Post by Tii on Apr 1, 2010 21:59:38 GMT -5
”I’m back,” Za’lyyr half smiled to himself as the heavy door of the egg chamber made a small sound, nothing more than a whoosh of air as it closed. The elf let his weight rest against it as he stood, looking over the chamber which he had come to know the sight of well. Ever since his first failed visit, the nights had rocked him with memory after memory of painful images, the kind he’d never expected to relive ever again. The night would pour tremors through his body, inducing cold sweats and fevers like he’d never felt before. It wasn’t typical for elves to be ill, like their advanced strength and lives, it seemed like their immune systems were rocketed into the stratosphere as well. But for some reason, the things in his mind were able to override any normal process, and left him curled up in the corner of his chamber, holding his head in his hands and wishing that he could just pass out. The idea of complete and utter darkness was more comforting than anything else in world. If only he could achieve it.
The first few nights, he remained locked in his room, of limited worth to anyone. He didn’t talk, didn’t advise. The only communications given could be heard by none other, only a powerful man in the depths of the castle, his mind floating within the confines of Za’lyyr’s. He was strangely interested in the nightmares that patrolled the elf’s mind. It left Za’lyyr pretending he didn’t hear the faint chuckle in the back of his head. He was pretending the king didn’t sound amused. As the nights blurred into weeks, he feet began to carry him. The already pale color of his skin was nearing on transparent as the nights passed. He looked unhealthy. He looked pale. And for the first time, he looked week. That was probably why he was spending a decent amount of time in his room. The last thing he needed was for the people around to question his abilities. Weakness was not an option. The days were fine, he returned to the grounds and walked the halls, but the moment he was alone in the night, he felt like he was being pulled into nothingness.
Each night he came closer and closer to the egg chamber. He came to the point where he would walk past it, back and forth. Eventually he sat in the passageway outside it, staring at the ornate door for hours on end. It would take another week before he’d venture inside, actually regaining the courage to step inside the door. He didn’t touch a single egg. Za’lyyr would enter in silence and resign himself to a dark corner, sitting in the dim light as he just stared at the stone like objects rested on their stands. There was one that was distinctly missing. He remembered its deep chocolate like color. One more dragon hatched. One less opportunity for him. He would slowly begin to talk, his words hanging in the air like they’d been caught by some invisible net, hoisted into the air, never to be seen again. Each night he release a memory into the air, his words describing the pictures in his mind the best way he knew how. It seemed like the grace in his tongue was never enough. He wanted nothing more than to show them. All of them… No, just one. One that he could call his own. One that would prove to be the greatest support of his already extended life.
His nights became easier as he slowly lifted the burdens from himself, leaving them in that chamber. He didn’t know if they would ever mean anything. The probably just fell on deaf ears. He could always hope though. Hope that there was someone listening.
Few knew his history. He’d never openly shared it with any…except these unhatched beings.
”Tonight may not be different than any other.” He stood at the entrance, swallowing hard as he looked between the colored shapes that floated in darkness. By now he knew the location of each. They were like a road map in his head, dotted spots that represented cities. ”My faith is not failing.” His words were quiet and seemed to bounce back at him and splash over his face. ”Or I hope it is not.” He approached slowly, his hand fidgeting at his side. He ran his thumb over the pad of his pointer finger, trying to remember how unnaturally smooth those eggs had felt the first time he’d brushed over them. It was not a hard memory to find. Despite the fact that none had hatched for him, he was grateful to stare down at them. They were alive. They existed. There was hope for them.
As he walked he came to that first, recognizable egg. It was orange in the darkness. Just like the first time, his hand was shaking as it extended. It didn’t pause in mid air this time, it travelled the rest of the distance and brushed the surface of the egg. And just like the first time, he moved from one to another, trying to memorize the feel of each of the surfaces. He wanted them embedded in his finger tips. He wanted them to be a part of him forever. As the number became fewer and fewer, he was once again edging on unstable. And for the second time, he was looking down at an impossible white in all the dark. ”You are the last once again, little one.” His arm wobbled in the air again, fingers clenching into a fist before he willed them out again. They pressed against the cool surface and he closed his eyes. A deep breath of that air, the air that was so specific to that place, filled his lungs. He swore it made his mind clearer.
