-Lord Rustan Cetabone-

I lay in my bed with my eyes open, it's warm, too warm. My back is sticking to the wet sheets below, I feel dirty, how can that be possible though, how can something that comes from the inside of our bodies make the outside feel dirty?  ‘Fascinating’, I think as I wiggle my toes, searching for the outside of the blanket i'm covered with. I would lay on the ground if I could, alas my wife never allowed it, still firmly holding onto my chest. Even now I yet feel her touch; which never went unappreciated, except for this night, this night it’s a nuisance.  The warmth is unwelcome, it's keeping me from a good night's sleep, gods know I deserve it.

The bed's too big, the covers are too large, why did I comission such a waste of space, the reason eludes me no longer as I turn to face my left. Imagining the sleeping face next to me in the darkness, she would always seem to be having a pleasant dream.

Time slows to a halt, my mind being in a plane of its own, it's hot, hot and quiet, this is my fate it seems. Thinking of what has to be done tomorrow provides me no comfort, the fake smiles and hushed whispers are to be dealt with on a clear mind, clear and well rested mind. I should just leave this all behind, liquidate my assets and start over. Maybe travel east, I heard tales of wines made of fermented eyeballs, vile, but interesting.

They say once you take a sip you get to see a fragment of the bearers memories, and if you quaff a whole bottle you get to live a whole new life. Probably over exaggerated rumors, but every rumor takes root from some semblance of truth. I should order a batch to be delivered, if not for the experience itself, then for the bragging rights that follow, should at least earn me some points with the bigots here.

Thinking back to the court meeting tomorrow offers me no respite, oh how I hate the fools that loiter around like flies, looking for a chance to lay their eggs in an open wound. I will have to divide the profits from the arena accordingly. The nobles offer slaves they purchased for the games, and their percentage from wagers placed they collect from me, accordingly of course. Never has there been a time that selfish opinions were kept in one's mind, amongst the court it's either yell or be yelled at.

I have enough troubles as it is without those greedy bastards pulling at my hair, such as maintenance, games design, participants, events, funds, logistics. All of that falls on my shoulders, no aides to help me as finding someone to trust with funds is harder than all the tasks combined. The coins are plentiful, prestige sufficient, but is it worth it? I’d say not.

Pressure is building with every cycle, the masses want more and more. Enginuity is necessary, an open mind is a must, the people want new events with every season, fail to meet their expectations and your pocket shall undoubtedly suffer. Each cycle I hire the opinions of commoners, young and old alike, and ask of them their thoughts on the game's design that either I, or some of my servants came up with. My methods were the ones that earned me my position, ‘Prime Administrator’, given by the Marchioness herself.

The people need no reason to long for blood, those with less than fortunate lives will always long to watch those whose fate is worse, the games are meant to keep their aggression on the surface, as to not let it sink in and take root with malice.

Some could say I act as a peace-keeper of sorts, all are happy when I finish doing what I do; commoners, merchants, nobles, travelers and even mercenaries take pleasure in the games. From time to time I orchestrate an event, free folk get to fight in the arena against varying odds, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose, just as the future tends to be blind, until the present shows it the way. The people get to see titans of battle fight and die, then they see a young lad, keen on proving his worth; and surviving long enough to grasp success. Other times the lad dies a tragic death, it builds drama. What’s going to happen next time, people will ask of themselves, as they lie in their bed with the thought lulling them to sleep.  

Sleep, the palace I oh so long for, the escape of reality that it represents, and the memories it brings up… Maybe my mind doesn't want to remember, to perceive of what I witnessed, the horrors i've seen, and the shadows that follow; still haunt me to this day. Life wasn't always so simple, luxury and wealth aren't so easily afforded, at least not in my case. Me, I started with war, it was both my mother with how it raised me to be a man, and my lover, with how it made me strive for attention. At the beginning it was rather uncanny, death and fear ever present in the shadows. But with the passage of time it became facile, the fear would only linger in dreams and not in reality, my whole world has changed.

I'm a man like any other, human in all aspects of possibility. Ambitious without direction, set upon a destination unknown. Time stops for no man, me included, I once thought that I was akin to a river, flowing down the mountain of age and wisdom, spreading out to infinity once the sweet waters of life reach the salt waters of what lies beyond life. Now I know better, now I think of my being as the one of a pebble that is trapped in the river's current. Ever dependant on its destination, having no control over the force or the direction of its flow.

This line of thought makes things easy, easy to accept. No matter what happens, you have no control, you walk a set path; tailored especially for you, by the conditions you were born to. Disheartening but true, the fortunate tend to stay as they are, so do the unfortunate. Every life has a road, no one knows how or why it was constructed, but every human follows it, thus rendering us all in the never ending cycle of fate, as we call it.

