Phantom Glimmer
She was Just A Glimmer.
Furnace Of War
To say he wasn't distrustful of humans would be a lie, in fact, the contempt spread equally toward all other races of Melisander-the world-but it stemmed from a bloody history long before he had even been a thought in the minds of his parents the history of which the world was divided and remained as such presently though some walls showed signs of coming down. Still, the hearts of many were easily swayed and history always had a chance of repeating itself. In a time well into the past, the denizens of Melisander all lived together in the northern continent Ynshael, a pure land they had called it. A Paradise. Surrounding paradise were other continents but they were not inhabited at the time It was in Ynshael that the indigenous Shanyrria people, dragons, protected the land said to have been bestowed the honor by Guddom the Maker. Shortly after, other races began to fill the very foundation of paradise and although not entirely harmonious under the guidance of the Shanyrria, all involved learned to cooperate with one another. As time went on, some of the other races began to feel animosity toward their guardian Shanyrria. They felt that the deity the dragons believed in was a pure fabrication to garner favor and exact their superiority among the populous. Growing tired with the rule of the Shanyrria, opposing races joined together in an effort to destroy the dragons with greed in their hearts for the prize, Ynshael. What was to have been a planned Coup d'état became a devastating all out war between all of the races who, in wanting to annihilate the Shanyrria, turned on each other and in doing so brought great harm to paradise. Angered by the disobedience, the dragon guardians forcefully exiled every race from Ynshael to the lands beyond, the catalyst for the continuation of the war for the time to come. Even though he had been born well after the end of the war, learning the history of it and the negative sentiment passed down through the generations was enough to spurn his young heart. That it would be in the best interest of everyone involved to leave the promotion of peace elsewhere. Races governed their own slice of lands throughout Melisander there need not be a relationship aside from that.
But, his political beliefs were his own and derived from terrible personal experience he had yet to share with anyone not even his father. Larselar Ecaeris was more than just the heir and prince to the Shanyrria throne. He had joined the military straight away in an act of rebellion against not only his father and the rules of royalty but because he grieved for the sudden loss of his mother. Larselar needed to be far away. He had to find his own way and he was certain his father could've clipped his wings and ended his career before it started yet the older male never got involved surprisingly. He was there however when the prince's time as a border patrol officer ended abruptly and the two years he spent recovering from grievous wounds. All plans to escape a life of sitting on a throne seemed to be driving him back to his destined path all along. Moreover, it appeared his father was partially seduced by the talks of peace from one of the largest human kingdoms because without Larselar's consent he had been offered up to marry the princess of said kingdom. While he drowned himself in whatever way would bring him contentment, his father King Laeroth Ecaeris made deals all in the name of repairing broken bridges. Larselar hated it and to some degree he hated his father for allowing himself to lower his guard. Humans couldn't be trusted, the prince felt.
As if he really had a choice in the matter, he escaped to one of his homes outside the capital, Bhyrindaar, of Glarald-formerly Ynshael, spending his company with a nameless female Shanyrria he would have gladly married had his father not come along with his escort of forty armed guards putting a halt to the whole thing. Larselar couldn't shirk his responsibility according to his sire nor would he be able to run from it. Better peace for Glarald rather than war. And so, whether he wanted to or not, the prince would accompany his father to Kadema; a relatively small islet accessible by bridge from both the human kingdom and that of Glarald. A territory of neither and yet both races lay claim to it from the leaders before them. In the years after, it served as a neutral meeting ground where Larselar's ancestors built Pyxaanthal, a Manor for the royal family. The humans had their own place too but for this occasion all parties involved would convene at Pyxaanthal per the request of the Shanyrria King and the at dawn journey from Glarald toward Kadema went well into the night mainly due to how enormous what was once called paradise was.