”Good night, great ones.” He sighed, staring back at the lot of them while he leaned his back against the door. ”As always, I will see you tomorrow.”
The first few nights, he remained locked in his room, of limited worth to anyone. He didn’t talk, didn’t advise. The only communications given could be heard by none other, only a powerful man in the depths of the castle, his mind floating within the confines of Za’lyyr’s. He was strangely interested in the nightmares that patrolled the elf’s mind. It left Za’lyyr pretending he didn’t hear the faint chuckle in the back of his head. He was pretending the king didn’t sound amused. As the nights blurred into weeks, he feet began to carry him. The already pale color of his skin was nearing on transparent as the nights passed. He looked unhealthy. He looked pale. And for the first time, he looked week. That was probably why he was spending a decent amount of time in his room. The last thing he needed was for the people around to question his abilities. Weakness was not an option. The days were fine, he returned to the grounds and walked the halls, but the moment he was alone in the night, he felt like he was being pulled into nothingness.
Each night he came closer and closer to the egg chamber. He came to the point where he would walk past it, back and forth. Eventually he sat in the passageway outside it, staring at the ornate door for hours on end. It would take another week before he’d venture inside, actually regaining the courage to step inside the door. He didn’t touch a single egg. Za’lyyr would enter in silence and resign himself to a dark corner, sitting in the dim light as he just stared at the stone like objects rested on their stands. There was one that was distinctly missing. He remembered its deep chocolate like color. One more dragon hatched. One less opportunity for him. He would slowly begin to talk, his words hanging in the air like they’d been caught by some invisible net, hoisted into the air, never to be seen again. Each night he release a memory into the air, his words describing the pictures in his mind the best way he knew how. It seemed like the grace in his tongue was never enough. He wanted nothing more than to show them. All of them… No, just one. One that he could call his own. One that would prove to be the greatest support of his already extended life.
His nights became easier as he slowly lifted the burdens from himself, leaving them in that chamber. He didn’t know if they would ever mean anything. The probably just fell on deaf ears. He could always hope though. Hope that there was someone listening.
Few knew his history. He’d never openly shared it with any…except these unhatched beings.
”Tonight may not be different than any other.” He stood at the entrance, swallowing hard as he looked between the colored shapes that floated in darkness. By now he knew the location of each. They were like a road map in his head, dotted spots that represented cities. ”My faith is not failing.” His words were quiet and seemed to bounce back at him and splash over his face. ”Or I hope it is not.” He approached slowly, his hand fidgeting at his side. He ran his thumb over the pad of his pointer finger, trying to remember how unnaturally smooth those eggs had felt the first time he’d brushed over them. It was not a hard memory to find. Despite the fact that none had hatched for him, he was grateful to stare down at them. They were alive. They existed. There was hope for them.
As he walked he came to that first, recognizable egg. It was orange in the darkness. Just like the first time, his hand was shaking as it extended. It didn’t pause in mid air this time, it travelled the rest of the distance and brushed the surface of the egg. And just like the first time, he moved from one to another, trying to memorize the feel of each of the surfaces. He wanted them embedded in his finger tips. He wanted them to be a part of him forever. As the number became fewer and fewer, he was once again edging on unstable. And for the second time, he was looking down at an impossible white in all the dark. ”You are the last once again, little one.” His arm wobbled in the air again, fingers clenching into a fist before he willed them out again. They pressed against the cool surface and he closed his eyes. A deep breath of that air, the air that was so specific to that place, filled his lungs. He swore it made his mind clearer.
”Good night, great ones.” He sighed, staring back at the lot of them while he leaned his back against the door. ”As always, I will see you tomorrow.”
