Memoirs of a Deity

Prologue

The old man sat patiently at the end of a long wooden table with his ancient beard tucked neatly underneath.  The room was small and unadorned, barely able to accommodate the table and two chairs it held.  He just sat there staring unblinkingly at the simple red cloth covering the doorway.
         Suddenly an inhuman shriek erupted from outside the entrance, followed by a light thud on the wall.  A few moments later the curtain parted and in stepped a terrifying creature.  It was not much taller than a man, but his skin was covered in scales resembling the faded green of aged copper.  His eyes on the other hand shone fiercely like a polished dagger in the hand of a murderer.  Two small black horns protruded from the back of his head and its clothing seemed to change color as he walked, blending with the surroundings.  Upon the beast’s belt were two rapiers one covered in fresh blood, the other gleaming as if it had never before tasted flesh.  The monster looked to the old man at the opposite end of the room and smiled revealing two rows of razor sharp teeth.
         The man looked up into the creature’s eyes and said very calmly, "I’m surprised even you could defeat those fiends Ryserian."
         "It was easier than you'd think actually," the monster replied with a pleasant voice one would not associate with such an abomination.  "We should probably get right to it, with the way things are now we cannot be sure how long anything will stay as it is." he continued, sitting down in the empty chair.
         "Indeed." and upon this word a piece of parchment and a quill appeared in front of the old man. "Whenever you’re ready."
         "Where should I begin." and with that Ryserian plunged into one of the most important stories for both the past and future of his world.


Chapter One: Releasing the Beast
Part I

         It has been so long I’ve lost track of the years.  I do remember that my scales were much more attractive then, polished and gleaming in the sun, not this putrid green they have become now, but that is of little importance.
         My role in these events started the day of the ogre raid; a day which I have not thought about for many centuries.  So you must excuse me if my memory is a little hazy.
         As usual, I awoke late for my lessons.  So I scrambled out of bed, quickly tossed on my leather, and sprinted for the door.  As I passed my mother, a tall plump elf, in the garden, I shouted out, “Where’s Dad?”
         “He’s at Marlitan dear.  Like always,” she called back; weary of me asking the same question every morning.
         “Alright, bye.  See you when I get back,” I said hopping over the fence and running off to town to meet my trainer.  As I sprinted past the elven tree houses and work places everyone called “hello”.  More so out of respect for my dragon lineage and the hope of some recognition by my father, than any authentic sense of etiquette.
         When I began to approach the fountain where my teacher and I met, I could see her scowling impatiently at me.  The closer I drew the more foreboding she became.  I approached slowly, hanging my head towards the ground so that I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye, and apologized sheepishly for being late again.
         There was silence for a moment while she contemplated how to punish me, then her hand shot up laying a swift backhand across my face while shouting, “Ryserian we go through the same routine every morning and still you do not understand the need to judge time even in sleep.  What would you do if you were tracking an enemy in the wild and overslept?  Because whoever you’re chasing sure isn’t going to wait by a fountain for you.”
         At the end of her statement my head shot up, and I sent the most resentful glare I could muster and retorted, “Just because you’re Miss Perfect and can do everything wonderfully doesn’t mean we all can.  Did you ever stop once during all of those terribly important things you do to think that maybe I can’t judge time in my sleep?”
         “Miss Perfect huh?” she stated trying to look angry, but showing a slight hint of a smile, “First you arrive late then you talk back to me.  You have no worth as a student.”
         As she finished her statement her knee shot up towards my stomach, but I quickly jumped back then lurched forward with a retaliatory punch which landed solidly on her shoulder.  I jumped back again smirking over my small victory.  It had begun.  Punching, kicking, blocking, dodging we battled through the streets attracting the attention of any by passers.  Some of whom looked truly concerned; while others who were more familiar with our rituals laughed and talked or just kept on walking.  This was bonding at its peak for the two of us, and the longer we battled the happier we became.  And while it may not have seemed it at the time, my teacher was one of the few friends in my life that I would have sacrificed my soul for without a second thought, and I know she would have done the same for me.  It’s difficult to say how long our contest lasted, but the sun was well on its way toward noon by the time we stopped, leaning on our knees panting and laughing.  We both slowly made our way back to the fountain where we drank our fill and rested for a while longer. 
