The Love of a Father, The Might of a Warrior
This is a small piece out of my latest work and I find it poignant and special in its address of a father and his unflinching love for his daughter despite what she may do to him or his clan.
Now came the time for gathering. Gathering of all clans and all people and all creatures to be ported through the great portal to Phae’dor. But what of our brethren who we have not heard from in these long years? Shall we simply leave without at the very least wishing them well, perhaps checking to determine if they might at last join us as it is this act which might make us complete once again? By this time the world of Maenatae had become a very dangerous place for the Mae with so many energies out of control. Wild arcs of energy no longer content to exist within the border ethereal shot out at random vectors along the path of their travel to strike the unwitting or unprepared obliterating them in an instant of unspeakable agony. Any trek to the Entrance of Clan Daerbaah’s stronghold would be extremely dangerous and it would be unlikely that any would return. It was decided that no one should be allowed to leave as it would certainly be a death sentence. However, the notion of death or woe is often not of consequence when it is love that is considered and so a small host of Mae under the leadership of Draevan of Cae’laestra, a mighty warrior and father of the lovely Gaena’Vierra now of Daerbaah, set out with many brave followers in the harshest of conditions and against all odds to persuade the returning of the people to this their last best hope. It was told to his Mate that should they not return to not search for them rather to mourn them in the Glenns of Phae’dor.
Though the trek was dangerous Draevan was very crafty and knew many ways to avoid the uses of channeling in combat. This he applied to his trek and lost no one on the journey to the stronghold. But desire to once again greet his daughter now long joined to Clan Daerbaah and the longing to somehow convince the people of their folly clouded his judgment and the ability to see a foe in these now foreign people. Kjaykes was alerted to their presence and their desire to meet with him once they arrived on the outer escarpments and came forth to the great gate to destroy them and any threat that his people might abandon him in his destiny. He greeted Draevan not with the hand of a relative, but rather with wild majicks and arrows. Realizing their peril and that none could escape this place with its formidable defenses he told the tale to his trusted warhawke and set up a counter attack to allow it to escape with an account of this his last battle.
When the warhawke Dascille returned to the great city of Paelas’C Haes’cillae it told the handlers all of that which had befallen the valiant Mae on the escarpments of the Stronghold of Daerbaah. When this horrid act was relayed to the council Matriarch Ma-Primae Vaesah Fleas’c she hung her head and began to cry. It is said that this was the moment that the heart of Mae was sundered. It is a moment never to be spoken and this knowledge gathered from the Mae is one of the most poignant pieces of their history that we have. For its gleaning has not been without loss of life on both sides. The record is mentioned here by me with an admonition, never to mention this woe before the Mae. Never to let them hear us speak of it. For this moment and this anguish is the moment of our sundering from our people. Although not the same instant to be certain and not the same action do we not feel yet today this weight of woe which they too felt? Do we not yet dream of our lost home and the horrors beset upon our kin? It is an event that we do not speak of, a terror that though we ignore we know lingers at the edge of vision. So as we do not speak of our own sundering, yet do we remember it, let us do out of respect and understanding of the Mae.
