[Cape Farewell] Painful Memories of Prince Ísur-Ai

The site of pilgrimage and orgiastic excess during the infamous Roqpin summer festival. Keep a cautious eye out for emotionally overwrought Elw as you wander the tundra cliffs, they are liable to tell you of their willingness to bleed for their country - followed by a practical demonstration of the same.

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Daniel
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[Cape Farewell] Painful Memories of Prince Ísur-Ai

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Originally posted 6 June 2009.

THE PAINFUL MEMORIES OF PRINCE ÍSUR-AI

Prince Ísur Ai, gazing out from Cape Farewell over the point in the sea where the waters from east met west in collision of waves. Behind him were the stones of runes. Small, small billows slowly cleaned the midsummer night's cliffs of the naked, lonesome cape of farewells.

He turned away and started walking landwards where runestones stood. He saw the judgments of death, the coldness of allness. Even though this was at midsummer, the night was cold. It snowed a bit, as it sometimes does. The Prince shivered. There was not a cloud on the sky, not a bird, no sounds... All was quiet and wind lay still. Along headland of Farewells, the runestones stood mighty, though some were old and covered by creeping growing things of various kinds.

The sun of the night lit up the heavens for the Prince's sake. The sun was there and let its dim rays reach his eyes. Like the winter's aurorae were his eyes when the sun light was mirrored in the irises of the Prince. As Ísur-Ai turned away, the northern lights went to mirror themselves in the silent ocean's reflexion of the empire of the night.

He let himself remember the love between himself and his cherished one, Avon-El, his friend in body and soul. He remembered the stormy midsummer night of 3100, when they were far away from home.

This was long before Ísur-Ai became Prince of the Northen Reaches' Elw, when he was young, naïve and full of joy for the world. That night, magic went loose. Small moments in time were timeless. But those days were over. And when Ísur Ai let his thoughts recall these moments, he remembered the sorrow again. Clouds began forming in his inner being as well as upon the sky of the night.

But he was a Prince now, his people's leader in times of turmoil, but yet, he could not think about that now. All he could think of was how much he missed Avon-El. But his people! Thinthem! He shouted to himself. To no avail. Thoughts about Avon-El raped his inner self. He did not want to think about him.

The lonesome Prince walked a half a mile more towards the inland of the peninsula. Though the Avonellian thoughts remained. He needed to think about how to join the Elw to one people again, not to be a diaspora of three countries. He needed to find a way to bring them home, give them stability, strength, hope and new dreams to build their lives upon.

But thoughts remained.

He began to run southwards. Without dreams in his tearful eyes, he ran. He stumbled. Over ruins of Elfinshi temples, over the memorial garden of Ayreon. Without hope, without calm. Ísur-Ai relived his memories of the journey he partook with Avon-El to their common land of dreams. For each beat his heart took, Ísur-Ai felt how blood rushed through his body, through each and every artery and vain, to each and every cell.

Rain fell. It whipped him. Each drop of water lashed him. It was as if Nature's Allness punished him for the sins committed towards Avon-El. Why had he done as he had done?

Ísur-Ai's eyes begged to be shut and he gave in. The eyes shut. Despite the pain, or maybe because of it, he fell into a dreamless sleep. It did not take long before he woke up again. sun was still up low: night still ruled.

Slowly, Ísur-Ai rose. One by one, his tormented cells let themselves be awakened. They were hoping that there was a new day come but turned at the very knowledge the eyes conveyed: night still ruled. But Ísur-Ai forced them up, blinked his eyes a few times, itched them, and rose once again. A broken body began walking throught the ruins' dreaming memories. For, for each step taken he felt a shiver. For each step he felt a memory fall and beneath him be crushed, just as the morning was breaking.
Ghost of Dâniyal the Dead
Disturb not my sleep!

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