After some time of quiet my teacher, her name was Miss Ellanah in case I didn’t mention, asked, “Do you know what today is Ryserian?”
         “Hot!” I responded dipping my face under the water.
         “Well yes it is very warm, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” she said squinting up at the sun, “It has been exactly fifty years this day that you started training under me.”
         “Wow! It seems like just a few weeks ago we were celebrating my twenty-fifth year.” I replied counting the years on my fingers.
         “I got a present for you.  I think you’ll really like it,” she told me pulling something out of her over-sized pocket.
         “Oh, well I feel kind of bad now.  I didn’t get you anything,” I said apologetically.
         “Don’t worry about it.  You can consider that fight your gift,” she said standing up and hiding something behind her back at the same time.
         I waited a few moments before bursting out, “Well what is it?”
         As soon as I was done she lept forward and held before me a golden collar, with a large blue gem imbedded in the front.  I hesitantly reached my hand out and took the circlet, staring curiously at the blue stone, which upon closer examination swirled and flashed quite oddly.
         Whilst I was inspecting the present she excitedly explained what it was, “I’ve had old Enwyn working on that beauty for almost a year now.  It took a lot of time with your father and even more time in his laboratory to figure out how to do it, but he came through.  I hope.  That collar is supposed to let you use your lightning the same way your father does, instead of having to wait almost a day every time.”
         “Really?” I asked fumbling over my own hands as I tried to put it on.  After I finally hooked the clasp I said, “C’mon lets go outside the wall and test it.”
         As the two of us ran for the south gate I rubbed the collar thinking how I would have to stop by and thank old Enwyn sometime. 
After telling the gate guard about my present the same way a small elf talks of their first date, he opened the door a crack and let us out, then quickly shut it again. 
“Now what should I test this on?” I asked as much to myself as Miss Ellanah.
“How about that tree,” she stated, pointing to a large half dead pine tree.
Without a word I immediately began to build the charge in my mouth that would lead to the obliteration of the innocent tree.  Although it seemed and even to this day seems to take forever to create the energy, it really took no more than a few moments.  Then I released it, opening my mouth wide and letting a long chain of lightning rip from my mouth to the pine causing it to crack and smolder.
“So how do you feel?” she questioned fervently.
“Normal.”
“Is that good or bad?” she asked me starting to worry that the collar didn’t work.
“It’s very good,” I answered hastily, “Normally when I do that I feel drained and sometimes even sleepy, but now I feel perfectly normal.”
“Whew,” Ellanah said letting out a sigh of relief, “for a moment there I thought it didn’t work.”
“I could tell,” I told her.
“Well, we should get back to town so we can do some weapons training,” she said turning back towards the gate.
Ellanah and I raced each other back to the gate where, after winning by a wide margin, I told the exasperated guard that the collar worked wonderfully.  Once I had finished describing the bark exploding off the tree, three times to him, he opened the gate and shuffled off trying to avoid speaking to me.  As the two of us jogged in we looked over our shoulders laughing at the annoyed watchman.
It took us a while to stop joking about the almost scared look on the guards face when I came near him, but once we finally did we got down to some serious training.  Every morning when we would practice she would bring a flimsy, metal rapier and a small wood buckler for me to use. 
We had been practicing feigning and attacking when an elf ran by screaming, “Ogres at the west gate!  Ogres are attacking the west gate!”
I looked at Ellanah trying to find leadership in her face, and she did not hesitate, “Ryserian go out the east gate and find your father.  I’m going to the west so you’ll be on your own,” and without another word the two of us ran off in opposite directions.
As I approached the east gate the guard asked me what I was doing.
I responded, “Ellanah told me to leave from here and go to Marlitan to find my dad.”
“Only on Ellanah’s command,” he said cranking the gate open a crack and shoving me out.
I think he shouted something else at me, but I was in too much of a hurry sprinting along the dirt path, to hear.  Marlitan was not close by horse and even less so by foot, but my urgency granted speed to already fast feet.  As I approached the stone that marked the half way point, my chest felt as though it were on fire, yet still I ran.  Finally, as I reached the top of a small hill I saw the telltale glimmer of my dad’s scales through the trees, which despite his age still only showed a slight tinge of green creeping in from the edges.  I continued to run.  It felt like I would collapse.  I could hear blurred voices as I stumbled into the construction site.  The world was spinning and black was beginning to creep in on my sight.  With my last gasps of breath I whispered, “Ogres,” and fell forward into the dust.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I came to dazedly my father was standing over me in elven form, looking down into my face confused and worried.  “Ryserian, are you all right?  You said something about ogres before you collapsed.  What happened?”
