Kallianos

From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki

Kallianos by Mal'Ganis Sage

My name is Kallianos. It's the gypsy word for 'twilight.' Properly translated it means 'The time just before the dark, when all lies patiently, and at peace.' I have been told it is a strange name, and yet it is the only name I've ever known. A gift. Truly one of the few things I have ever recieved from my mother. This being said, my story is the timeless tale of life, death, and rebirth. It is not so grand, or spiritual as that of Osiris. Nor is it as mystical as the cycles of Cthulu, not dead but forever dreaming, though both would be romantic ways to parallel my story. This is simply the story of human frailities. Of love, hate, and the weaknesses and small madeness that make up our condition. I was born, and grew up in Cove. I still live there now. From the tower where I write this I can see the end of the world over white capped oceans where the sky touches the waters, and where the Gods make their homes. The wind off these waters whispers secrets from far off. Secrets just barely audible, and never quite understood. Cove has ever stood as a bulwark to the more prosperous city of Vesper. Trade prospers there because Cove stems the orcish tide of aggression. This is what I grew up with. Living a stones throw away from the horrible place where greenskin savages make unspeakable acts, and endlessly strive for war for war's sake. My father fought this fight his entire life, father, as I do now. It is not so much a burden as it is just the way of things. He was an educated man, my father. Large framed, fierce eyed, and yet he always seemed a child himself. Rolling in the grass with me, or letting my sisters put ribbons in his hair. Above all a man dedicated. Dedicated to his three children. Dedicated to his duty to defend Cove, and dedicated to a wife who hurt him as much as she loved him. As I have said, my mother, Aleta, was a gypsy. She met my father when her family came to Cove to peddle some silks. A strange grey eyed woman with unruly red hair. I remember little of her besides her appearance to me, and the way she affected my father. Aleta would spend weeks and months away from my father and her children, only to reappear as though she had never left bringing with her that primal magic which rejuvenated my father's spirit. His joy was boundless to see her and hold her again. Just as his melancholy to lose her to her vagabond calling sunk him into near depressions. He never accused her or spoke an unkind word to her. She never gave explanation for her coming or goings. But she loved him, and he loved her more than anything else. I hated her. I hated her for the darkness he would slip into because of her. I hated her, for her total lack of sense of duty. I hated her for her free life, which I was starting to believe I would never have. Fighting orcs had become my life, and I hated it. I was a young man at this point, and I had an unspoken voice within me gnawing at me to go see the world. I grew weary of my family. I withdrew from my brothers in arms. So I told my father I was leaving and did not know where to. He smiled at me, as though he knew. He wished me well, and made me promise to