A vast wintery wonderland and home to the mysterious dragon race, the yearly weather did not bother the Shanyrria as their flesh was enforced with scales hidden underneath to prevail in most climates. They could adapt well with society and took on another form for convenience one that allowed them to appear more human in their every day appearance. When angered none hesitated to transform back to their originality, the prince included. Larselar lead the caravan of black limousines after flat out refusing to ride with his father or honestly hold a decent conversation with him. Their relationship was strained at best and the most recent tactic only served to spiral them further apart. Being an only child, the prince was told to act like a future leader, his response in return was a look of anger naturally. He just needed to remain calm enough to get through the meeting with the humans about the marriage, all he had to do was endure it. The humans may have wanted peace as well but the prince was sure having their heir wedded to him wasn't exactly ideal for them either. He thought about the human princess, what she was like and how long it might take her to say something he found atrocious before he bit her or something else damning to cause shame on his kin.
Snow fell from the darkened skies over Glarald making the road ever more dangerous to travel. Once on the bridge into Kadema the soundless falling flakes stopped and it was a little better. Long tendrils of faded green hair flowed out underneath the protection of a black motorcycle helmet falling on broad shoulders hidden well by a matching in color leather jacket. The first of the limousines carrying his old man had the bright headlights directly on Larselar's back so he had no trouble navigating his motorcycle forward though his mind was anything other than settlef. It kept going back to the proposal of marriage and how it could possibly help anyone in the long run.
The pale gray beak-shaped eyes behind the shield of the helmet were filled with contemplation and thought as they focused on the linear path ahead guided every so often by the tall overhead road lights across from one another and of course the entourage following close behind him and his own vehicle's stunning blue projector beam headlamps. In spite of the frigid temperature, he felt increasingly warm underneath his clothing that by all standards wasn't suited for the occasion.
A plain long sleeve cream colored shirt and dark blue jeans and some converse shoes, certainly not how he would normally dress if inspired. The leather jacket bit, having seen better days, was a gift from a former flame. Their relationship was doomed from the start considering they got together not long after he was recovering from his injuries but it lasted about a year. Being in the limelight didn't help matters either with the paparazzi at every corner taking pictures at the most inopportune time and making up stories about the both of them. All in all, she wanted what Larselar couldn't give her. A piece of his heart and to let someone in wholeheartedly. There had been no one able to reach him in that way, yet. When his father summoned him at home, he soon just as go in his boxers. That's how they found him. At home, in the kitchen after time well spent with the Shanyrria female whose name remained a mystery even at the moment, Paelle? Something with a P, definitely or R. The prince had almost tasted the recommended age old red wine appropriately named Lust when in walked his regal father surrounded by the guard all staring at him and he to them glass in hand stunned and argumentative not to mention rebellious and threatening to go as he was. Disgustingly calm, the king dismissed the heir's female companion and more or less took any type of choice away from Larselar.
The need of the many outweigh the one. Noble blood ran through Larselar of the Shanyrria warriors before him and countless others ordained by Guddom it was his duty to act justly to throw away selfish desire and take his rightful place as heir.
Although longevity was a trait of the Shanyrria, they were not immortal. The king, in spite of his royalty, was a fighter in his early days. He suffered injury with the comrades he fought alongside. Injuries that, like Larselar, remained with him. He would not live forever no matter how much he feigned healthiness part of the prince knew this and in some way hoped to be that leader his father wanted but how could he do anything if he wasn't allowed to do things his way and not for reasons of obligation?
Luckily they hadn't drawn too much attention out of the swine reporters. Some of them thought that with his Majesty showing up at Larselar's home meant for the sometimes obstinate prince to take a stint in rehab after all a party hard reputation perceived him. The true reporters dedicated to the cause suspected otherwise. The proposed alignment had so far been kept out of the public eye until it was binding though with the Shanyrria king's frequent trips out of Glarald talk gave birth to rumors and suspicions on whether humans and Shanyrria could do what other races had not, find peace after all this time. There was only one way to find out.
Gloved hands tightened around the handgrips of the motorcycle. The bridge curved to the right overhead the dark waters and in the distance the prince could see the outline of the many hyperion trees stripped of their once bountiful leaves due to the time of year. Looking over his shoulder, he almost gave a signal to say he was going on ahead but where would the fun be in that? Facing forward again he merely sped ahead grateful to have some semblance of not being treated like a child. He suspected if given the chance his old man would be content with holding his hand leading him across the street like the humans did their confined animals. The thoughts both aggravated him.