“I’m fine,” I said fiercely, sitting up but then falling back again.  I groaned as all my muscles burst into one large retaliation against my movement.
“Ryserian, what happened?” my father repeated sternly.
“Ogres were attacking our home,” I told him and the other elves circled around me.
There was a moment of nothing as everyone comprehended what I had said.  Then my father took command, “Everyone saddle your horses quickly, we’re going back.  Parell you stay here with Ryserian.”
I watched as they all ran off to mount their horses, and an older elf, Parell I guess, climbed onto a large stone nearby.  Slowly I let my head fall back, and shut my eyes drifting into the world of sleep. 
I remember having a strange dream as I rested.  It was of a gigantic tree, a sort that I have never seen before, and it said to me, “Young one: 
When your scales are green,
and the future seems dead.
When you hate what you loved,
and are lost in your head.
You must search for me then.
Your role is not done.
The Dem-On and the An-Gel,
awaiting the son.”


Part II
         I’m not sure how long I was out for, but I was woken by the old elf yelling something in a crude giant dialect.  I slowly sat up and peered around the large stone slab I was lying next to.  As my head poked out from behind the stone I saw the old man waving his staff threateningly at a lanky, confused ogre.  Parell shouted something along the lines of, “You stupid, ugly, plague ridden beast get out of here,” the ogre finally understood what was going on, and he erupted with a fury.  It removed its huge club and started swinging wildly, I was taken aback at how nimble the old man was, but I could see that even after a few dodges he was getting tired.  Without wasting a moment I sprang up drawing my rapier and screaming at the same time.  Sadly, my ploy did the exact opposite of what I had planned.  As I shot up Parell looked towards me, shocked.  And when he did this the ogre released one final furious swing which caught the old elf right on the side of the head, causing him to fly off his feet and smash into the slab in front of me with a sickening crack.  I looked down at the body then back at the monster with death in my eyes.  I screeched and charged at the ogre, jumping to the side of his swinging club and jabbing forward into his elbow.  He howled in pain and dropped his weapon, then looked back at me and began attacking with his unharmed fist.  As he threw a side swipe I ducked low then leapt into the air digging my left claws deep into its shoulder and using them as a pivot point to wrap around and jab my rapier deep into its back.  While the ogre contorted madly trying to throw me off, I propelled myself from his back.  But, as I flew away from the beast there was a tight jerk on my arm from the unmoving rapier, and I went crashing backwards into his flailing legs.  It was bad.  There I was hanging by one hand next to a giant’s muscular, kicking legs.  I was being thrown back and forth, but I still managed to give a mighty pull on the rapier.  There was a loud snap and I hit the ground holding a bladeless hilt.  I scurried away from the ogre’s rampage and briefly looked down at the useless handle.  I mumbled, “Damn,” and threw it to the side.
         Positioning myself in an offensive fighting stance I charged the ogre, becoming a blurred storm of claws and teeth.  The rest of the battle was too fast for me to remember in any great detail, but as the tattered monster fell to the ground I recall spitting a chunk of flesh out and rubbing a swollen leg.  I looked around warily, expecting another ogre to jump out from anywhere. 
As my senses returned I walked over to Parell’s body, and despite knowing the answer from the blood around him I checked his pulse hopefully.  It was pointless.  I stood up and said a prayer to Ailo, the elven god, then went looking for Parell’s horse.  I found it in the back of the construction site and walked it to the old elf’s corpse.  Holding the body in my arms, I climbed on the horse’s back, and started trotting to the city.
         I pulled the reigns to a halt just beyond sight of the city.  Then, slid off the horse and picked up Parell’s body laying him down in a patch of ferns by the road.  Hiding the body, I said another prayer to Ailo.  I took all of the horses riding gear off and set them down next to Parell, then I let the horse go to his new found freedom. 
