| Prologue (roughie) |
[Jul. 18th, 2006|11:04 am] |
Once upon your tamer and not so wild dreams, there was a grand and powerful sorcerer, whose vast territory was under the influence of his most grandiose spell. A spell which, at times when you least expected it, would enchant the very sand beneath your feet and it would spring to life before your eyes. But not just any ordinary life, mind you- a soft-fleshed, breathing human being.
This magic was temporary. The human would live only so long as that from which it sprung, and for those in the sand, the magic only lasted a few months. All within the Sorcerer's reach were prone to the magic, even those who were already human. The people outside his reach erected great walls to keep their people in, fearing that should they wander out into the reaches, they would become something as finite as a daylily, and wither before their time had come.
The Sorcerer had an apprentice, an heir in the making, and he was even more feared than his master. He was a cruel and powerful mage, so arrogant in his status that he played heartless games with the reach's creations, toying with them as if they were merely dolls. For this reason, he was known to the people outside the reaches as merely the Cruel one.
One winter's eve, the Sorcerer's magic had finally captured that which he had spent all his time trying to collect, and being satisfied with himself, he came to his apprentice, the Cruel one Gessevald, and offered him his territory. Elated, Gessevald agreed, and as the Sorcerer cast himself away to his own reaches, Gessevald quickly hurried to the secret chamber from whence the Sorcerer's magic had all come.
It was a cold room, a very cold room, kept frigid as the air outside by a charm that had been cast. Among the stones and glowing rods of magic light, and across the room where the stained glass kept the cold in and the winter out, stood a vision that caused even this cruel heart to flutter in amazement. It was a snowflake; an enchanted snowflake. This snowflake had become a delicate young lady, with pure white skin and long, elegant hair that fell like fragile icicles from her head. She was dressed like the most royal of princesses, with flowing gowns and gems placed nearly everywhere. She looked to Gessevald with wide, shining eyes, and knowing just who he was, she cowered fearfully.
Stricken by her beauty, Gessevald gently beckoned her toward him, and when she recoiled, he became upset. He begged of her to be near him, but when he would pursue her, she would drift up into the vaulted ceiling and hide from him. For days and days Gessevald begged the snowflake girl to be near him, and every time she would hide from him. Soon, he retired to his usual games with the outsiders, desperately searching for a way to turn her completely human, so that she may live without the chill of the upper tower. Spring came and went, and by mid summer he had finally found the cure he was searching for, in the form of a strange potion.
Ecstatic, he returned to the tower with a vial of the potion, and once more begged for the snowflake girl to be near him. This time, she saw his potion, and curious, came to see what he may have done. He presented the potion, and offered to her a real human life with him, as the head of this magic empire, should she agree to take it. He confessed that he had fallen in love with her, and desired nothing more than to have her delicate beauty beside him for all time.
The snowflake shook her head, and outstretched her hands, placing them on Gessevald's cheeks. Instantly, she began to fade, and in her last moments, she said but one thing.
"I would rather melt away to nothing than live beside someone so cruel for eternity."
With that, she was gone, nothing more than a little bit of water on Gessevald's cheeks. Bereaved, he tore through the tower room, throwing every magical item onto the floor and dashing the potion vial against the wall. He fell to his knees and wept until morning, when the sun's light found him gone, and he was never heard of again.
As the years went by the reaches narrowed, and soon no more but a field between three named forests was left. The magic remained in this field, but the sorcerers, both of them, were forgotten slowly and faded into the land of myth and fairy tale. |
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