Behind him, the caravan caught up annoyingly so on the order of the King no doubt. He thought his sire was taking it too far. Larselar wasn't trying to hurry to meet up with the humans to cause a scene. Not like he had any ill will to transform to carry out some hidden attack though the thought did cross his mind once or twice. Bite his future bride of sorts nothing too fatal, maybe a year long hospital visit. And her company too, couldn't bite one and not the lot of them it wouldn't be right. Dark lips parted in a smile revealing strong white teeth, the canines quite longer noticeably. That sounded just about right. An incident sure to lead them back into chaos. Other races would step in to defend the humans or so they would claim. History depicted the Shanyrria casting out all other races of Ynshael that didn't exactly make them popular and even now they had fought alone and among one another too. To have at least one ally was beneficial.
As the bridge ended it ran directly on a two way road somewhat blanketed by snow and sandwiched between the woodlands. Already had handpicked Shanyrria women and men of the border patrol gone on ahead to set up the manor for whenever they arrived there was no need to stumble around in the dark trying to find a light or set up the fireplaces. He was thoughtful again. From social media far and wide, he knew of the human princess. The human he would later instead of sooner marry hopefully. Pictures only captured one side of a person Larselar could not form an adequate opinion of her just by what the frivolous online scene told him as the princess, if she took time out to research him, knew nothing of him. Most of what was chronicled did not do him justice, he was far more troublesome.
Fields of snow enclosed around the prickly trees in the ever present darkness but as the road opened up into a circular path, the manor lit to the fullest by the inside light sat in all its massive glory on a slight hill. With the road turning into the rounded driveway it curved around a bronze statue of the muscular biped dragon, Abarat, said to have existed during the era of the Great War. He was chosen. Shanyrria followed him undoubtedly. Larselar slowed his motorcycle to an eventual stop near other unimportant vehicles already parked off to the side. Pyxaanthal was a few stories high akin to a miniature castle brimming with balconies of snow-tipped vines and spires reaching to grasp at the heavens, he recalled being here last when his mother was alive. Her serene voice bounced off the hallways while her footsteps were graceful and barely made a sound on the marble flooring. She probably would have thought of the marriage as not simply for peace but the prospect of him finding his mate. Sighing, he pushed the kickstand down cutting the moderately loud machine off all while listening to the sounds of the other vehicles close by. In the spring and summer the grass was always kept cut and there was no shortage of rose bushes around the front of the property. Two border patrol Shanyrria stood opposite one another at doors dressed in plain clothes their faces void of any emotion. They weren't permitted to leave their position at any time. A female with high cheekbones and a plump figure already made her way down the short steps after spotting them.
The cold outside was unable to contend with the inside warmth.
Larselar raised himself off the bike. He stood at six three and weighed a muscular two hundred pounds. He pulled free of the helmet where his hair dropped around pointed ears. "Your Highness," The female greeted him enthusiastically. He gave a polite nod of his head facing the parking limousines. "Shall I have someone tend to your motorcycle?"
With a tilt of his head, hair touched the male's cheeks.
"No." Was Larselar's only reply. Tucking the helmet under one arm he stood in place firmly. Like a sentinel.
"Larselar," The deep voice of Laeroth Ecaeris carried on the heels of the wind. It was calm and at the same time effective in capturing the prince's attention. The Shanyrria King now stood beside a limo one hand on a walking cane thin grass green eyes locked in a stalemate with his only child's. White hair pushed away from a bearded face dropping in a long ponytail draped across his back. Tall the man was and had been fearsome in his prime. Now it seemed he was just tired. Wearing a heavy milk chocolate coat, under it the leader donned a black suit with a colorful tie.
Larselar continued to stare at him. "Please, come here. They will probably be arriving soon." Cursing under his breath, the prince moved swiftly toward his father silently.