Before I could even pass the tree line revealing the city walls there was an overwhelming smell of smoke masking an even stronger smell of blood.  Moving cautiously, I pushed some branches aside and looked upon the east gate.  Everything seemed alright from here, but it did nothing to quell the stench in the air or the growing knot in my stomach.  I walked forward and slammed my fist on the gate.  There was no reply.  I knocked harder and shouted, “It’s Ryserian, c’mon let me in.”  Still, there was nothing from the other side.  Becoming worried I paced, trying to think of a way in.  As I was walking back and forth and rubbing my face in anxiety, I turned toward the gate and blasted a lightning bolt dead center.  The wood cracked and splintered but remained standing.  I waited a few moments then tried again.  This time it worked, a hole opened in the center of the gate and I clawed my way through the remainder of the charred wood. 
         Landing on the ground inside the village it became terrifyingly obvious where the smell was coming from.  Every building and tree had been burnt down, reduced to piles of ash and memories.  And there was no one in sight; I started running for the west gate, tears in my eyes as I gazed on the destruction around me.  Drawing closer to the gate I passed the first body, a small girl, probably just old enough to talk.  As I turned from her, with tears flowing freely now, there lay before me dozens of elven bodies, young and old, men and women, they were all dead, their lifeless eyes staring at me, asking why I lived.  Slowly I lifted my head up to the open gate and there, just outside, lay my father in his true dragon form.  There were long, wide gashes along his side, and looking back on it now I realize that those openings were not caused by ogres, but by another giant creature; perhaps a dragon or even a phoenix.  I started to run towards the body when I tripped over something.  I turned to see what I had fallen over and was met by the most horrifying sight of all.  There lying in a pool of her own blood was Ellanah her own sword turned in on her.  I scrambled backwards frantically, trying to scream but just making small squeaks.  This is all I can remember of that time in my life, I blacked out shortly after seeing Ellanah. 

Part III
         My memories return as I was walking through the woods on my way to the ogre encampment.  In my mournful, foolish rage I had made the decision to acquire revenge for my people or join them in the afterlife trying.  Somewhere along the way I had picked up a long sword and a set of chain mail armor. 
         I brooded and seethed and screamed like a madman as I made my way through the forest.  The ogres had destroyed my house, my family, everything.  I was dead and nothing could bring me back.  I was going to send all those monsters that had destroyed me to the abyss: men, women, children I didn’t care.  They were all going to die!  These were the only thoughts that passed through my mind until I stepped out into a wide clearing and gazed upon a scene identical to that of my village.  There were smoldering remnants of large tents everywhere, and even more ogre carcasses to accompany them.  They were all dead, every last one of them.  That was it.  My revenge, my only hope for sanity, had been stolen from me.  I screamed and punched and kicked wildly.  I threw my sword into the forest, and attacked a near by tree, ripping the bark off and boring deep gashes in the wood.  “Why?  Why?  Why?” I thought to myself.  I tore at my clothing and ran screaming into the woods.  I was an animal, racing through the forest with tears streaming down my face.  Slowly my clothing dropped to the ground, piece by piece, until I became a naked beast crawling on all fours, frothy spit dripping from my open mouth. 
It could have been hours that I continued on like this, but eventually I collapsed next to a large oak and fell asleep.  I dreamt of the gigantic tree again while I slept, this time it told me:
“Your head is torn.
And your feet are worn.
The past is gone.
And you sing no song.
So clench your teeth tight.
And learn to fight.
Ryserian, find yourself.”
I was woken that night by a hissing raccoon.  I looked up wearily and for a moment I was myself and all I saw was an animal that wanted to get to its burrow.  But then everything snapped back to me and I was a beast again faced with the prospect of a fresh meal.  Lunging forward, I dug my claws deep into the defenseless creature’s stomach, and snapped its neck all in one swift motion.  Peeling the skin and fur away I gorged myself on the raw meat.  Once I had eaten my fill, I stood up and began listening for a stream to drink from.  Eventually I stumbled upon one, and knelt down to suck water, but as I dipped my face in the stream it began turning red.  I leapt backwards terrified, not realizing it was merely the raccoon’s blood washing off.  My hands started rubbing furiously at my mouth, and as I looked down at my now blood covered palms I became horrified.  All I could think of was the blood of my friends and family lying in pools around their bodies.  It did not take long for me to start screaming and howling, and in no time I was on all fours racing through the woods, with no destination in mind.  I ran myself to the point of exhaustion again and fell unconscious in an unknown part of the forest.
