Kashir

Our story begins, as all stories must, at the beginning. There was born, to a family of once noble Faendryl lineage, a child with the most piercing green eyes. This child was, shall we say, special. Born under great auspices, his birthsigns did portend a great blessing, and a great curse. This child, it was said, would raise the family name to great heights, returning it to its rightful place. With such a blessing, however, came ill portents; the death of his family. For a proper Faendryl family, this is rather a small price to bear to know that one's descendants will be great. The child, therefore, was looked upon favourably and given the greatest of birth gifts, as befitted his birthright.
	One night, the child having been put to bed, the family held a great gathering, and much of the extended family was in attendance. They wined and dined and spoke of lofty things, threw a family feast in the old style. Amidst the festivities, one of the attendees turned and noticed the child as he entered the Feast Hall. "Oh look! It is the family savior now!" he shouted, rather drunkenly. The child's eyes burned their fiercest emerald green as he walked silently in.
	This child, a child of but a few gentle years, strode into the hall, stood before the great table, and merely raised his arms in a small gesture. Those who were gathered stared and marvelled as a small flame sprouted at the boy's feet. It smouldered and burned, spreading out in a thin line before him, forming a brilliant circle. The party-goers all thought this was a wonderful trick. What a boy was this that could perform such an impressive, if small, magical cantrip at his age. He had barely spoken, and had only just mastered walking, and here he was incanting a ring of smouldering flame.
	Suddenly, as the circle drew to a close, all of the doors of the Great Hall slammed shut. Within the ring of fire, ancient sigils of power began to inscribe themselves. and further circles developed within it. Within the central circle, eight tiny dots of fire began to grow at cardinal and intermediate points. By now, the party-goers were certainly in awe, and some began to grow nervous. The eight dots began to form lines between them, each one connected to two others, and the symbol began to close itself.
	The boy stood nearly as a statue, save for a low murmured incantation, his brilliant eyes growing brighter. As the last lines closed, the circle flashed and glowed very brightly. The hues rolled, first red, then orange, on to yellow and, finally, returned to a most virulent green.
	Now, some of the guests had, by this time, begun to try to exit the Great Hall. They found the doors were shut fast, and would not budge. In an instant, one that dragged on for an eternity, a great demon appeared within the circle, its eyes wild and ferocious. Such a demon as this had not been seen in many millenia. The Faendryl, as many know, are a curious race. Some were frightened, yes, but all marvelled at the great beast as it raged and railed within its confinement.
	As surely as he had begun the rite, the child faltered, collapsing to the floor. As he did so, the magnificent circle that held the beast faltered and gave way. The demon slew nearly all of the guests before it crashed through the front wall to the entryway, then further through the front of the house and into the night. It raged through the streets of Ta'Faendryl, taking eight of the city's strongest summoners to subdue it. This child, it would seem had done what no ONE summoner had ever managed. Even in the great battle, it had taken groups of summoners to call such creatures.
	One of the surviving guests, an uncle, found the boy curled up fast asleep on the floor within the hall. "We shall be great again," he whispered, to himself, as he took the boy into his arms.
	As there were few surviving members of the family, and as it was his eldest brother's child, none among whom was elder than he, save his own father, he moved into the estate and oversaw its repair. As luck would have it, having been portended to be a great summoner, the child had been registered as a summoner at birth. There were, therefore, no great repercussions. However, as he was not yet old enough to be taught, he was left in his uncle's care. It was to his uncle that the High Summoner came, bearing a proposition.
	"We shall be happy to just forget about this whole ordeal," the summoner said, "but on one condition." The boy was to be disallowed from performing any magic, even the smallest cantrips, until he was old enough to be trained, at which time he would become the charge of the High Summoner himself.
	And so, the boy was to be raised in his own household, under the supervision of his uncle and, to a lesser extent, his grandfather. When the grandfather was away, which was often, the boy was left to be attended upon by the servants. Upon the house was placed a ward of anti-magic, specifically attuned to the boy, that he may not step beyond its bounds, and that he may not therein perform any sort of magic. This assured the keeping of the deal, but did greatly vex the boy.
	When the grandfather was present, he would often take the boy aside, in private rooms, to show him a few small tricks that he might be soothed from his own prohibition, and that he might learn to perform them himself, even if only by gesture and not in their completion. This infuriated the uncle, who greatly feared what might happen if the boy managed, somehow, to perform a trick, and he often chastised the old man.
	Over the next nearly hundred years, the uncle grew more and more dour towards the boy, and bade him no kindness. As well, he took his late brother's small fortune and began to build his own, increasing their fortunes many times over, but never allowing the child the enjoyment of it. He thought, and perhaps rightly, "So, the prophecy was true. The boy has destroyed much of the family and, in so doing, the family has become great again. We are wealthy and we are gaining the begrudging respect of the other families." It was true, in fact, the family had grown in power since that terrible night.