To say he wasn't distrustful of humans would be a lie, in fact, the contempt spread equally toward all other races of Melisander-the world-but it stemmed from a bloody history long before he had even been a thought in the minds of his parents the history of which the world was divided and remained as such presently though some walls showed signs of coming down. Still, the hearts of many were easily swayed and history always had a chance of repeating itself. In a time well into the past, the denizens of Melisander all lived together in the northern continent Ynshael, a pure land they had called it. A Paradise. Surrounding paradise were other continents but they were not inhabited at the time It was in Ynshael that the indigenous Shanyrria people, dragons, protected the land said to have been bestowed the honor by Guddom the Maker. Shortly after, other races began to fill the very foundation of paradise and although not entirely harmonious under the guidance of the Shanyrria, all involved learned to cooperate with one another. As time went on, some of the other races began to feel animosity toward their guardian Shanyrria. They felt that the deity the dragons believed in was a pure fabrication to garner favor and exact their superiority among the populous. Growing tired with the rule of the Shanyrria, opposing races joined together in an effort to destroy the dragons with greed in their hearts for the prize, Ynshael. What was to have been a planned Coup d'état became a devastating all out war between all of the races who, in wanting to annihilate the Shanyrria, turned on each other and in doing so brought great harm to paradise. Angered by the disobedience, the dragon guardians forcefully exiled every race from Ynshael to the lands beyond, the catalyst for the continuation of the war for the time to come. Even though he had been born well after the end of the war, learning the history of it and the negative sentiment passed down through the generations was enough to spurn his young heart. That it would be in the best interest of everyone involved to leave the promotion of peace elsewhere. Races governed their own slice of lands throughout Melisander there need not be a relationship aside from that.
But, his political beliefs were his own and derived from terrible personal experience he had yet to share with anyone not even his father. Larselar Ecaeris was more than just the heir and prince to the Shanyrria throne. He had joined the military straight away in an act of rebellion against not only his father and the rules of royalty but because he grieved for the sudden loss of his mother. Larselar needed to be far away. He had to find his own way and he was certain his father could've clipped his wings and ended his career before it started yet the older male never got involved surprisingly. He was there however when the prince's time as a border patrol officer ended abruptly and the two years he spent recovering from grievous wounds. All plans to escape a life of sitting on a throne seemed to be driving him back to his destined path all along. Moreover, it appeared his father was partially seduced by the talks of peace from one of the largest human kingdoms because without Larselar's consent he had been offered up to marry the princess of said kingdom. While he drowned himself in whatever way would bring him contentment, his father King Laeroth Ecaeris made deals all in the name of repairing broken bridges. Larselar hated it and to some degree he hated his father for allowing himself to lower his guard. Humans couldn't be trusted, the prince felt.
As if he really had a choice in the matter, he escaped to one of his homes outside the capital, Bhyrindaar, of Glarald-formerly Ynshael, spending his company with a nameless female Shanyrria he would have gladly married had his father not come along with his escort of forty armed guards putting a halt to the whole thing. Larselar couldn't shirk his responsibility according to his sire nor would he be able to run from it. Better peace for Glarald rather than war. And so, whether he wanted to or not, the prince would accompany his father to Kadema; a relatively small islet accessible by bridge from both the human kingdom and that of Glarald. A territory of neither and yet both races lay claim to it from the leaders before them. In the years after, it served as a neutral meeting ground where Larselar's ancestors built Pyxaanthal, a Manor for the royal family. The humans had their own place too but for this occasion all parties involved would convene at Pyxaanthal per the request of the Shanyrria King and the at dawn journey from Glarald toward Kadema went well into the night mainly due to how enormous what was once called paradise was.