This was my life for a long time: hunting, sleeping, and running.  I grew accustomed to waking up in unfamiliar places.  I grew accustomed to the cold. But most of all, I grew accustomed to the loneliness.  It was so very lonely.  Occasionally I would stumble across some goblins or orcs, which reminded me so much of the ogres, that I usually killed them without thought.  Often times they would run at the sight of me, shouting about demons in the forest.
Things were the worst during winter.  The only enemy that cannot be fought by any game of the mind or body.  Wandering through blinding snow with nothing but your own blood and scales to keep you warm.  Just scraping enough nutrition off of half-starved mice and rabbits.  Had the first winter been any worse than it was, I’m sure I would’ve died.  Although in light of current events we may have all been better off.
The end of winter was a blessing for more than just the obvious reasons.  It was that spring that I met a creature who returned some of my sanity for those next two years.  I was scouring the woods for bird eggs when I heard shouts and taunts not far off.  Approaching stealthily I came upon four goblins harassing a badger with a litter of new born cubs, one of which was already dead.  This sight caused me to become enraged, throwing me into my animalistic torrent, just like the helpless badger.  I flung myself into the clearing where they stood, and leapt into the air releasing a lightning bolt with such ferocity that it melted the skin and muscle off of the first goblin.  I landed on top of the second, kicked it to the ground and dug my claws so deep into its shoulders that they came out the other side.  Looking into its pained horror stricken face, made my eyes light up, as I whipped my head down and bit deep into its neck.  Then I ripped my head back to tear the goblins throat from its neck.  As I stood up I looked over at the two fleeing goblins, and began to chase the closest one, on all fours.  Nearing him, I pushed forward with my legs using all my strength, and tackled him from behind.  I wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug, but was unable to stop so I continued to roll forward.  Then I leapt to my feet and held the squirming goblin at arms length.  I stabbed my claws deep into the center of his chest and back, and started to pull my arms in opposite directions.  I couldn’t even hear him screaming as he threw his head from side to side, all I heard was cracking bone and tearing flesh. 
There is no feeling in the cosmos as wonderful as taking the life of another, to wrench out their soul, stare it down, and then toss it into the fires of the abyss.  It’s like smoking the most potent batch of gods’dust, or jumping off a cliff, not knowing what lies at the bottom. 
I love to kill.  And I hate that about myself. 
         But as for the goblins.  As I pried apart with all my strength, I could feel the goblin’s torso beginning to split in half.  Blood was pooling on the dirt and running freely down my arms.  It didn’t matter.  All I thought of was the death of this monster.  Finally, the last snapping of his ribs I had been waiting for happened.  My arms flew apart, followed by organs splattering on the ground, and there I was, holding half a goblin in each hand.  There was no smile on my face as I threw the pieces aside.  However inside I was ecstatic over such a gruesome death.  What a disgusting, wretched creature I am.
I turned toward the last goblin, which was well into the forest by this point.  But I made good time on my hands and feet.  As I caught up, I brought my arm back for the first and only strike.  He caught his foot in an animal hole at the last moment and fell forward; saving his life as my arm and the rest of me went toppling over him.  I flung myself around snarling in his horrified face.  Then I raised my hand in the air and brought all of my claws to a single point.  In a flash my arm shot forward, and I felt my hand slice through his nose, his skull, and out the back of his head. 
Murder is the most powerful and painful of all addictions.  No matter how much you might want to, you can never stop.  If you try to restrain yourself for to long, you lose control and begin slaying anything and everything at hand.  The screaming echoes of all the lives I have taken reverberate like an endless clap of thunder in my head.  Killing has left a tear stained and bloodied conscience in my already torn mind.  Death is a truly maddening companion. 
I placed my hand over what remained of his face, and yanked my gore covered arm out with one quick jerk.  My eyes scanned the area as I sighed away my sudden burst of adrenaline.  I assured myself that there were no more goblins to kill, and made my way back towards the badger mother.  She was still growling at nothing when I approached.  It is very hypocritical of me, but seeing her with her cubs, scared and exhausted, was one of the most heartbreaking things I have looked upon.  To someone who has caused so much death and witnessed so much destruction it is odd that I felt the way I did, but something about seeing that brought a bit of myself back.  No longer was I a crazed demon living in the forest, I became a piece of the wild, something that fit in and had a place there.  All of this from a wounded badger. 
