The King's Craft

[OnStormySeas]

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I remember it like it was yesterday.

I spent my youth, hearing of the baleful Indras. That drake, that abomination. The threats, uttered unto Meranthe and used by the eldest to scare the Young. The dread, the end, the Extinction. Was that, when my art began to die? When my voice croaked and the fear of that impending doom wormed itself into my chest? Was it when my Father took to the Frontlines, and never came home? Bravery, he called it. For it was his song, to write. His art, to etch. Blade in hand, faith in his chest.  I remember when he was brought home. Was that when my art died? When the only song I heard was my mother's weeping?

No, that's not it. Even then, I found something wortwhile in those frivolous things. Mestra's teachings, after-all, were still proclaimed. Even after years of vile acts to deter her, Londo endured. We endured. I saw the Lords and Ladies, remain in their faithful. And even if my Father was gone, my Mother found joy in my own Art. It lived on. I lived on. We lived on.

Until that day.

That day my home burned.

They said the battle would be fought in the mountains, the host of the force was there. I was too young, I didn't understand. All I knew is that our Nightmare, that Demonic Incursion, would soon be over. My mother spoke of a bright future, a colorful one. A new world, where we would find a new joy. My songs, would grow. And my future would be written in the most brilliant of Inks. Such encouraging words, with a simple request. To sleep, for when I woke; the Nightmare would be replaced by sweet dreams. How easily, sleep came that night. How easily, I took in that last visage of my mother.

And how harsh that awakening was, as those flames overtook the house. As that wretched being Terminus sowed the end of her bastion, the end of her art. The flames, the ruin. I remember my mother's arms scooping me up, and running me from the house. I remember the screams of soldiers, the falling of the walls. The crumbling of our home, as I was careened off. Towards that deep, blue distance. I had always had a fear of those waters, how vast and dour they always seemed. Only to be compounded by the darkness that loomed. The words of a Royal's death. The words of the city's fall. My home was to be lost, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Nothing but flee, to run from burning streets, to push and squirm through crowds. To avoid the heat of the combat, the screams of those to be damned to the same fate. I had never heard such disordinate noise, such terror made manifest. The most wretched art.

The docks, where allies of whom I never knew of came to our aide. Those Galleons, those heroes. The fear, mingling with awe as Fortune came. My despair, mingling with relief as we mounted upon those ships, and sailed into that abyssal horizon, those dark seas. The only light being that of my Homeland's flames, reaching high into the skies. But my song persisted, for the muse that was my mother continued to ensure me that our Faith would continue. That our hopes, were not yet gone. That...was the last thing she said, before the boards below our feet buckled.

Before those same flames that took my home, took what remained of my family.

And before with one last gesture of love, my mother threw me off into the depths. The sight of the mast falling.

And the shocking cold, of the waves that hit my back. Perhaps that, is where my song died. In the dissonance of chaos.

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