Information


Osiris has a minion!

Ba the Eluidnir




Osiris
Legacy Name: Osiris


The Custom Glacier Mahar
Owner: River

Age: 14 years, 5 months, 2 weeks

Born: November 22nd, 2006

Adopted: 9 years, 9 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: August 1st, 2011

Statistics


  • Level: 1,103
     
  • Strength: 2,757
     
  • Defense: 2,757
     
  • Speed: 2,513
     
  • Health: 2,757
     
  • HP: 2,692/2,757
     
  • Intelligence: 903
     
  • Books Read: 844
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Hotel Chain Owner


It was a time of prosperity. The lands were lush and generous; the people lived copious lives as never before. Through the few generations I was witness to, families had many children who in turn had families of their own. The land had a life of its own, amassing and spreading out like dominoes falling upon each other. The times were kind to me. The kingdom attributed me for their wealth and fortune and thus adored me. I had a beautiful queen. For years I had only to yearn for the one thing every king does. A son.

Although childless, me and my bride lived happily for many years. We appreciated all we did have, and agreed that the gods were kind and would grant us with child when they saw fit.And so it was. 17 years into my marriage and 15 years into my reign. A son. He came at a price dearest to me. My wife felt that giving the kingdom a future leader was her greatest purpose. So, unbeknownst to me, she chose to save his life over her own in child birth. Dear, motherless child. He would want for nothing.He was such a slight thing. A kind and gentle boy, none of the makings of a fighter. Words of such were whispered in corners, but I never minded. What he lacked in strength he made up for in heart. He was infectious with joy and laughter. He would become a great king.

From the day of his birth he was groomed by all those around him to become the future king. A task he took with the utmost seriousness. So when it was time for him to marry, he - without complaint or hesitation - took a bride. I knew that he did so out of a sense of duty rather than for love, and for that, he had my utmost respect and admiration. Again, years went by with no talk of grandchildren. I never pushed him, as I had the same dilemma myself. I was certain that the gods would be kind to him as they were to me. People of the court would whisper and giggle when they thought no one was listening "Has anyone explained to the boy how to make a child?" Their scoffs were heartbreaking.

The years ticked by. The abundance grew to the point where people were becoming spoiled and difficult to please. And I, I was becoming an old man. I was old and alone and afraid of ruling the growing population in my senility. It was time to pass the crown.

It was by far the largest celebration. The kingdom rejoiced for his birth and his marriage, these festivities eclipsed any others. Despite all previous whispers, people welcomed my son as their new king with open arms. And he welcomed them with his. It warmed my heart to know that the kingdom would be in such good hands. All the celebrating had left me so very tired. Having the responsibility of the land and her people off of my shoulders, I had never realized how tired I had been. Perhaps I had less time than I thought. As I left to retire to my bedchamber that night, my son caught me leaving out of the corner of his eye. "Father! Wait!" He ran after me, so full of life. He caught up to me just as the noise from the celebration dissipated and the hallway silenced. He leaned in to whisper "I am not supposed to tell, but I must. We were going to make an announcement at the end of celebrations, but I find I cannot wait that long and you must know first." I looked up at him. It was such an eventful day, I was sure it was where his joy stemmed from. So I did not expect what he said next. "A child, Father. A child of my very own!" He beamed. I embraced him. I wanted to be elated for the news, but I was so exasperated, I was incapable of such emotions. After thoroughly congratulating him I went to lay down.The days were filled with hope for the kingdom, but despair for me. After retiring to my bed that night, I found I was rarely capable of leaving it again. Whisper again as they will "Silly old man refuses to die!" Perhaps they were right this time.

Months crawled more slowly than the years before them. And history, as it does repeats itself. A son... his mother, died in child birth... Small, weak, sick, they say.My son stood at my bedside, beside himself. Afraid of losing both of them, afraid of facing the kingdom on his own, afraid of disappointing his father. And what position was I in to comfort him? Healers were called in, any sort of midwife, doctor, heretic, cleric or mage; they all said the same. Hopeless they said. There was nothing they could do.I knew of one last option. It was nearly unthinkable, but it was my son, my grandson, and my kingdom. What choice did I really have?