I didn’t hesitate or take any caution as I walked up to her, I just moved in a straight line and stared into her eyes.  She seemed to calm when I came near her, something I cannot recount ever happening before or after that meeting.  I knelt down and looked over their wounds.  Other than the dead cub the mother was the only injured one, so I stood up thinking about the healing herbs I had learned of in my training.  It took me a while to realize, but that was the first time I had thought of Ellanah and my old life without breaking down, which did much to boost my self confidence.  I began to walk off into the woods, mumbling about different plant properties.  The badger got up and, holding the dead cub in her mouth, followed me, bumping into my legs.  I looked down silently at her for a moment then said, “Oh.  Of course,” and pulled the cub out from her teeth.  My claws dug a small hole in the ground, and I placed the tiny badger’s body in it.  Then I said a prayer to Fodenon, the god of nature, and covered the corpse with dirt and a newly sprouted sapling. 
“There we go,” I said to the mother, forcing a smile, as I scratched her chin.  Then I returned to looking for medicine.  She stayed back this time and fed her children.

         I took some time to reflect on all that had happened to me since I lost everything.  Yet another thing I had not done before meeting her.  I found that I was not even close to being myself, every part of who I was was stripped from me when I saw those ogres lying dead.  At least that’s what I thought at the time, now I believe that I lost all semblance of sanity back in my own village. 
         As I came out of my thoughtful trance, I found that my hands had been cutting herbs on their own and I already gathered more than enough for one badger.  I chuckled while I walked over to a near by stream to mix the plants, and clean the markings of battle from my body. 
I returned to the badger a while later and started applying the light green paste to her scratches. 
“Now what do you think I should call you and these fuzzy lumps?” I asked, looking down at her and the three suckling cubs.  “I know, you can be Bol-Talesh, the wild woman, and these three can be Lan, Gan, and Phan.” 

Part IV
For the next two years I lived with Bol-Talesh and her cubs.  My frenzied episodes grew few and far between and eventually stopped altogether.  I found a cave at the foot of the White Mountains, and made it into a permanent home, the first I had had in far too long.  I made crude clothing out of hides, and hunted with spears instead of my claws.  I carved buckets to hold water, and plates to eat my cooked food from. 
And the whole time Bol-Talesh was at my side.  Eventually the cubs grew into adults and ventured out to claim territories of their own, but their mother stayed with me; eating what I gathered, growling at anything that came near the cave, and constantly rearranging my bed of grass and hides. 
It was during this time that I noticed how much my scales had changed in but a single year.  They had gone from a rich, deep, glowing gold-brown, to a dull copper with thick patches of green around the rim of each scale.
Physical appearance aside, this was one of the happiest times of my life, but, like everything else it seems, was torn violently from me.  It was late summer of our second year in the cave, and I went to hunt deer in the woods.              The sun was setting when I decided to turn back without a catch.  As I approached the cave I could smell smoke from a cooking fire, and hear orcs talking.  I walked up slowly trying to avoid violence.  When I crested a small hill that blocked the cave from sight, I was able to see three orcs sitting around a small fire in my home.  The one closest to me was chewing on some roasted meat; and the second one was sharpening a rusty hunting spear.  The instant I looked upon the third orc, all the progress and sanity I had gained was shredded, in its hands was a freshly taken badger pelt, still moist and with blood spots on the fur.  My eyes shot back to the one that was eating and then I broke.  My spear was flung aside as charged forward on all fours howling like a boar in its death throws.  They did not even have time to turn and look at me as I leaped over the fire and tackled the one holding the pelt.  I pinned it to the ground and began to claw repeatedly at its face despite the screams and red mist that grew thicker with each swing of my arm.  As the screams became gurgles, and the gurgles became silence, I jolted around to face the other orcs.  The one that had been eating was now fleeing from cave, but the other was so terror stricken that it sat staring at me.  With one swift motion I forced my hand in under its ribcage and pushed up to the chorus of a dozen snaps that meant the collapse of its chest.  Then I raced out of the cave and back to the top of the hill so I could find the final orc.  Surprisingly it had gone north and was scrambling through the rock filled valleys at the base of the mountains.  That meant little to me though, all I wanted was to tear the monster apart; to see it suffer and bleed by my hand, the hand that but a day ago had been creating tools and a life.  I moved down the hill faster than I ever have moved in my life.  I continued my maddened pace on through the uneven stones that had fallen from the cliff side drawing rapidly closer to my prey.  Then, my left hand slipped out from under me and I toppled over it with a loud pop as my shoulder became disjointed, and another sound that was so grotesque to be the recipient of, I know not how to describe it.  But I was so enraged that I did not even wince as I began to pull at my arm with pieces of bone poking through the mangled skin and scales.  With a final jerk I removed the limb from the rocks it was pinned between, then continued to pursue the orc, though I was now running on my feet.  Then some loose pebbles fell away as I stepped on them, and I fell again, uninjured but still down.  As I started to push myself upright a shearing pain injected itself into my right leg, and then two more in my abdomen, accompanied by several arrows shattering on the rocks around me.  I collapsed and smashed my head into a stone in the process.  With one of my eyes beginning to swell I looked around at the dozens of orcs that were scrambling down the cliffs with bows trained on me.  It was strange how I reacted, I simply smiled, not the smile of a madman or a murderer, but of true happiness.  Then I turned my gaze to the one that I had been chasing, took in a deep breath, and released an arc of lightning.  The instant I saw it strike its target I allowed myself to slip into unconsciousness and what I hoped would be death, but I would be granted no such liberty.


