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...Aloeneans do not seem to remember the crash. Even though we care not to think of it much. Yet ironically once a year we find it poignant to commemorate the anniversary of the darkest day in the history of our people. The New Text and Testaments foretells this to be the greatest event, the day of rebirth and renewal. Still, everyone realizes the real truth behind the glorified fabrications or some semblance to the truth. The prevalent teachings of the New Testaments can only whitewash the incident and submerge the realities on the surface. Although, we seem to prefer the nostalgic image to the tragic veracity. Even if so, who could fault us? Perhaps we are living the biggest denial in the universe. Possibly, it is better to believe in a half-truth, than face the whole truth.

Histories of Aleones (the True Testaments) retold by Lor F'aulken, House Warden, Dyradres


F'aulken wrinkled his brow as he wrote the last line in his journal, removed his writing glasses and replaced the quill inside the inkwell. Absently he fingered the coarse stubble that had already begun showing over his jaw, a natural habit he developed as a therapeutic remedy. He had labored over this piece through the night and the better half of the day. Hurriedly, he reread the last paragraph and liked what he saw. He often did that, though somewhat critical of his own work, he was also self-satisfied to a point. If he favored a piece, he would read it repeatedly to feel proficient in his written pursuits. Although, at this moment, his literary prowess was somewhat diffused. Pleased with his progress so far, he arced backward, hands supporting his lower back and took a long needed stretch. Upon hearing a reassuring crack? he straightened and raised his mug to sipped his c'hakurah. The bitter beverage was no longer hot and its sting was somewhat flat. Diverting his gaze toward a ceiling mounted porthole window he leaned back into his study chair and inhaled deeply. Soft golden light streamed into the modest but elegant study and he was to forced to squint to readjust to the light. He wondered how long he had been writing. The shield remains constant and light outside never changes so that he never could tell what time of day it was. Returning his gaze back to the task at hand, he now noticed the sea of clutter that surrounded him. There were reference notes littered on the carpets, crumpled paper lay strewn over his large desk, remnants of earlier rejected drafts. On another table, books were pilled high, close to the point of collapse and a stack of sullied plates and cups were stashed under a stool, to be conveniently forgotten till the morrow.

"Ahh...Elias will not be happy about the mess or the waste either" He thought of his second borned, and realized that he hadn't seen or spoken to the boy today or the night before. F'aulken gathered he was still caught up in the revelries of yesterday's celebrations. The reason to which had started F'aulken back to finish writing his forgotten testaments in the first place. The day before had been the 320th anniversary of Aloenes Landing. It was a public holiday and the whole city erupted in mad frenzied festivities for the day and sometimes well into the night. Every year F'aulken had stoically avoided partaking in Aloenes major festival believing the whole celebration to be over commercialized and an utter marketing farce. Although he never impressed his beliefs onto his two sons, well even if he did, he never forbade them to share in the merrymaking of the celebrations. A few years ago F'aulken had started to write and compile a journal of what he deemed as the true account of the histories of Aloenes. It was still a work in progress and he returned to it whenever he was riled up about something, which incidentally, was during yesterday's celebration. Now however, his thoughts were focused on his younger son, Elias.

"This year will be his last year, in two days he joins the Sect, he won't have time to waste on celebrations then. Not at the Sect, I wager those uptight Sect Priest wouldn't know the idea of fun even it if bit them in their pure puritan arses!" he felt an amuse twitch, and debated whether to add this to his true testaments."It would not be a mistruth." he thought fiendishly.

F'aulken remembered the day Elias had informed him of his wish to join the Sect. His son had always been interested in their ramifications and dated theology. The fact that Elias was second borne meant that he couldn't lay claim to any of F'aulken's titles or rights of property. A law F'aulken deemed as unjust and outdated. Due to this, he felt particularly protective over his second borne and favored him more, however never at the expense of his first borne, Gilean. In lieu of property and titles, he endeavored to impart Elias with knowledge and a keen sense that would aid him in his later life. He had even undertaken the task of educating Elias himself. Which is why it came as no surprise that Elias chose to pursue an academic role with the Sect. The decision had pained him deeply and there were harsh words exchanged that day between father and son. The argument had only strengthened Elias's resolve in pursuing his faith with the Sect. F'aulken knew there was no prospect of convincing him otherwise. Looking back, he regretted how badly he had handled the whole incident. He had reflected later, "F'aulken, you old fool! You cannot protect him forever!Let the boy go gracefully".

He shuddered to think of the militant circumstances and the religious occult that Elias has pledged his life to. The Sect was a harsh and strict order. Elias would get no understanding or sympathy from his superiors. In the past, F'aulken's authority and rank had been able to protect and shield the boy from harm and anguish. However in the Sect, his title and presence was worth little. Second borne to the House Warden was still second borne. He had hoped that Elias would have chosen a kinder path such as one in trade and commerce. He had even considered smuggling Elias out of Aloenes and into one of the Free Cities.

He had hoped. He took another sip of his drink and grimaced at the taste. Stale c'hakurah could turn sour quickly if not kept hot. Putting the mug aside, he returned his attention back to his disheveled study, shook his head and spoke again.

"Elias will not be happy."

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