Battle after battle I would lose both friends and companions, my people would perish, leaving me behind. I would honour their passing with victories, slowly painting the ground crimson, as the offender's blood would flow down deep, deep into the earth. My throne was built upon the ashes of both friend and foe alike, until only I remained, alone and unbending. There remained no one to mourn for me if I were to lie down and perish, I didn’t want to withdraw from this world in that manner, so a family was created. My child who rose to be one of the pillars of my mind, soon fell, just like the others; leaving me once again, in mourning. But in his passing he left me a gift,  a grandchild of my own to care for, a future to look forward to.

His child, now my treasure; Yuranna.

How much solace can one so small offer a tired mind; much more than deserved. Only thirty odd years ago, I could not even imagine being called ‘Grampa’, the notion never entering my mind. The title was above and beyond the limits of what I could grasp at the time, my purpose being tied to revenge and self pity. With the birth of my son I witnessed the birth of a future, I would have given him the world and more, if he would only ask. I saw him crawl, I watched him fall, I heard him cry, I smiled when he walked, I laughed when he ran.

With his birth came my retirement from the battlefield, at the rank of ‘Lieutenant general’. With my release I was granted a seat amongst the high council, my opinion mattered little in the day to day meetings, so I seldom attended those, and even when I did I took my son with me. With time I gained management of the arena, and the responsibilities that came with the honor.

Stolen story; please report.

The passage of time saw fit for my son to grow, become more man than child, more man than boy, more man than me, and I was proud of him, so proud… By the time he stood on his own two feet; on the foundations of the name he has build for himself, my hairs turned grey. He was my legacy, my name was his to have, his joy was mine to share in.

Was.

He went down a different route from mine, combat was in his blood, yet his mind was more refined, he traveled, invented, rectified, discovered. The name he’s made for himself was one of wonder, adventure, and discovery. With each summer he would leave, and return the following winter with tales of his travels. I would walk him to the gates, and no further; a sign of trust in his return. I would gaze upon his back as he left with his entourage, a ‘figure of the future in the flesh’ I would call him. And when he returned I hailed him as a hero, wine was our common acquaintance as he shared his tales of wonder, I remember how his eyes would sparkle as he explained how his newfound knowledge could be used to the betterment of the masses, and I would smile at his commitment.

Glory can be achieved in many ways, and his was the most noble.

Was.

When he left one summer he spoke a parting phrase, the last I would hear of his voice, “Life has so much color Pa, try to look for what you cannot see, imagine the possibilities.” Maybe he meant for me to gain happiness for myself, but he was my happiness. Maybe he meant for me to see the beauty in life, but he alone was more than enough for me. Maybe he meant for me to find myself, and accept who I was, but his was all the acceptance I needed. I was content, so my words to him were simple, “Bring some of those purple flowers you spoke of, your mother would love them.” And so he left with a smile, and a promise he would not get to keep.

When the winter winds arrived, and the frozen crystals of snow started to cover the land, he was yet to return. When the warm descent of spring set to melt away its predecessor and bring color to the world, he was yet to return. When the summer sun bathed the city with its warmth my heart remained cold, for he was yet to return. Only once autumn has arrived, and the landscape began to wither in anticipation of winter's arrival was he returned.

Was.

He was returned in body alone, his eyes forever shut in slumber, his smile an absent feature, never to reappear again. I saw him brought on a cart, covered by a blanket of linen. I watched him as he lay there, unmoving. I began to hear whispers of his voice, only to realize it was my own, repeating his last words in a mantra, ‘Life has so much color Pa,’ Where?! Where is this color?! ‘try to look for what you cannot see,’ for what purpose is there sight if your smile is forever taken from this world?! ‘Imagine the possibilities’  to what end?!

My sight grew dim, my knees grew weak, my hands reached for his resting face. I was supposed to leave first, he was to live! My sharking hands took hold of his head, my mouth moving soundlessly, my lips tracing words not spoken, ‘My son.’ I took his body, carrying him to where we last sat together, not a soul disturbed my actions. When we arrived to the clearing outside of the city I laid his body on the ground, with his back to a pillar of long lost memories.  Sitting next to him I spoke, words flowed in the wind, easing the passing of the sole reason to my pride, I told tales of old, legends he was eager to listen to before took to slumber as a child. I spoke of the happening in the time of his absence, I spoke of his innovations acceptance in the council, I spoke of how proud I was; of how proud I am.

The sun slowly left our presence, leaving us to the stars companionship, I recalled the times he played on these pillars, and ruins. I recalled the walks we shared, the time he asked me about the stars, the meaning and purpose. His body slid down the pillar, and his shoulder pressed against mine in the middle on my recollection. I looked up to find the stars, ever present in the night's sky, some shining brightly, others barely visible, with one that shone like a beacon, dwarfing the others. I cried then, my sorrow finally let loose, he was amongst them now, he was not alone, and so I too, wasn't alone.

