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The Wealde - a short story

Discussion in 'UO Tamer' started by Llewen, Aug 17, 2009.

  1. Llewen

    Llewen Grand Inquisitor
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    I have a name, but I will not share it. It is not that I fear being known, but rather that I wear a disguise and have no desire to exchange it for another. I am high born, that much I will tell you, or as those who know less would say, an elf.

    I am old, even for one high born, I am old. I do not show it in my face or hair, my eyes do not grow weak, nor do my legs fail me, but pleasure, simple pleasure, becomes harder to find. With each life time of the simple folk that slips and fades away, the stars hold less enchantement, and glowing pools in the grandest earthen halls hold less mystery.

    So now I hunt for love. I whisper in the ears of the wicked midnight stallions and they trust me, and follow me like lambs. I charm proud wyrms, and they leave their frozen halls and eat flesh from my hands, like puppies, with no fear or anger.

    But the creatures that awaken the hard stoked fires of my desire, more than anything else, are the faerie hounds, the great wise hunters who war like a mountain falling on their enemies, but eat fruit and cabbages like rabbits.

    Their trust is harder to earn than most, but even they fall like the others, under the skill of my voice, and the light touch of my fingers. Then they are loyal like no other, and heal my wounds, and defend my honour, and will do anything for me.

    So I test them. I take them to others of their kind, their children, their lovers, and tell them that if they love me they must destroy them. And they try, for me, for their new found love of my voice; they use all their strength and cunning and take on the terrible burden of slaying their friends and family.

    But they are weak. I have turned their world upside down and much of what they knew, they have forgotten. My love has made them soft and foolish, and they fail, every time they fail – and as the panic dawns on them I tell them they are not good enough for me, their new found God, and cast them off, and tear them with my fire, and they die with a whimper.

    And always I look them in the eye to see that moment when I reject their love, and turn on them with hatred and fire. Some turn to me and weakly try to exact some kind of revenge. Most fight on, bewildered and broken, until that last moment when their life drains into the sand, and they cry their last prayer for mercy and forgiveness.

    I am old, even for one high born, I am old. I do not show it in my face or hair, my eyes do not grow weak, nor do my legs fail me, but pleasure, simple pleasure, becomes harder to find.
     
  2. Samaira

    Samaira Lore Master
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    *Rubs arms* Oooh that gave me the shivers!
     
  3. Llewen

    Llewen Grand Inquisitor
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    Thank you, that was a wonderful compliment. :)
     
  4. MoneyMaker

    MoneyMaker Guest

    Eloquently written. My kind of story. :thumbsup:
     
  5. Nenime

    Nenime Guest

    Now that is one fine play of Tamer's fiction! Delightful! - but too short ;)
     
  6. Llewen

    Llewen Grand Inquisitor
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    Well, I am more of a poet than a short story writer. So I'm afraid everything I write tends to be quite condensed.
     
  7. Zhao_Yun

    Zhao_Yun Guest

    Nice story...
     
  8. Yacct

    Yacct Guest

    I just found this and wanted to say fantastic story Sir! I couldn't stop myself cackling. I must be a sick elf I know, but the absurd irony of befriending my fresh tames only to immediately pit them against their siblings has always amused me.
     
  9. Llewen

    Llewen Grand Inquisitor
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    Well, then I guess we're both sick, because I've always found it rather funny as well. And thank you. :)
     
  10. Black Sun

    Black Sun Grand Poobah
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    I found this from your link in UHall. Wonderful work. You captured the sad truth of taming perfectly. Reading this actually made me feel bad for all the pixel pets I've tossed aside and destroyed over the years. Bravo. :ten:
     
  11. Llewen

    Llewen Grand Inquisitor
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    Ah yes, my ultimate goal! More baseless Protestant guilt! See, I'm actually a therapist, and what with all the self help books, Eastern Mysticism this, and Paxil that, well, clients have been in short supply! So I do my best to encourage self loathing and neurosis at every available opportunity!

    And you thought it was just my character that was evil... ;)
     
  12. EnigmaMaitreya

    EnigmaMaitreya Crazed Zealot
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    Ah the Great American Plague.

    I name it the Protestant Work Ethic .... :pint:
     
  13. Black Sun

    Black Sun Grand Poobah
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    Being agnostic you'd think I'd be immune to protestant guilt.
     
  14. Llewen

    Llewen Grand Inquisitor
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    It's a bit like the Spanish Inquisition, it pops up when you least expect it...
     
  15. EnigmaMaitreya

    EnigmaMaitreya Crazed Zealot
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    Bah, most folks look at you blank if you say the Protestant Work Ethic.

    The set of values associated with the rise of modern capitalism and industrial society. The ethic is that we fulfil our duty to God by diligence, hard work, and restrained expenditure, with the resulting accumulation of goods acting as a reassuring sign (although not a cause, since the outcome is predestined) of eventual salvation. This combination of attitudes has an elective affinity with the discipline required for industrial production.

    The Protestant Work Ethic, sometimes called the Puritan Work Ethic, is a sociological, theoretical concept. It is based upon the notion that the Calvinist emphasis on the necessity for hard work is proponent of a person's calling and worldly success is a sign of personal salvation. It is argued that Protestants beginning with Martin Luther had re-conceptualized worldly work as a duty which benefits both the individual and society as a whole. Thus, the Catholic idea of good works was transformed into an obligation to work diligently as a sign of grace.

    I.E. so in my opinion, the cause, perhaps at a subconcious level of Llewen's Protestant Guilt. *Shrug* I would put it that we feel Guilty if we are not busting our butt's in a manner that is perceived to be productive.