Beebote
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It was just before the break of dawn. Upon the rooftop of a Bren inn sat a man, robed in white. Indeed his raiment was all of white; from the white leather shoes and loose-fitting trousers, to his white tunic and matching cape. The cape was clasped at his neck with a silver brooch in the form of a sword piercing an equilateral triangle. On his wrists resided the only true pieces of armor he owned, two steel bracers, polished to mirror-like perfection. From his white sash belt hung two white leather pads, which sheathed four ivory handled throwing knives. What was ironic about this choice of color was that his skin was ebony, and his hair, which lay tied behind his head in a loose tail, black as jet; yet his eyes, weighed down beneath a heavy brow, were crystaline blue.
The man rose from his seat and took a deep breath of the chill morning air. At long last, the day he had anticipated for years had finally arrived. The Elemental Championship, the ultimate display of the power of the Elemental Lords incarnate in the combatants that filled the city nestled at the foot of that sacred hill. He, Djaak Hiirst, loyal servant of the Lord of Winds, had come to not for the challenge, or for the fight. He came to prove to those fools who cast him out of his home that wind was not meant as a petty tool for those too comfortable or slothful to use their own strength. It was a weapon of incredible power; one that when studied an practiced long enough, could bring a kingdom to its knees with one precise stroke.
Raised in a society that frowned upon violence, Djaak was identified early as, at least, a rebel and, at worst, a madman. In his youth, he was raised in a temple of monks who practiced wind magic for discipline and for aiding in every day tasks. Though they practiced a form of offensive magic, it was always accompanied by a warning that it was to be used only as a last resort. Djaak ws always more fascinated by these acts of destruction than in their teachings of peace and unity.
One day he spent several hours questioning an elder monk about the Wind Lord and his techings. The elder asserted that His nature was best seen in the gentle breeze and the updrafts that the Eagles rode on, rather than in the terror of the hurricane or windstorm. But the more Djaak listened to the monks' teachings, the more he felt they were missing the true nature of the Wind Lord.
In a quest to uncover what the monks chose to forget, Djaak forsook the teachings of peace and serenity and delved deep into the destructive power of wind. He observed everything wind could do, from lifting a bird into the sky, to driving a piece of grass through a tree during a fierce windstorm. The monks took notice and swiftly moved to turn him from his 'errant' ways, but the more they pushed, the more stubborn and fanatical he became. He became absolutely convinced these monks were blasphemers and heretics; traitorous fools who sought to sway people from the truth of the Wind Lord. Some of the younger monks decided drastic measures were required to stop him. They cornered him in his room and subdued him using wind magics. This only served to solidify his own beliefs in their corruption, and he unleashed his wrath, breaking their magics and, in the end, killing them. The Elders cast him out of the temple, forbidding his return. All the while, he cursed them in the name of the Wind Lord and swore an oath to prove their heresy. He went on a pilgrimage accross the world, gleaning knowledge of the wind and its destructive potential, forming new teachings and a deeper respect for the Wind Lord as he learned of wind's fury.
It was during this pilgrimage that he learned of the Elemental Championship, and in it, he saw the chance to prove to the world that wind was not just sea breezes on hot summer days. He consigned himself to participate in the championship, praying the Wind Lord would grant him victory.
Descending from the roof, Djaak entered the inn, partaking of a lengthy meal before paying his dues to the innkeeper and striking out with the myriad of other contenders towards the hill and the gates to the four great arenas. Djaak spoke to no one, and no one seemed interested in talk either. For the most part, the group was silent. Most, he figured, were either praying to their Lord for victory and protection, or were meticulously going over their battle plans and strategies as if they already knew the outcome. Djaak did neither at the moment. He merely walked.
As he approached the crest of the hill, his eyes drifted up to magnificent formation of stones that slowly rotated high above the ground. A slight smile creased his pale lips. This was where he would be tested by both men and by the Elemental Lords. There, high above the earth, where he would be closest to his Lord, would he prove to those blasphemers and their envenomed toungues what was the true nature of his Lord. Nodding in acknowledgement, the magis began to levitate them up to the fabled Sky Arena.
As his eyes broke the plane of the arena floor, Djaak noticed another combatant, already in position, awaiting the start of the melee. He eyed him breifly, but neither took any other action, nor even indicated he had even seen him. Stepping onto the stone that marked his starting point, Djaak dropped to one knee and uttered a prayer he had learned while living with the monks that he had reinterpreted for his own purposes:
"O Lord of Winds and Eagle's Flight, lift me up, and with Thy Wing
Grant me Wisdom, Grant me Might o'er man and beast and anything
That keeps You hidden from their Sight. This is what my heart does sing."
So saying, he rose and calmly stood, passively awaiting the other combatants, high up in his Lord's firmament.
< Message edited by Beebote -- 7/17/2008 7:18:41 >
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