09-06-2016, 11:29 PM
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#3d2c12', endColorstr='#3d2c12', GradientType=0 );}.swordfightwords{position: relative;z-index: 8;width: 480px;padding: 20px;font: 13px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: justify;background: #CDC9B0;color: #60442C;margin-top: -8px;}.swordfightname{position: relative;z-index: 10;font: 50px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: right;padding-right: 30px;margin-top: -60px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000;}.swordfightquote{position: relative;z-index: 12;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;font-style: italic;}</style><center><div class="swordfightbase"><div class="swordfightbackground"><img class="swordfightpic" src="http://i.imgur.com/UC6d1dH.jpg"><div class="swordfightgrad"></div><div class="swordfightname">PHAEDRUS</div><div class="swordfightwords"> He watches as the two horses depart from their little group, he tries to think of something better to do. He looks for something to fill his time with until their return, but it just isn’t possible, he needs to know, he needs to see. He had doubted the land, the god/s, the faeries of Beqanna his whole life. Wondering why they created him, what he was to them, who he could be for them. His life wasn’t at all important, had never been that important, Ea was the leader, Tiphon the guardian… what was Phaedrus? What role did he fill? The disappointer? Well that one he filled rather well, and in filling it he loathed himself just as much if not more than others could. In any case he was the simple nameless watcher. The one that observed and worked in the background filling in where he could, when he could, disappearing when the world needed someone with a voice, with a name, with a purpose.
His right side riddled with scars from being spiked in battle, his other side raked from teeth, and missing flesh on his ribs. All of it ached as he climbed the mountain behind the other two. It is no surprise to him that Beqanna would choose to punish him, he had failed her, just as he failed all the rest. Even now climbing the craggy mountain side, slipping and clambering up sharp jagged rocks, grit filling his teeth and eyes, sweat slick, and glossy across his taunt muscles. Even now he can hear his mother’s disgust <i>take him away, let him be of some use elsewhere.</i> Then his aunts scornful silence, his niece’s need to run from him. The pained look in Zara’s eyes when he passed her to another more capable leader. The tears in Gyps when he sold her for Besra’s comfort. The grief in Ea when Ramiel did not show up, and Phaedrus had failed in finding him. The lack of recognition for those he called family pained him as well.
This was the role he had played in his life, could he change? He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t tell you that everything would get better, that he or anyone else would change forever. If there was one thing he could it, it was try, and try with every fiber in his soul. Maybe he could learn to trust beqanna, maybe he could learn to love his life, maybe he could step from the shadows and be the strength others needed. Maybe, but is it likely? No one could say for certain, the Dale had kept the peace, it had proved to be the stability when others ran rampant, they pleaded, made peace, and gave hope to others when there was none. They gave strength to the Gates when their tree burned, they stood by the side of the Amazons when the war started, but they failed when the Deserts was flooded. Where were they when horses lacked homes? When a kingdom needed a refuge? This was their failing, when power was stripped from them, they moped about and mourned their losses, they paid no heed to the outer world, or the call for help. They celebrated the rising of a new queen, they talked of building up and strengthening themselves. They forgot their role as helper, and tried usurping their power over others, no longer did they care to help the weak, they wanted power, to be recognized and feared. The Dale had been scorned for many centuries now it was time for others to see them instead of use them.