	Then came the boy's hundreth birthday and, with it, came the High Summoner to spirit him away. The grandfather lamented the loss of his grandson, and the uncle rejoiced the lifting of his burden. The boy was taken to the summoner's tower and told that he would be disallowed from seeing his remaining family, save for special visits, and would be similarly prohibited from the use of magic, except under the High Summoner's supervision. He was then given a small supply room in which to sleep upon rags and accoutrements befitting of a cleaning boy. There he would toil away his days, cleaning and shining, and spend his nights in the High Summoner's chambers, being experimented upon to find the source of his great power.
	It was not unusually cruel treatment that he received by the summoner, just generally a lot of standing still in the middle of circles of chalk, sometimes being made to hold or wear precious and semi-precious stones and symbols. Occasionally, the boy would be allowed a visit by his uncle. These visits were bitterly cold and often malicious. The uncle would tell him of the goings-on of the household, for which the boy cared little, and how the fortune was growing.
	One night, the boy recalled a trick that his grandfather had taught him, and swept a pile of dust in his "room" into a small circle, tracing the lines and intoning the words. Suddenly, there was a small image of his grandfather, standing before him.
	"Ah-ha!" the senescent little man chuckled. "I knew you would get it my boy. This is a bit of my own magic, not yours, so it is not prohibitted within the tower." The boy jumped with a start, tumbling into his pile of rags. "I am sorry, my child, but I know to have the greatest faith in you. Do not lose heart, for one day you will be great," continued the old man.
	The image of his grandfather taught him to keep the circle small, that he might keep it hidden, and warned him that he must only use it in times of great need or loneliness, but that he would be there, every morning, intoning on his own end, should the boy need him. This gave the boy a bit of heart as he went about his toil and, once upon a while, he would call upon his grandfather, regaining a little needed strength to carry on.
	As the boy grew, the High Summoner had him perform more duties and slowly, very slowly, he taught him some lesser spells, but not too much, lest the boy present a danger. So, too, did he grow tired of attempting to study him, always finding nothing, that he eventually began leaving off for the nights and allowing the boy a little personal time of his own, even occasional use of the facilities. Within the tower, he was taught, there were certain rooms that were warded against the ward that held him in prohibition. Within these rooms he would be allowed to develop his own talent, to a degree, but only at the High Summoner's pleasure. The boy worked more diligently, that he might be given some allowance to use one of the rooms, and his visits with his grandfather became less and less frequent.
	The years rolled on, as they must and, one morning, the young man, as he was now growing into his age, thought to summon his grandfather's image that he might tell him of the many wonders he had been allowed. There stood before him the image of his grandfather, bowed with age.
	"I am sorry my boy, I have grown old, and older still, and I do not think we will speak again. I grow weary and do not have long to live but I want you to know..." suddenly the image faltered and turned with a start. "No! You can't... You musn't. I have to be allowed to..." the old man fell hard and quietly croaked out, in his last breath, "thank you, child, for bringing pride to an old man."
	Suddenly, the image of his uncle appeared in his place. "I do not know how you have done this, but you will not do it again."
	The young man quietly performed his chores for the day, and into the night, when a message came for the High Summoner. Quietly he slunk around the tower, but no word came for him.
	The next morning, upon waking, he found the High Summoner standing before him. The summoner asked, "Have I been unkind to you, boy? Have I been unclear with you? I have been a bit lenient, perhaps that is my fault. You are to go to your grandfather's vigil tonight. You will be allowed to join in the celebration of his passing as was his wish and, when you return, we will surely have much to speak on." The High Summoner turned and left, revealing attire befitting the young man's station as a member of a re-emerging noble family.
	The young man was escorted to a stately changing room where he was allowed to don the apparel of a young nobleman, of brilliant hues of golds and reds, lined with silver and black, and with a small black boutanier, to mark his grandfather's passing. Last, he donned his black robe, the mark of a summoner, and was escorted out into the night to a carriage, which bore him to his former home.
	Whereupon he emerged from his carriage, he hardly recognized the place. Certainly it was the same house, but much had changed. There were statues of fine make upon the lawn and the curtains of reds and whites were all trimmed with gold. He was no longer a boy, but a young man of 250 years, and as he approached, a doorman bade him enter. So long had he toiled in the tower that he had grown rather cut and lean, fine muscles showing lightly beneath his clothing. As he entered the Grand Hall, hardly a one recognized him.
	His uncle announced him before the usher could do so, "...and here he is now! The young master has returned to us from his studies! Look upon him, all. Here is the boy who has returned my fine family to greatness!" All did look upon him, and murmured quietly, if but only politely.
	"Come, boy! Your seat is set at my right hand! Come set yourself beside your proud uncle." As he made his way amidst the throng, they all politely bid him condolences upon the passing of his grandfather, who did live such a life, and die a good age.