Chapter Two: Death and Discipline
Part I
         Through the hazy, half conscious whir of insanity that raced about my mind I heard a voice.  Not the rasping bark of an orc, but the gentle, almost musical flow that could only be an elf, it kept repeating the same thing, “Ryserian, this is not your place.  Ryserian, Ryserian, please wake.”  Slowly my head started to clear, although I felt no pain from the wounds I knew I had.  As I opened my good eye to the rising sun, I could see the silhouette of someone standing in front of me.  Steadily my sight adjusted to clear the blur that the world had become.  The first image I had of the creature standing in front of me is one that will be burned into my memory until the day that my lungs no longer draw breath.  He was awe inspiring; a tall elf with green eyes and long silver hair.  The shining chain mail he wore over his chest shone with the brilliance of burning embers, but the silk clothing underneath made it seem ordinary in comparison.  A soft fatherly smile adorned his face, which seemed to glow and emit an aura that put all trouble to rest.  From the moment I saw him I knew he was not an ordinary elf, or more truthfully not an elf at all.  No.  He was a god.  Lord of all elves.  It was Ailo himself.
         My thoughts descended into anarchy as I lay bewildered and humbled in his presence.  After a few moments of stammering I was able to force out just two words, “My lord.”
         He then looked into my eyes, and it felt as though in that one glance he was able to read into everyone one of my thoughts and memories.  “Ryserian, you must not forget that only half of your blood is elven.  You have no full ties too me.  Don’t ever reduce the dragon life that courses through your veins.  You are a eulogy of two dying races.  A role that is not simple or agreeable.” 
Ailo then let out a depressed sigh as he looked at me, and then calmly offered his hand to help me to my feet.  Tentatively, almost frightened I grasped his palm, and he effortlessly pulled me up.  My knees though, weakened not only by exhaustion but my nervousness in his presence, gave way and I fell back to the ground.  I looked towards Ailo’s feet in shame and embarrassment of my weakness, slowly tears began to form in my eyes.  I felt terrible.  There I was in the presence of a being that had been the icon of the elven race as far as records went back, and I was slumped in the dirt crying, not even able to stand.  And then the numb feeling that had covered my body started to fade and all the pain from my injuries began to throb dully, which became a burning sensation, and then agony.  I bit my lip harder and harder until it began bleeding, so I would not embarrass myself further by screaming.  Ailo then laid his hand lightly on my head and slowly warmth ran through my body that soothed the agony, and replaced it once again with numbness.  While doing this he spoke some of the most important words of my life, “Ryserian, your life has been one of tragedy that few experience, and fewer still endure.  Yet through all the pain you have managed to stay alive, but even now you wish for death to lay its gentle hands upon you.  I can feel it.  I can see it Ryserian.  But death is a place the soul should not seek willingly.  Instead, life must start again; it must find a way to forget the past and construct a new, meaningful future.  Ryserian, what I am about to ask of you is both demanding and frightening, but it will give you a chance at a new life, one at my side.  Will you accept my offer of a divine rebirth, and take a place in Celestia amongst my servants?” 
