| Subject: questions, questions |
Author:
Syndic
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Date Posted: 10:04:26 01/22/03 Wed
In reply to:
Euripedes
's message, "Malussinn>>" on 11:39:34 01/19/03 Sun
his eyes held the questions and the answers in their depths. swivelling his auditives to fix on his voice the stallion returned his gaze to the form of the king. laughter bubbled in the back of his mind as he pondered the other's querry. ofcourse, syndic was merely the messenger. given a gift by whatever damnable god. the words came to him from darknes and remained closely veiled until such time as the meaning became obtusely obvious. many times syndic had not seen the events predicted ever unfold. but nevertheless he ran the words through his psyche once more, shuddering visibly with their passing. the poems always directed attention toward him, and usually that attention was less desirable than he would enjoy.
he decided though, that this prophecy was deliverd somewhat clearly, and the events to which it pertained were close at hand. he spoke again, his tone wavered with maybes, and i don't knows. but it was not blighted by concern that the revelation would cause a sting in the other's sturdy frame, uncoil a thread that may, prove to unwind him even before the event foretold occurs.
if you ask me, which you have, then i would say this Frozen Dreams i have heard tell of, will not be the monarch that you are.
ofcourse, syndic could not possibly understand the worth of malussinn as monarch, having arrived maybe a day earlier. nor could he ascertain from association that Frozen Dreams was anything less than an honest character, or a determined ruler.
ofcourse, his simple sentence carried more weight than the unknowns. didn't he just say, unclearly but indoubtedly that malussinn would fall? that this rebellion would prove to be his last as ruler of the realm?
well hey, how could he know? he's just a blind stranger, not so?
shifting his weight languidly over his lactescent limbs he allowed his words to wait on the air a few moments before rising his voice again, more softly this time, and with a trace of sarcasm whose origin was skewered.
ofcourse, no one can say or sure. it's just a rhyme, nothing more.
that was a lie, he knew. but the habit of belittling his gift was to deeply forged to be lifted now. and there was always the chance, that the quatrains set to him failed to follow through. that the gods simply enjoyed the chance to spite him. mock him. and what better time, than his arrival in new lands? before those he would share a part of his life with from this day forth. gloomily he brought himself back to reality, realising his crania had sunk he lifted it, levelled it again, returned to his pert awakeness.
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