A vast wintery wonderland and home to the mysterious dragon race, the yearly weather did not bother the Shanyrria as their flesh was enforced with scales hidden underneath to prevail in most climates. They could adapt well with society and took on another form for convenience one that allowed them to appear more human in their every day appearance. When angered none hesitated to transform back to their originality, the prince included. Larselar lead the caravan of black limousines after flat out refusing to ride with his father or honestly hold a decent conversation with him. Their relationship was strained at best and the most recent tactic only served to spiral them further apart. Being an only child, the prince was told to act like a future leader, his response in return was a look of anger naturally. He just needed to remain calm enough to get through the meeting with the humans about the marriage, all he had to do was endure it. The humans may have wanted peace as well but the prince was sure having their heir wedded to him wasn't exactly ideal for them either. He thought about the human princess, what she was like and how long it might take her to say something he found atrocious before he bit her or something else damning to cause shame on his kin.
Snow fell from the darkened skies over Glarald making the road ever more dangerous to travel. Once on the bridge into Kadema the soundless falling flakes stopped and it was a little better. Long tendrils of faded green hair flowed out underneath the protection of a black motorcycle helmet falling on broad shoulders hidden well by a matching in color leather jacket. The first of the limousines carrying his old man had the bright headlights directly on Larselar's back so he had no trouble navigating his motorcycle forward though his mind was anything other than settlef. It kept going back to the proposal of marriage and how it could possibly help anyone in the long run.
The pale gray beak-shaped eyes behind the shield of the helmet were filled with contemplation and thought as they focused on the linear path ahead guided every so often by the tall overhead road lights across from one another and of course the entourage following close behind him and his own vehicle's stunning blue projector beam headlamps. In spite of the frigid temperature, he felt increasingly warm underneath his clothing that by all standards wasn't suited for the occasion.
A plain long sleeve cream colored shirt and dark blue jeans and some converse shoes, certainly not how he would normally dress if inspired. The leather jacket bit, having seen better days, was a gift from a former flame. Their relationship was doomed from the start considering they got together not long after he was recovering from his injuries but it lasted about a year. Being in the limelight didn't help matters either with the paparazzi at every corner taking pictures at the most inopportune time and making up stories about the both of them. All in all, she wanted what Larselar couldn't give her. A piece of his heart and to let someone in wholeheartedly. There had been no one able to reach him in that way, yet. When his father summoned him at home, he soon just as go in his boxers. That's how they found him. At home, in the kitchen after time well spent with the Shanyrria female whose name remained a mystery even at the moment, Paelle? Something with a P, definitely or R. The prince had almost tasted the recommended age old red wine appropriately named Lust when in walked his regal father surrounded by the guard all staring at him and he to them glass in hand stunned and argumentative not to mention rebellious and threatening to go as he was. Disgustingly calm, the king dismissed the heir's female companion and more or less took any type of choice away from Larselar.
The need of the many outweigh the one. Noble blood ran through Larselar of the Shanyrria warriors before him and countless others ordained by Guddom it was his duty to act justly to throw away selfish desire and take his rightful place as heir.
Although longevity was a trait of the Shanyrria, they were not immortal. The king, in spite of his royalty, was a fighter in his early days. He suffered injury with the comrades he fought alongside. Injuries that, like Larselar, remained with him. He would not live forever no matter how much he feigned healthiness part of the prince knew this and in some way hoped to be that leader his father wanted but how could he do anything if he wasn't allowed to do things his way and not for reasons of obligation?
Luckily they hadn't drawn too much attention out of the swine reporters. Some of them thought that with his Majesty showing up at Larselar's home meant for the sometimes obstinate prince to take a stint in rehab after all a party hard reputation perceived him. The true reporters dedicated to the cause suspected otherwise. The proposed alignment had so far been kept out of the public eye until it was binding though with the Shanyrria king's frequent trips out of Glarald talk gave birth to rumors and suspicions on whether humans and Shanyrria could do what other races had not, find peace after all this time. There was only one way to find out.
Gloved hands tightened around the handgrips of the motorcycle. The bridge curved to the right overhead the dark waters and in the distance the prince could see the outline of the many hyperion trees stripped of their once bountiful leaves due to the time of year. Looking over his shoulder, he almost gave a signal to say he was going on ahead but where would the fun be in that? Facing forward again he merely sped ahead grateful to have some semblance of not being treated like a child. He suspected if given the chance his old man would be content with holding his hand leading him across the street like the humans did their confined animals. The thoughts both aggravated him.
