arms, and a promise by the Sun Priests of Karse. They could have all of Valdemar for their new home if they could bring the nation to its knees. So last winter, the Tedrels fortified in the demilitarized zone between the two nations and then in the spring, ravaged into Valdemar. They killed indiscriminately, stole what their forces could carry and burned or spoiled what was left. They obeyed no rules of war, gave no quarter, raped and ruined all those they did not outright kill. The lands they left behind were barren, worn, and practically depopulated; straining the resources of the kingdom. As autumn turned cold, they fled back to safety in Karse and knew that Valdemar's mighty Guard could not follow without outright war erupting. King Sendar knew this and knew the Karsites and Tedrels did as well. He knew also they would come again and winter was already waning.
The mood in the capital of Haven was one of desperate cheer slathered over grim fear. Many were trying to convince themselves the Tedrels had fled for good, that their defeat at the last few battles had demoralized them too much to continue, that the Karsites surely wouldn't spend the money to hire an entire half nation of killers again. But almost as many knew better. They saw the preparations the Guard was making and heard that every Herald not on circuit or required elsewhere was in the south. They knew another war was coming.
Owyn Lavellan heard plenty of both kinds of talk. The oldest son of a master woodworker, his father discussed it with visiting customers and fellow tradesmen alike, particularly since his mother was a sergeant in the Guard infantry and had left home a week ago with her unit. Duty to the south was all they knew but that was enough. His twin younger siblings were brave and grief stricken by her departure at turns. He had a hard enough time dealing with it but he was kept busier.
Being fourteen, he was now an active part of his father's trade and business. With his mother gone, it was Owyn who kept the books and made the notes of accounts, the youth having a talent for scholarly work that both pleased and distressed his father. His parents had educated the boy as they could best afford to but both had also expected him to be more interested in woodworking; as eldest he was intended to take over the business, after all. But he had little passion for it. He did have skill and a good deal of knowledge of it, having grown up with it, but it did not move or speak to him. His work was solid but lacked heart. He had always been bookish and read voraciously all his life, always studying about the rest of Valdemar, stories and history, always looking away over the horizon or into the past. His present and future paled in comparison.
He had not grown as tall or as broad as his parents had hoped, though he still had plenty of growing yet to do. Owyn had a slender and agile build that made him almost look frail at times. His features were clean and shapely; a bit to the pretty side of handsome, with deep set, thoughtful brown eyes and full lips. His hair was a pale platinum blond and hadn't been cut in the winter to give a little extra warmth; a clean but otherwise unschooled mess of wild locks.
Today his eyes were brighter even than normal and he was keenly interested in the day's labor. They were delivering a load of chairs that had been months in crafting and finishing but not for one of Haven's nobles or the new money merchant families; these were going to the Collegium. Where the Heralds were trained...and Bards and Healers too, but it was the Heralds who caught his imagination. Well, them and the Companions. Would he get to see any of them up close? He'd seen a few at a distance several times, you just did growing up in the capital, but to see one close would be...incredible.
He and his father had loaded up the cart and got their old mule underway in the light just after dawn. The sun had risen brightly on a chill winter day and their breath steamed in the cold air. They were bundled up in quality thick coats and clothes, a bit worn, but of good make in somewhat faded brown and grey. These were work clothes, after all, and even going to the Collegium which abutted the Palace, there was no sense in wearing nice work clothes.
The boy's wide, dark eyes moved eagerly as they approached the walls of the joined Palace/Collegium complex. They were waved through the gates and directed by an older woman in the midnight blue of the Guard to where the furniture was to be unloaded. She made Owyn feel a slight pang of worry for his mother, so far away. He was aware of his father and the Guard speaking as he swung down from the cart. Owyn paused to sweep his curious gaze over the yard they'd been let out into. That was Bardic there, with the red shutters and the students in rust colored uniforms. Healers there; the largest, which made that...that was for the Heralds. He could see students in grey uniforms quickly leaving the morning meal and heading to class. But not a Herald was to be seen. His gaze swept out over the ground as well, noting the Salle and other outbuildings and then resting on the huge stable that adjoined the Companion's Field and the Grove. None of them seemed to be about either. It was cold, but...surely one could just stick a head out one of the windows or something.