This plan however didn’t make it too far, Beqanna awoke and turned on them for losing sight of their purpose. Now today they strive for better, to remember where/who they were. Why they were. He stays a small distance from the other two, listening, watching, remaining silent as they make their petition, why did he come? Because they needed him? Surely not, they had no need of him, was he curious? Of course, but this didn’t feel reason enough, he had forgone curiosity many a time. Maybe he came to find his purpose? To see if the stories were true? Maybe it was to ask why Beqanna had not smote him off the face of the earth, why she gave him a second chance. Why did she think he deserved a second chance? He certainly didn’t feel worthy of one. He was not good enough for the gifted, he failed the weak, and stood by when others stepped up. Only thing he never failed in was war. He had worked alongside Ramiel, Weir, he had defeated enemies of his people, all to protect and give hope. His thoughts and questions whirl in his mind, watching, waiting to see what would happen. The two stand side by side, he stands a small distance away, respectfully giving room, turning, and shifting looking for signs of danger. </div><div class="swordfightquote">i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must</div></div></div></center>
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background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(61,44,18,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(61,44,18,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(61,44,18,0) 0%, rgba(61,44,18,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(61,44,18,0) 0%, rgba(61,44,18,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(61,44,18,0) 0%, rgba(61,44,18,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(61,44,18,0) 0%, rgba(61,44,18,1) 100%);
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#3d2c12', endColorstr='#3d2c12', GradientType=0 );}.swordfightwords{position: relative;z-index: 8;width: 480px;padding: 20px;font: 13px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: justify;background: #CDC9B0;color: #60442C;margin-top: -8px;}.swordfightname{position: relative;z-index: 10;font: 50px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: right;padding-right: 30px;margin-top: -60px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000;}.swordfightquote{position: relative;z-index: 12;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;font-style: italic;}</style><center><div class="swordfightbase"><div class="swordfightbackground"><img class="swordfightpic" src="http://i.imgur.com/UC6d1dH.jpg"><div class="swordfightgrad"></div><div class="swordfightname">PHAEDRUS</div><div class="swordfightwords"> He watches as the two horses depart from their little group, he tries to think of something better to do. He looks for something to fill his time with until their return, but it just isn’t possible, he needs to know, he needs to see. He had doubted the land, the god/s, the faeries of Beqanna his whole life. Wondering why they created him, what he was to them, who he could be for them. His life wasn’t at all important, had never been that important, Ea was the leader, Tiphon the guardian… what was Phaedrus? What role did he fill? The disappointer? Well that one he filled rather well, and in filling it he loathed himself just as much if not more than others could. In any case he was the simple nameless watcher. The one that observed and worked in the background filling in where he could, when he could, disappearing when the world needed someone with a voice, with a name, with a purpose. His right side riddled with scars from being spiked in battle, his other side raked from teeth, and missing flesh on his ribs. All of it ached as he climbed the mountain behind the other two. It is no surprise to him that Beqanna would choose to punish him, he had failed her, just as he failed all the rest. Even now climbing the craggy mountain side, slipping and clambering up sharp jagged rocks, grit filling his teeth and eyes, sweat slick, and glossy across his taunt muscles. Even now he can hear his mother’s disgust <i>take him away, let him be of some use elsewhere.</i> Then his aunts scornful silence, his niece’s need to run from him. The pained look in Zara’s eyes when he passed her to another more capable leader. The tears in Gyps when he sold her for Besra’s comfort. The grief in Ea when Ramiel did not show up, and Phaedrus had failed in finding him. The lack of recognition for those he called family pained him as well.
This was the role he had played in his life, could he change? He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t tell you that everything would get better, that he or anyone else would change forever. If there was one thing he could it, it was try, and try with every fiber in his soul. Maybe he could learn to trust beqanna, maybe he could learn to love his life, maybe he could step from the shadows and be the strength others needed. Maybe, but is it likely? No one could say for certain, the Dale had kept the peace, it had proved to be the stability when others ran rampant, they pleaded, made peace, and gave hope to others when there was none. They gave strength to the Gates when their tree burned, they stood by the side of the Amazons when the war started, but they failed when the Deserts was flooded. Where were they when horses lacked homes? When a kingdom needed a refuge? This was their failing, when power was stripped from them, they moped about and mourned their losses, they paid no heed to the outer world, or the call for help. They celebrated the rising of a new queen, they talked of building up and strengthening themselves. They forgot their role as helper, and tried usurping their power over others, no longer did they care to help the weak, they wanted power, to be recognized and feared. The Dale had been scorned for many centuries now it was time for others to see them instead of use them.
This plan however didn’t make it too far, Beqanna awoke and turned on them for losing sight of their purpose. Now today they strive for better, to remember where/who they were. Why they were. He stays a small distance from the other two, listening, watching, remaining silent as they make their petition, why did he come? Because they needed him? Surely not, they had no need of him, was he curious? Of course, but this didn’t feel reason enough, he had forgone curiosity many a time. Maybe he came to find his purpose? To see if the stories were true? Maybe it was to ask why Beqanna had not smote him off the face of the earth, why she gave him a second chance. Why did she think he deserved a second chance? He certainly didn’t feel worthy of one. He was not good enough for the gifted, he failed the weak, and stood by when others stepped up. Only thing he never failed in was war. He had worked alongside Ramiel, Weir, he had defeated enemies of his people, all to protect and give hope. His thoughts and questions whirl in his mind, watching, waiting to see what would happen. The two stand side by side, he stands a small distance away, respectfully giving room, turning, and shifting looking for signs of danger. </div><div class="swordfightquote">i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must</div></div></div></center>