	And so the festivities were begun. All the while his uncle smiled at him, scowling beneath a thin veneer, stabbing at him with words. The feast was delivered, and they feasted. Toasts were made and all the tables were cleared to make room for dancing. The young man remained at his uncle's side, as was proper, but responded not to his cutting remarks and cruel barbs.
	"Did you enjoy the feast? I hope you did. Now, surely you will enjoy the dance, for I can assure you they will be the last fineries you ever enjoy here," his uncle whispered coolly into his ear. "You know that old fool never did stop begging upon every morning to be allowed to visit you. For a time, his protestations had nearly abated, and I knew not why. Well, I know now, but that is all in the past. I have the house, the fortune and, were something to ever happen to you, I will have the title. I am the eldest; when you return to the tower, you will be out of my hands forever. Do enjoy this night," he finished with a sneer.
	Throughout the night, the young man's eyes had shown brightly green, but with these final words, something inside him broke free. They snapped open and blazed as with a hellish green fire. With that, he walked to the center of the hall and let out a wail that would chill the blood of the damned. The wards upon the house burst into green flame and boiled off of the walls. The curtains flew and the doors slammed shut once more. There, in the center of the floor, the young man stood, not upon the marble tiles, but on the air. Rising slowly, he let fly dark words.
	The very air crackled with charged magic, as if it were lightning, and the fires all guttered out. The only light came from beneath him as it stretched out into a large green circle, filling the hall with an unnatural cast. As the circle spread, the symbols and sigils began to reassert themselves within it, yet still it grew.
	Floating there ten feet off of the floor, the young man cast about within the void to find the thing he sought, and there it was, waiting for him. He offered it whatever it might want, that it would slay this man that stood before him, and it delighted in his anguish. It emerged in a flash, and yet again the space of forever, tearing at the crowd, ripping some asunder. As the young man stared into his uncle's eyes, searching them for fear and finding none, he became keenly aware that something was wrong. His uncle simply sneered back at him as eight robed figures emerged from the crowd, drawing at equal intervals around the circle.
	"Oh, look. Well, now you've really gone and done it, boy. You've gone and damned yourself by your own hands. As a child, no one could hold you fully responsible for your actions, but now you are of age, and they will surely punish you. If only you had any insight, you might have held your tongue, but I knew you couldn't help yourself, so I had the summoners in quiet attendence, waiting. If only you hadn't wanted for all I have gained, and sought to take it by such crude force. Tsk, tsk, tsk," he scolded.
	The Great Summoners' words began to ring out in his head, tearing through him with a force he could never imagine. The demon began to fall back within its bounds and fell upon its knees, glaring malevolently. As one of the summoners tilted his head up, his hood fell back to reveal the High Summoner himself, staring down the raging creature. He looked it solidly in the eyes, then glanced back in the young man's uncle's direction and returned the demon's gaze, with a smirk. As he nodded his head, the creature made one last lunge, tearing at the uncle and dragging him back into the void with him. All the while, the summoner smiled.
	"I told you, boy, that when you returned, we would have to speak, but it seems you have left me no choice, now must be the time. All of you... OUT!" he commanded. The doors flung themselves open and all of the guests piled out as quickly as they could, leaving only the summoners and the young man, still floating in the air.
	"Your uncle was greedy and petulant, but he was also shrewd. He turned your failing family's meager fortunes into one fit for the greatest among our house. Now that he is dead, and you, the only heir, are inelligible to claim it, it must fall to he in whose charge you will be left." A cool smile crossed his face as he let the words sink in. "It really is too bad, you know? You might have been great, perhaps even the greatest among us, given time. Now, we will just have to seal away your power that you may no longer pose a danger to the Faendryl." With that, he rejoined the incantation.
	The young man hung helplessly in the air, unable to protect himself from the onslaught of their terrible words. They slammed into him, through him, and tore away at his very being. His brilliant eyes, burning brightly, began to fade and gutter out. Slowly, they sunk away to a tempestuous, ashen grey.
He tore away at me, sealed away my power, and made me again his servant. For a further 200 years I served as nothing but a cleaning boy in his tower, my spirit broken, until, one day, he cast me out, having no more use for me. Destiny, however, cannot be averted. Perhaps their incantations were imperfect, or perhaps my connection to whatever gives me strength was simply too strong to be completely severed, but slowly, as I travelled away from that place, I began to feel the smallest pangs of it again. I am coming into my power more slowly this time. It will not control me, I will control myself, and through it I hope to one day regain the power I lost that day. When I have done so, I will endeavour to return to that place. I will have my revenge.
	I will not kill him, for that would be far to gentle a thing, far too kind for one such as him. I will reassert myself, and I will overpower him. Then I will force him into my own servitude and I will take back what is mine. I will not treat him unkindly, for he did never treat me unkindly, but he will know until the end of his days, long or short as they may be, that he has fallen.
~Kashir Anasahr Faendryl, Faendryl Summoner.
Category:Platinum Profiles