Masterbuilderone

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I am the Last of the Fincayran Royal Blood, my family is dead at the hands of Rhita Gawr, the Demon King of Hell who wears the Crown of Thorns. They will be avenged, if I must walk for ten thousand years to do so. This is my story:

Every so often it seems, I must move on from one chapter of my life to another, and so I do again this day. I have left the worship of Dragons to search the land for answers to a new question, a question wich has arisen from the memories of my past that have begun to torment my dreams again after nearly three thousand years. Perhaps talking about these memories will ease the pain I feel, and perhaps speaking of them will allow me to pointed in the direction of answers to the question, though I do not know how to phrase the question I ask myself every day. I have told the story of my people, my home, and how they came to be. You know of Dagda, Father of the Forest, and Rhita Gawr, the Demon King who wears a Crown of Thorns. This is the reason for my exile.

The tale begins when I was but a boy, just coming into adulthood at the age of 348 years. I was the oldest of the three children, and the Crown Prince of Fincayra. My father was greatly loved as a king, the kind of man who would see a peasant come to the door and go out himself to hand the poor man food and wine and invite him into the castle to stay the night. He believed that our family had become to far removed from the people we were charged to protect in the generations past before he ascended the throne. He was a devout worshiper of Dagda, and raised us the same, my sister and I. I was raised to be a fighter, a warrior of the highest class.

I was knighted on my 300th birthday, as was customary for the children of Noble families. I was also trained in magic, the abilities inherent in Fincayran blood. I excelled at both, again as was expected of the Crown Prince. I journeyed far and wide across the land, exploring every nook and cranny, every crevice and creek on the Island, becoming more in-tune with the land than the land was with itself. I was a hunter, chasing great stags through the trees of the Great Wood with naught but my knife for arms. I ran down the nimble elk, out-waited the patient crocodile, even bested the bat at its own game. When I came to the throne room on the day of my father's ten thousandth birthday, I was in high spirits. I and my sister had just returned from a hunting trip in the Wood that gave us two stags, each with a twelve point rack of antlers upon its head. We hunted them for three days, tracking them through the Wood round and round. When we caught them, we offered one up to Dagda in thanks for a good hunt and to honor the noble beast we had slain. Dagda accepted the gift, and blessed our hunt. We made our way home unmolested, and when we arrived at the palace, found preparations for the king's party already in progress. We dressed quickly in our finest robes and made our way to the throne room. We took our place at the king's side, and our younger brother, still little more than an infant, only 10 years old, lay in his small bed at the foot of the throne. The court jester came forward to tell some jokes and do an act, to the great delight of all.

Halfway through his comedic retelling of the first defeat of Rhita Gawr at Dagda's hands, he stopped and began to choke, coughing and hacking as though he had just swallowed his own tongue. After a moment more of his coughing, he burst into flames. The stench of burning flesh permeated the air, causing my eyes to water and my sister to retch, spilling bile on the dais where we sat. My father lept to his feet, for old though he was he was still as strong as the day he took the crown. His hand went to his sword, but the court wizard held him back, casting a glamour on the scene before him to show the nature of the spontaneous combustion. The wizard's face grew pale, and his eyes widened, and a small sound escaped his mouth, like a whimper, but less so. The flames engulfing the jester's body flared outward for just a second, and retreated, revealing the form of Rhita Gawr standing where the jester's body fell.

The crowd screamed, and my father and I both went to our belts, me for my axe and he for his sword. The wizard threw fire at the Demon, but to no avail. I stepped forward and hurled my axe at his head, but it di no good. He caught it in midair, turned, and threw it back, striking my sister's chest, killing her, for the axe was enchanted with a powerful poison. My father attempted to strike at the Demon, but he was lifted into the air and tossed aside like a rag doll. My sister dead, and my father injured, I called upon the magic I had learned in all my schooling and called a great tomb of stone from the floor and to encase Rhita Gawr.

The air stood still for a moment, and then he began to laugh. The sound of a void could be heard from within the tomb, and then suddenly he was standing at the foot of the dais, right over the crib of my brother. Rhita Gawr picked up the baby prince, cradling him in a perverted bastardization of a loving cradle, and looked him in the eye. The baby smiled, having not yet learned to fear. the Demon gently phased a hand through his tiny chest, and viciously ripped the heart from his body. The child, my brother, the last hope for the future of my family, died in the arms of the Demon King of Hell as Rhita Gawr devoured his heart. Rhita Gawr looked at me and said

"Find me, if you dare."

and disappeared in flash of flames that left a ring of fire on the floor around the body of my murdered brother. I went to chase after the Demon, to run to the Well of Souls that I may throw myself into it and confront the demon. I ran far, miles and miles across the Island, until I came to the Well. As I was about to enter it, Dagda stopped me. He told that if I went into the Well, I would not be able to return to Fincayra until the day of my final death. My mind clouded with vengeance, I went, dropping into the Well of Souls. The Well was deep, deeper than I remembered it. I could hear Rhita Gawr's demonic laugh all around me as I fell, and my mind went black. When I awoke, it was on Earth, in a kingdom by the sea. Dagda came to me in my sleep the first night and told me of the curse Rhita Gawr had place on me as I fell: That I might wander all my life, and never find peace. I fell to my knees and cried, cried for the loss of my sister and my brother, the loss of my home, my friends, my family, my life.

What does it mean that this memory comes to me now? What does it mean that I see the face of my sister as she died, the cruel smile of Rhita Gawr he killed my brother, every night in my dreams? How can I lift this curse? I wander on, in search of answers. When I left the Brothers in the Quillborn order, I left behind the name I had been given by my father, left it in disgrace of the failure I had been. It is time to take back that name, to take back my life as the Last of the Royal Blood of Fincayra. I journey for answers to my questions, even when I do not know the questions themselves.