I later discovered he was overcome by weakness, a disease they have not encountered before, some seem to be naturally more resistant than others. They met a tribe of people in the north, those people cared for the company, aided with what they could and nursed the ones that could be saved. Only twelve people survived the journey, out of the thirty-two that set out. I buried him next to his mother, in the mansion's courtyard, his stone read:

Doman of the Farthest Sight.

Whatever purpose deems he right,

shall see achieved by night's delight.

And those who wonder where he’s gone,

look to the sky; to the beyond.

Of his tales will your heart sound,

of clearest lakes, of darkest clouds.

The joy he found, with him shall stay,

 For he’s the one, who conquered nay.

-In honor of Doman Cetabone, beloved son beneath the skies.

After the funeral one of his companions brought a bundle to my doorstep, he claimed it was the child of my child, and once I gazed into its, no, her eyes, I knew it to be true, for she too had the sparkling; deep blue eyes of my son. I wanted to ask the figure why has it decided against telling me earlier, but brushed the thought aside as I was not in the best of minds at the time of my sons return. I once again looked to the sky, only then I smiled, my world being empty no more.

Time has passed and sometimes i’m still brought to the point of being apprehensive, what if my lot in life was to be different, what if I was born to bring more than sweet promise of death; now made entertaining, to the masses. What if I could offer more for Yuranna, what does she want to do I wonder, what would she strive to in the future…

My thoughts are cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps, drawing closer with each thud to the outside of my door, I get out of bed, the covers sticking to my skin; refusing my departure,  and reach for the door just as a knock sounds against its frame. Opening it I look upon a sweating servant; Rovut, huffing for breath before speaking, “Apologies M’lord, this one did not mean to disturb your slumber, but...” His back straightens as he regains some of the wind he’s lost in his rush. “Speak your mind, and hope that you have not awoken the child.” The situation is quite serious it seems, as the servants expression remained straight, he has no doubt in the importance of his message.

“The arena M’lord, It’s set ablaze,” I frown at the news, but more soon follow. The situation is dire indeed. The flames have spread too quickly, now reaching to the surrounding venues by the arena. The slaves inhabiting the arena grounds are presumed dead, or dying. Guards were seen vacating their positions and rallying people to help in quelling the disaster. I briskly dress in somewhat formal, but simple attire, boots and all. I order Rovut to arrange a carriage with the swiftest horses in the stables, and then I make my way to Yuranna’s chamber, two doors down from mine.

Her sleeping visage is the definition of soothing, but alas time is of great import. “Yura, awake darling,” I whispered in her ear, trying not to frighten her in her waking. She slowly opens her eyes, barely keeping her eyelids separate, “Wh’t hap’nd to t’e horsie?” She grumbles half asleep, still living the happenings of her dream. “The horsies are outside little one, let's go meet them, yes?” My persuasion is on point as I receive a nod in reply and she raises her hands at me, ready to be carried.

I make haste to the carriage outside, rushing past the servants who offer greetings and as well, hurry to start with their day, not yet realizing the situation. “Are there really horsies outside, grampa?” asks the little lady whose right cheek rests on my left shoulder, whispering her inquiries directly into my ear. “Of course darling,” I huff with exertion, my body isn't as fit as it used to be, “they’re waiting for us just outside, have I ever lied to you?” I ask with a smile as I meet her eyes, she smiles back and snuggles closer to my neck.

“All is ready M’lord.” says Rovut as he bows at my approach and steps in to open the carriage door. “Excellent,” I reply, before stepping into the carriage, once inside I turn to face him once more, “Have Serol and Maya come to the council hall, and have them bring the ledger of the prisoners from my office as well as the guard logs, also notify Zeeke of my absence, have him watch the grounds, lastly have all news of the event sent straight to me, understand?" Urgency vivid in my voice as I press for confirmation. “Your will, M’lord.” He answers and rushes back into the mansion, Rovut is a fine man, capable but slow, a crippling combination, but with no ambition it does him no harm, he serves well, and loyally at that, too bad he can't be counted on with numbers and digits.   

The carriage makes its way outside of the estate, and soon the column of smoke is visible in the distance. “What is ‘hat, gramps?” asks the little one with a yawn, it’s still too early for her to be awake. “Nothing my dear, rest now, you can pet the horses when we arrive.” I nudge the little princess closer, as the carriages lull pulls her back to the land of dreams she left not long ago. “Promise?” she asks quietly as she settles in, with her eyes now closed.

“Promise.” I answer with conviction, as my gaze is drawn back to the giant pillar of smoke and ashes.