Angreal is Touched
What it means to be Touched is you are not like everyone else. You are not normal. You hear things and see things others can't. It also means you are the last hope for humankind....
The power of magic is a wondrous thing
To reshape, reform, new life to bring
A few uttered words whispered on the breeze
And the most beautiful things happen with ease
From the smallest plant growing oh so tall
To a potion that can make you so very small
We've got giants and gnomes, Trolls and black cats
Potions for this and spells for that
Witches and wizards, with a squib here or there
Dementors from Azkaban, with them take a care
So whip out your wand and take careful aim
Cause in Beyond Hogwarts, its anyone's game!
I blew the dust off the bottle, setting it aside while I washed out a glass. I have been saving this bottle for my two hundredth birthday and today, would be that day. When I bought it, it was just one day past my one hundredth and looking like I might never reach one hundred and one. That had been a pickle of a year because even back then, I was still learning to wield my sword.
I am aware I was daft for putting it off so long but back then, nothing seemed life threatening. I had already died a number of times and come back afterwards. Life felt eternal and free.
I set the glass by the bottle and stared at them. The room around me it not more then a small hole in the wall, a room I rented until I found something more suitable. I had stalk piles, like most of the Immortals did. I just did not have a reason to use it. Why bother? You buy a home, live in it until the neighbors start to get suspicions, sell and move on. I guess I was tired of moving, not that I was tired of life. How could you get tired of life when there was always so much of it to live? The trick is, to not live it all at once because then you have long periods of boredom, while you wait for the rest of the world to move on far enough for you to want to live some more.
Gingerly I tugged the hundred and thirty year old cork out of the bottle to let it breathe. This was a tradition for me. Well if doing this twice can be called a tradition. Its not like a hundredth birthday comes around every day you know. I almost laughed at my own humor if I did not know the truth. Truth was, I was still feeling the betrayal that had me end up with that short sword sticking out of my chest.
I should sit here and moan about lost lovers. How they grew old and I did not. Moan about the ones the hurt me at every turn. Gripe about who killed me and how I should have seen it coming. A woman I was sleeping with, her husband ran me through! Sounds tragically romantic does it not? Do not get your knickers in a knot. Because my first death was anything but tragically romantic. It was bitter betrayal at its worst.
I was tending to the flock of sheep my family owned and feeling pretty good about the day. It was my thirtieth birthday and with luck, by the end of the day I would have chosen a suitable woman for a wife and been given my older brothers inheritance.
I had been in a little bit of a hurry that evening. I wanted to have a chance to wash up so brought in the flock earlier then I was expected. I remember clearly walking into the barn and seeing my father mounted upon his current wife's daughter, Mira. She was all of fifteen summers old and as wild as a raging storm. I remember her amber eyes looking at me. I backed out of the barn quietly and went to the house.
I can't say I had intended on telling anyone. I just wanted my start on a piece of land across the marsh. If my brother would have lived long enough, it would have been he that got the land and all of father's endowments upon his death. But Markus disappeared one night and never came home again.
"Did you just come from the barn Angreal?" I heard Sara, my father's second wife, call out.
"Yes," I replied gently, while trying to get upstairs so I could clean up.
"Was Mira out there? I need her help." I thought about it for a moment, then nodded and hurried up the stairs. I figured if she wanted to walk out there, she could find them herself and I would not be a part of it. Except when I was washing up, Sara crept up the stairs and put a blade through my chest. Death was painful and not instant that first time it took me.
I was surprised to find myself waking up some time later. I was laying in a quicken spot of the marsh and sinking lower by the moment. It took slow movements until I was able to pull myself free. It was then I found my brothers body and knew, he too had been killed. Anger consumed me and I spent the next several days driving Sara and Mira insane. I could not let my father see me because I could not be sure what Sara told him. I did not leave my homeland until Mira disappeared and Sara hung herself.
It left me bitter, as anything like this would have.
I tipped back the glass, drinking deeply. Two hundred today and back in Rome. I really did need to find myself a more suitable home.
With Passions past
And things untold
The silence bleeds
It's Crimson bold
No utterance is here
No sound to be heard
A mausoleum of pain
Cold and withdrawn
In its deafening silence
I prefer to brood
A gift from Calliope