Drake's Tale--#1

(This is the first in a series of posts that will be detailing Drake’s history in his own words. Pursuant to the agreement I have entered with him, there will be no content editing over what he has to say. Each of these posts will have the same title, above, numbered sequentially.—RB)

My story is a long one. But it must be told.

Six thousand years ago, I was born the third of three sons to Dracaar (having looked back on his blog, I see my not so literate host has misspelled my father’s name in more than one way) and Madeena of the ancient city state of Ur.

My parents were not married, although this was not in any way unusual in that time and place. My mother was the daughter of one the three powerful priest-kings of the city at the time. She was a powerful priestess in her own right, although her chosen deity was Tiamat—a faith that was officially banned within the city because of the propensity of Her advocates to inspire Chaos amongst Her followers. Due to my mother’s position in that society however, she was in no danger.

My father, Dracaar, was even more complex. He was the most powerful and easily the most successful general in the army of Ur. He towered over everyone else in the city. He was easily a foot taller than even the largest of his own band of elite warriors, standing nearly seven feet tall. Even among the social elite of Ur, he exuded a sense of power and a charisma that commanded respect and deference from nearly everyone who encountered him.

But my father was even more different than he appeared, physically. As you all know, my father was not entirely human. Dracaar was a member of a small but powerful race of beings who call themselves An’girasii, a word from their original language that means ‘the Chosen.’ These beings, the An’girasii, will be discussed at much greater length in future posts. Suffice it to say that they are extremely powerful Spirit beings who have their own unique physical forms, but who are also capable of taking human forms, as they choose.

When they chose to take human form, the An’girasii are able to interbreed with humans, something they have been doing for as long as they and humans have been sharing this world, which is to say a very, very long time. The benefits the An’girasii of this interbreeding will also be discussed later, but the benefits to the immediate offspring are rather variable and unpredictable. Those that survive long enough to be born may or may not inherit some of the An’girasii magickal talents.

My two older brothers, Nehmad and Sorud, were lucky enough to inherit both our father’s impressive stature and very visible vestiges of his magickal talents. I, however, was cursed with the stature of my mother and no recognizable magickal talent to make up for my smallish nature.

Growing up, I was left to my own devices. My two brothers were Father’s favorites and spent much of their time honing their warrior skills and developing their magickal talents over the weather. Sorud had the power to summon and control wind, while Nehmad reveled in his mastery over earth. Once I was old enough to feed and change myself, Mother left me in than tender care of the household slaves. The slaves were far more interested in making sure that they avoided the beatings that came with failing to keep the household running well than they were taking care of the runt of the mistress’s litter.

Mother was more concerned with developing her own considerable magickal talents and with the strategic forming and breaking of political alliances as needed than she was with raising any of her children. She was not a paragon of maternal virtue.

So my early years were spent staying out of the way of those were more important, more loved, more powerful, and more fearful than I was. Besides wishing that I was more like my older brothers, I spent most of my time observing and learning from those who were too busy to notice or care about me.

Anticipation...

I finished brushing off the debris from the massive stone table and cast aside the worn out pine branch that I used to finish it. Maybe ten minutes had passed since Cerrydwen disappeared back into the woods, but I couldn’t be sure.

It seemed more like an eternity.

I knelt down beside the duffle bag, unzipped it, and pulled out the smaller of the two urns.

This was the urn that was inscribed with the ancient image of Tiamat, a seven-headed sea serpent. It was about the size of a bowling ball, but more oblong in shape. It was cast out of bronze, now weathered badly. The cuneiform inscriptions along the bottom of the image of Tiamat were worn almost to the point of being indecipherable, but as I looked at the words formed by the strange markings, their meaning crystallized in my mind-- “This vessel contains the remains and the immortal soul of Madeena, servant of Tiamat, consort of Dracaar. Cursed is he who disturbs the sentence of this criminal.”

As those words turned in my mind, I set that urn up on the stone table, reaching down to pull the other, larger one out of the bag. The second urn was not decorated in any fashion, no stylized images of serpents, gods, or creatures graced this thing, yet as I held it, it felt heavier, more...important.

Despite the lack of ornamentation, this urn was also inscribed with cunieform markings that spelled out a dire warning-- “Cursed is the bloodline of he who breaks the seal on this vessel. Doom, Death and Destruction to any who violate4 this sacred seal.”

I set the second urn up on the stone table as well and stood facing them, contemplating what actually would happen when they were opened. I felt a small chill deep inside. The anticipation was horrible...

(Dear readers--my apologies for the small post, but circumstances this week have prevented me from writing further. Look for a burst of posts to take place starting Thursday, May 11.--DSP)