Long ago, before the great wars between the demon hordes and the world of men, before the great cataclysm of nations and passing of the old world, lived a man named Dalmar. From a very early age, Dalmar exhibited an unnatural form of strength unlike any that had ever been seen by the anyone in Morguon. News of his feats traveled from one end of the kingdom to another, from mouth to ear, in the back of carts and from the tip of shadow to the first beam of light as dawn broke each morning. So popular had the stories become that all sorts of riff-raff began to appear at all hours of the night at the edge of Dalmar's small farm. Usually these braggarts were drunk returning from the local tavern. As Dalmar's fame spread, however, mercenaries and soldiers would find their way to his edge of the world, and each time Dalmar would send them back to their homes with damaged prides and broken bones. Unfortunately, Dalmar knew that he couldn't go on living like this forever although his abilities had become quite masterful over the years. Confident, Dalmar decided he would leave his farm of seven years behind. He would pack his horse with the bare necessities such as food, a couple of swords and a shield, and a few valuables he could use for trade. Over the left shoulder of his horse he hung a quiver and bow, and a saddle that his father had made him when he was a boy so that he may hunt for food.
When the sun topped the horizon the next morning, he left on horseback. He trotted down the hillside where his familiar stream disappeared into the edge of the forest at the bottom, and the horse path was swallowed by the dark foliage. Dalmar traveled all day, through the small towns of Wahskre and Pahlynahk, and into the unknown forests beyond. Dalmar had never traveled this far before, and as night fell he began to feel a bit uneasy. Dalmar wondered if he made the right decisions, and he questioned whether or not he should have left his farm hidden on the hilltop to the north of Wahskre. Dalmar layed across a large, flat space of ground and stared at the clear, starry sky as a pinhole fell out of the fabric of the night sky and streaked across towards the horizon. Fixed upon the shooting star, Dalmar's problems seemed to dissolve momentarily until a second star seemed to grow to an unusual size in the corner of his eye. He darted his attention to a bright blue orb on the sky that seemed to fall towards him. Dalmar stood, his eyes widened from the speechless disbelief that encapsulated his entire being. The star that began as a pinhead became as the moon, and soon outgrew the moon until it bathed the ground below Dalmar in soft blue and white light. Dalmar dared not turn away. Finally, the light took form and dropped on the ground before him. There was a momentary flicker of the light, and as it disappeared, a shining woman stood before Dalmar.
As the figure stood before Dalmar, it called his name softly. Her long red hair seemed to blow about her figure bathed in soft blue silk. Her green eyes pierced his very soul, and her voice was like winter's first snow as it pierced his consciousness. Dalmar became alert for the first time in several minutes. Apologizing for the manner by which she appeared, the woman introduced herself as Ar-Simba-El. (Dalmar had heard the name before attached with some importance, but he could not remember any details of the stories. "It must not have been that importat if I can't remember" he thought.) Dalmar's confidence returned, and he stood up straight. Of what should he, of all people, be afraid? His mind seemed to wander as he rationalized his surmising of the beautiful woman. "Shall I start over?", Ar-Simba-El said as she touched his face. Dalmar realized she had been talking to him while he was conversing with his inner dialogue. Dalmar smiled, and with his farmboy education said "If it means that I should hear your voice again, then by all means, my lady." Ar-Simba-El raised her eyebrow. "It appears as if the proper way to bestow the gift of insight upon you is not with refinemenet of milk and honey, but rather with a dollop of cream", she said as she stressed the last word.
As Ar-Simba-El removed her silken cape and hung it on a tree limb, she revealed a stunning suit of blue and silver armor glittering with sapphires and diamonds. Dalmar, now with an abundance of confidence, chuckled and took a defensive stance, unintentionally smiling slightly as he stared into her eyes. Just about that time, he felt a sharp pain on the side of his head as the night's sky began to travel outside his field of vision, and then everything disappeared as he suddenly felt at peace. When Dalmar awoke from unconsciousness, he saw Ar-Simba-El once again in front of his campfire enjoying the tender spoils of a pheasant. As Dalmar sat up, his head began to throb. "I'm sorry I had to do that, but you really must learn not to judge a tree by the bark on its trunk", she said as she took a bite of the bird. "Let's start again", she continued. For the rest of the night, they sat and talked, and Dalmar asked genuine questions of the goddess of which she was obliged and happy to reveal the answers.
As the night drew to a close, Ar-Simba-El revealed to Dalmar that during his travels he would come upon a temple held by an order of monks called the Zyn-Lar, and that he was to help them. She also explained to Dalmar that it was no accident that he was born with extraordinary strength, and that his purpose would be revealed to him in time. Dalmar didn't immediately know what to think of this news. To the best of his knowledge, he was born of mortal means. His parents were simple people with simple ideas and simple ambitions. "Certainly not worthy of the attention of the gods; they were just happy to get a pail of milk in the morning." he thought. As sunlight became evident, Dalmar yawned. Ar-Simba-El stood and wrapped his cloak about her once again, bent down, and handed him something wrapped in soft leather. She then turned, and disappeared into the forest. Dalmar opened the leather pouch where inside he found a pair of daggers. On the hilt of the first curved dagger was the image of a tiger engraved and adorned with gold wire. In the hilt of the second, matching dagger was the same design in silver. Dalmar's eyes widened to the very edges of his eyelids. The craftsmanship of these items was like none he had ever seen. As the first sun's light caught the two daggers, they seemed to glow with an immortal radiance as the beams of morning reflected from the facets of the gems. For fear of thieves, Dalmar quickly hid the dagger inside a secret pouch within another pouch of his saddle. Dalmar was tired, but it would be madness to sleep here on the trail during the light he believed. Extinguishing the last embers of his campfire, he gathered his items, hopped onto his horse, and rode into the morning sun.
Invino Veritas
5/4/11
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