Trigger Warning: Disturbing concepts and imagery. Stay safe folks~

Xanist

This man… he has ever been a sore spot in our group's past. In his short stint with us, he made waves with his moral fiber that continued to rock us long after his death. I regret that things ended the way they did, especially since I once quite liked the man.

He was born to a life of privilege, though not to one of excess. His father was a noble of low status, a landowner on the fringes of one of the major cities. He grew up a well-mannered and respectable sort, clinging always to his father's side. His family was invited into town when the egg made its rounds and the young lad was especially eager to see a dragon in person. He got a much closer look than he originally intended when a glimmering silver hatchling emerged for him. His family was proud indeed, though they were loath to part with him. He kissed them farewell and made the journey all young riders make.

Throughout his training, he sought to be well-rounded in the many lessons handed to him. His multidisciplinary approach gave him a slower start than many, but his steady progress quickly outstripped many of the students close to his age. He took up with a private master, as many students do, and from her, he developed his skills even further. The two formed a fond friendship that lingered through many decades of their lives. She remained his teacher after he graduated, and she brought him along in her duties. It was on such a trip that he met the woman who would be the love of his life.

Riders rarely choose to marry humans. When they do, it is with the knowledge that theirs can only ever be a fleeting dalliance from the perspective of eternity. That said, the love Xanist found with Se'ren was as lovely as any ever told. She was "old" to be looking for a human husband, well into her twenties, but that still made her considerably younger than he. Xanist worshipped her, finding a lovely home for them overlooking the plains. They enjoyed the quiet, so much so in fact that they soon welcomed their lovely daughter Emily into the world. Xanist doted on his daughter whenever he could and in all ways was the picture of a loving father and husband.

Now and again, his duties would call him away from his family. Usually, this would be for no longer than a handful of days. However, one particularly hostile dispute along the western edge of the Beors kept him pinned in place for weeks. When he finally completed his work and began the journey home he was contacted by a member of the council. A mysterious illness had begun to plague the common folk, particularly in the region he called home. He was expressly forbidden from returning there.

He disobeyed.

He flew with all haste, only to find a smoking wreck where his hearth had once stood. Two riders, one an elder, were at the scene. They told him, with all sensitivity, that any sources of contagion had been ordered removed; including his wife and eleven-year-old daughter. Xanist lost all control, attacking the pair with abandon. He likely would have been content to perish in that assault, if only to join the ashes of his home, but unfortunately for him, a small band of saviors was close at hand.

The smoke originally drew my attention, but the battle that erupted after is what held it. Morzan and I watched just long enough to determine which side was which before joining in, and in that fight, the remaining elder never stood a chance. We healed Xanist, who was barely cognizant of us or anything, only for him to suddenly run into the building. He emerged with a blackened cloth doll in the shape of a rabbit and two tear tracks eking through the soot on his face. We stayed with him until the building burnt itself out, the only attendees at the grim burials of his whole world.

The rage he turned upon the order was born of fresher pain than the rest of us. His decades of amassed skill turned upon the organization with the ferocity only known to grieving parents. I think this pain is exactly why he was so drawn to Eltereth; both of them were the newest members and carried very similar burdens. As effective as he was in battle he was even more effective out of it, taking an active role in devising and coordinating our movements. It was because of this that we were eventually put at odds with each other.

Xanist objected very strongly to my philosophy, methods, and ambitions. He saw us as little better than terrorists ripping at foundations out of a need to destroy rather than for any kind of justice. He cited the wake of devastation behind us, the inevitably bloody uphill battle before us, and my final goal of taking the throne as evidence enough to condemn our little band. He made certain that I understood we would never see eye to eye on this subject and, if I pursued my objectives, he would become my enemy. I took these claims very seriously; so seriously in fact that I decided to accept his challenge. In our siege of Iliria, I arranged with Amroth and Siyamak that Xanist should not survive the assault. Amroth's masterpiece detonated, and Xanists honor-bound stance of opposition died with him in the blaze. Or at least, in some ways it did. His stalwart resistance may have been killed in its cradle, but the ideas he represented persist to this very day. Outside my fair city, this very morning sits an army determined to avenge past wrongs as if they have any bearing on the present. I believe that this would bring the old goat a fair degree of satisfaction.

I feel very deeply for Xanist. In part, I believe it's because I empathize with his sense of betrayal and anguish. An even deeper part of me knows that he was correct; it is almost a greater betrayal of the very things for which we fought that I should be here, now, while he is gone. A just world would have our positions reversed, old friend… of that, I have no doubt. But that is not our world…. And all we can do is pursue our visions of a better one to take its place before departing this life. In this I know I have failed; both him and myself. He was a better man than I could ever hope to be, and I sincerely regret his loss; it was the act of a weak and self-conscious coward. I'm man enough to admit that now… for what it's worth. I can only hope that he was able to reunite with his beloved family, wherever good men go.

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The very last of the forsworn done~ This one is affectionately referred to by wifey as "Papa" Xanist. Will there be more? Who knows! But as I've been posting these on a day and tomorrow is my anniversary, we shall have to wait to find out~ I need to know if anyone has favorites/least favorites of the gang~ R+R please?