He sighed and turned to start working on the ties to the tarp that covered the chairs for delivery. "Owyn." The youth looked up at his name but didn't speak. His father gave him a patient smile, knowing he had his son's attention even if he didn't respond. "I've been asked to take a look at something inside to see if I can build one like it. Get started out here while I'm gone."
He nodded, "All right." His voice was soft and cool, a light tenor.
The guard pointed at an entrance to an outer chamber, "That store room there, lad. It's open. I'll have your father back quick enough, and maybe see if any of the trainees are free to lend a hand."
Owyn pursed his lips and shook his head, "They have bigger things to do than move chairs. I'll be fine." After a few beats that quiet voice spoke again, as if realizing he'd forgotten something. "Thank you."
She raised an eyebrow. His father nodded, "Big things are made of little things, son, remember that. If someone comes by to help, you let them now, understand?"
Owyn's eyes were rebellious but he inclined his head in acceptance. The two adults turned and walked away. The woodworker's son looked back at the cart. No matter what the guard and his father said, anyone here had more important and better things to do than help him move wood. They were learning amazing things. Preparing to help the kingdom and the people in so many ways. That was a better use for their, for anyone's time.
He got to work unloading and carrying the cargo into the storeroom. One at a time, it was slow going, but he didn't mind. The more time he was here, the more time he might get to see a Companion or a real Herald.
There was a faint bell-like chime as the thought crossed his mind and he felt a sudden presence watching him. The bells...Companions' harnesses had bells for formal occasions...could it really be one?
Owyn glanced back and felt his chest tighten and the air in this lungs catch. Perhaps twenty feet away stood the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld. The Companion stallion was big, even for his kind, and had a brawny and solid build that was different from other Companions who often looked almost delicate. He was as big as some of the huge plowhorses he'd read about or the warhorses of the heavy cavalry in height and nearly so in bulk, but enough less so that he kept a certain nimbleness. His coat was gleaming white, as were his long, flicking tail and his proud mane. He was tacked out fully; saddle and stirrups, the bitless bridle the Companions wore, and the formal bell straps. He wore no saddlebags. The horse like creature tilted his head as he looked at the boy.
Owyn felt his breath return and he quickly turned back. "I...I'm sorry if my work bothered you." It felt almost indecent for him to look at so splendid a creature while doing so mundane a task. "But...thank you. I'd so hoped to see a Companion, and..you're amazing. Just as wonderful as I...I'd imagined."
The Companion let out a pleased snort and he heard the bells chiming and soft footfalls as it drew closer. The bells...wait! Owyn glanced back at the Companion, which was indeed walking towards him. He was fit to go out and find his Chosen! And no saddlebags, it meant he must be looking for someone in Haven. Owyn kept his eyes on the Companion's tack and then smiled, turning back to his work. "Thank you for the closer look. I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you in return. But you should go. You're looking for someone and both of your time would be better spent than giving me a look at you."
He picked up another chair with a grunt and carried it towards the storeroom, noting the white shape of the Companion in his peripheral vision. He heard the stallion give a whicker that sounded like a laugh and a sigh together and then the bells again. Following him?
Owyn shook his head. "Go on already. You have somewhere important to be." And he didn't. He'd never be in an important place. "Go find whoever you're supposed to." He marched into the storeroom and set the latest chair down.
Turning, he all but ran into the Companion. He was standing just in the doorway with his head lowered and stuck into the room. Owyn sputtered and stumbled back, arms flailing. "Gah!" He felt a flash of embarrassment and irritation; enough to dare to raise his eyes to meet those of the stallion, "Why don't you go get who you're looking f-"
His brown eyes went wide and open; ultimately vulnerable and true as they met the brilliant summer sky blue of the Companion's eyes. He felt...everything; a whirl of sensation, of emotion, more complex and deeper than anything he could ever know again. There was a kind of click inside him; mind and soul, as if something that had been a missing part of him had just been set into place. His world seemed to fall away and expand endlessly outward all at once and the whirl of complexity gave way to love, love and acceptance so deep and so pure it made his heart ache and his eyes stung with unshed tears.
"I have," came a voice that was somehow inside his head. It was masculine and eager, energetic, and both pleased with itself and amused with him. "I am Fahn and I Choose you, soul brother."
His jaw worked. Owyn was not a boy who spoke a great deal but...but he had to say something to this. But what could you say? "...okay."