I did not even think I simply stared at the ground and answered unemotionally, “I will, my Lord.”  And so with those simple words I had become a tool of the divine, a decision that even now haunts me.  My mind at the time though was blank, a dark void that pulled, collapsed, and suppressed all my memories.  “I don’t want to be here anymore,” I said looking up into his face.
“And you will not, my child.”
Then he hoisted me up and laid my arm across his shoulder to keep me from falling.  As I stood with my head hanging limply and my eyes half closed, a gray mist began to form around us, and the mist became a fog, and the gray turned to a black the inhibited every sense you had.  I could feel myself moving, but I didn’t think about it, I wasn’t thinking about anything.  My thoughtless trance eventually became a deep, nearly dreamless, sleep.  The tree appeared in my mind once again, it spoke in the same mystical verse it always used,
"The first bridge has been crossed.
And the mind’s thick with frost.
But a crown is fit for a king,
To which the weak must sing.
Forever you can run.
But time has been spun.
There are thousands of waves,
And the ocean swallows them all."


Part II
I don’t really know what happened between then and when I woke up, but when I came around I was lying on a very comfortable and large bed covered in thick white sheets and blankets.  There was a light blue shroud hanging from the ornate banisters which surrounded the bed.  Through the thin vale I could see a giant room covered in white marble and bathed in the orange glow of a sunrise on fresh snow.  Slowly I began to pull myself out of the cozy nest of the bed only to find that my left arm was immobile.  Irrationally fearing that my arm had been amputated or paralyzed I flung the covers off my body and let out a sigh of relief when I saw that the arm had merely been splinted and then tied to my body so I would not move it. 
Other than the numerous bandages covering me from head to toe the only clothing I had on was a simple cloth wrap that served no purpose beyond keeping the more male parts of my anatomy in check. 
Sitting up on the edge of the bed I parted the blue curtain and looked out at the room.  The bed sat on a raised platform in a corner with the headboard propped against a wall with two windows and a pair of doors that opened onto a large balcony.  The room itself was probably about ten paces in both directions.  Including the balcony there were three sets of doorways; the one I already mentioned, another directly across from it, and the last on the perpendicular wall that did not touch my bed; all made of very dark cherry wood with silver trim inlaid along the edges.  Along one of the walls was a decorative wash-basin filled with fragrant water and sprinkled with red flower petals.  Opposite the washstand were two deep blue, silk chairs separated by a small table adorned with a candle holder carved to look like a group of elven children holding the candle in place.  The table and chairs sat on top of an intricate rug depicting a scene of two dragons grappling in the air over a pile of gold and jewels, while dozens of elves and humans watched from behind boulders.  Next to one of the chairs was a wine rack that held three unopened bottles. 
Not realizing that I was thirsty until I saw something too drink, I walked over to the wine and knelt down to inspect the bottles.  Two red, one of which was covered in dust, and a white.  Removing the non-dusty red wine, I pulled the cork out with my teeth and began guzzling until the bottle was empty.  Now most people would be stumbling over themselves if they drank a whole bottle, but as long as I can remember my tolerance for alcohol has been much higher than anyone I knew.  It left a very tart flavor in my mouth that caused me to swill saliva around trying to rid myself of the taste.
Having sated my thirst I continued to explore the room by looking into the door that stood across from the bed.  As soon as I had pushed it in, I was met with the beautiful aroma of roses and pine needles, with a touch of lavender.  Immediately following the scent came a rush of warm air that, much like seeing the wine had made me realize I was thirsty, made me realize I was a little chilled.  With the door swung open all the way I was able to view an unimaginably gorgeous bathing room.  It was so perfect not just in architecture and craftsmanship, but in symmetry, that it could have been hand made by Ghelhylron the Builder.  Reluctantly I shut the door, not really wanting to take a bath when I still wasn’t sure where I was.  On that same thought I decided to go check out the view from the balcony. 
It was small, barely any wider than the two doors leading too it, and no more than a stride-and-a-half out, but it was nice even so.  The thick marble railing had a slight curve to it, and latched onto a pillar at either end that supported another balcony overhead. 
Everything that touched one of my senses out there was both beautiful and inspiring.  The air held captive the smell of a mid-spring rain, but with none of the oppressive heaviness.  The sky was brilliantly blue with thin, wispy clouds blanketing it.  And the sun was a giant orange globe that made me want to squint just knowing it was there.