Behind him, the caravan caught up annoyingly so on the order of the King no doubt. He thought his sire was taking it too far. Larselar wasn't trying to hurry to meet up with the humans to cause a scene. Not like he had any ill will to transform to carry out some hidden attack though the thought did cross his mind once or twice. Bite his future bride of sorts nothing too fatal, maybe a year long hospital visit. And her company too, couldn't bite one and not the lot of them it wouldn't be right. Dark lips parted in a smile revealing strong white teeth, the canines quite longer noticeably. That sounded just about right. An incident sure to lead them back into chaos. Other races would step in to defend the humans or so they would claim. History depicted the Shanyrria casting out all other races of Ynshael that didn't exactly make them popular and even now they had fought alone and among one another too. To have at least one ally was beneficial.
As the bridge ended it ran directly on a two way road somewhat blanketed by snow and sandwiched between the woodlands. Already had handpicked Shanyrria women and men of the border patrol gone on ahead to set up the manor for whenever they arrived there was no need to stumble around in the dark trying to find a light or set up the fireplaces. He was thoughtful again. From social media far and wide, he knew of the human princess. The human he would later instead of sooner marry hopefully. Pictures only captured one side of a person Larselar could not form an adequate opinion of her just by what the frivolous online scene told him as the princess, if she took time out to research him, knew nothing of him. Most of what was chronicled did not do him justice, he was far more troublesome.
Fields of snow enclosed around the prickly trees in the ever present darkness but as the road opened up into a circular path, the manor lit to the fullest by the inside light sat in all its massive glory on a slight hill. With the road turning into the rounded driveway it curved around a bronze statue of the muscular biped dragon, Abarat, said to have existed during the era of the Great War. He was chosen. Shanyrria followed him undoubtedly. Larselar slowed his motorcycle to an eventual stop near other unimportant vehicles already parked off to the side. Pyxaanthal was a few stories high akin to a miniature castle brimming with balconies of snow-tipped vines and spires reaching to grasp at the heavens, he recalled being here last when his mother was alive. Her serene voice bounced off the hallways while her footsteps were graceful and barely made a sound on the marble flooring. She probably would have thought of the marriage as not simply for peace but the prospect of him finding his mate. Sighing, he pushed the kickstand down cutting the moderately loud machine off all while listening to the sounds of the other vehicles close by. In the spring and summer the grass was always kept cut and there was no shortage of rose bushes around the front of the property. Two border patrol Shanyrria stood opposite one another at doors dressed in plain clothes their faces void of any emotion. They weren't permitted to leave their position at any time. A female with high cheekbones and a plump figure already made her way down the short steps after spotting them.
The cold outside was unable to contend with the inside warmth.
Larselar raised himself off the bike. He stood at six three and weighed a muscular two hundred pounds. He pulled free of the helmet where his hair dropped around pointed ears. "Your Highness," The female greeted him enthusiastically. He gave a polite nod of his head facing the parking limousines. "Shall I have someone tend to your motorcycle?"
With a tilt of his head, hair touched the male's cheeks.
"No." Was Larselar's only reply. Tucking the helmet under one arm he stood in place firmly. Like a sentinel.
"Larselar," The deep voice of Laeroth Ecaeris carried on the heels of the wind. It was calm and at the same time effective in capturing the prince's attention. The Shanyrria King now stood beside a limo one hand on a walking cane thin grass green eyes locked in a stalemate with his only child's. White hair pushed away from a bearded face dropping in a long ponytail draped across his back. Tall the man was and had been fearsome in his prime. Now it seemed he was just tired. Wearing a heavy milk chocolate coat, under it the leader donned a black suit with a colorful tie.
Larselar continued to stare at him. "Please, come here. They will probably be arriving soon." Cursing under his breath, the prince moved swiftly toward his father silently.