A medicine woman. Living alone far out into the forest beyond the valleys. As the story goes, she was tried and killed for practicing witchcraft. But the story is wrong. I was never good at sentencing women to certain death. I whispered to the man who was my closest advisor, and within the hour horsemen were sent in every direction to search. For three days we heard nothing. Men started filing back one by one, heads down in shame, no news. My son stood constant wait over the child, fearing to miss his last moments. And then one of man, tired, dirty and bruised marched in, trying to catch his breath. He saluted, turned, and walked away. Behind him, two of my other men holding a different arm of a woman, feral from living in the wild. Her grey hair sticking out in each direction, her teeth, yellowed or missing, her clothes filthy rags, and ranting like a lunatic. She sees me in my bed and calms down. The men soften their grip and she takes a step towards me "Ahh, so it is you. Am I here to save you from your certain death?" I had hoped to never see her again.

We go to the child's room and I show her. She caresses the child's head with a dirty hand. The infant responds and moves slightly. Guards go to stop her, but my son force them to back off with a wave of his hand. How did I get here? Did I walk? I should certainly sit down.

"He is sick, yes. And he is weak, yes. But he is not incurable."
"Give him whatever medicines you need, woman! Just hurry" I growl at her.
"Not medicines. He has had enough medicines. He just needs time."
"Surely time is something he does not have."
"It's not that he is so sick. Just that he is unwilling."
"Speak so I can understand you!"
"He knows more than you think. He has felt the pain of his mother's death. He has been sick and struggling his entire life. He has seen his father crying over him!" She grows louder with each exclamation! "He has been poked and prodded and been fed who knows what! Do you think that is a life he wants?"
My son turns away crying, head in his hands.
"You understand why you are here. Tell me what it is he needs and stop dawdling. His time wanes."
"He needs one thing I cannot give him. A spirit. A soul. A willingness to live. Strength from within."
"Surely there is a way." Slowly her head moves back and forth. "I shall make you a deal. The child lives, and you live. The child dies...?"
She grins and cackles at me. "You think me afraid of death? If you recall I have already died once and lived through it!"
"Alright. It was a child of your own wasn't it? A daughter if I recall? You brought her back from the dead. How is she? Does she still live?" I ask threatening.
For the first time she shows signs of fear in her eyes.
"It doesn't have to be this way. Would you like to see her again? I can arrange it."
She looks down, breathing hard. Pauses. "There is one way, but we both know it is forbidden. I would need to take a soul. A strong one." She turns her eyes toward me, not moving her head. "Perhaps you have a prisoner that requires disposing of?" A eyebrow raises.
My son jumps to action. "YES! YES! A prisoner! I can get her one! GUARD!!" They walk toward him for further instruction.
"NO!" I yell. Slowly I get up and walk towards the child. "He is to be a king and therefore should have the soul of a king. He should have mine. Surely I won't be using it much longer."
The entire room looks upon me in horror.
"Father! No!"
The old woman, smelling of filth, steps in close to me. "You have no idea what you are doing!" She hisses.
"I have decided and so it should be."
For the first time in his life my son stands up to me. "No father! I won't let you." He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. "It is my son, and, and, and....I am king, and I say.. I say no!"
I smile to myself. "Son. You know it must be done this way. You cannot give the future king the soul of a common criminal."
He sits down next to the child's bed and looks away, his hands covering his mouth, and trying to blink back the tears.
"These are not things to be toyed with!" The old lady continues under her breath so that only I can hear. "Without your soul you will die and you will not pass on! You will be left in eternal purgatory! You will roam the earth long after this boy's years! It is not worth it! Think of the consequences!!"
"Stop making haste woman. It has been decided. Get ready what you need."
She steps back, clearly offended to be asked to do so.
"If my eyes see this child die, I will see to it yours see the same. If that daughter of yours has children of her own, I will seal her fate the same before I seal yours." I speak low and calm to her. Never in my life have I spoken so cruelly. Never has anything been this important.
The woman makes a list of herbs and anointments for the guard, to be gathered before nightfall. I insist it be earlier, but she draws the line at my demands. Nightfall or failure she assures me.
As it darkens my guards help me outside. I am most certain I was carried most of the way. My son holds the frail child in his arms, speaking softly to him. I remember the full moon. The almost full moon. Full moon is tomorrow, that would be better, but the child would surely be dead before the dawn.
I remember the dark and the light. The fire, the chanting. The burning of the herbs and the smells emanating from the oils. The drums. The last thing I remember is collapsing.

The child lived. I could walk around the halls and watch the laughter. My son is a good king, better than myself, and my grandson will most assuredly be better yet. Was it three years or four? I have trouble telling time, but I saw the child talk, and run, and laugh. Things are starting to fade out. Perhaps I can pass over after all. Sometimes I see them and sometimes I don't. That which I can see fades slowly with time. Crazy old woman was wrong after all.

Pet Treasure


Ice Blue Diadem

Mist of the Ages Scroll

White Chess King

Dragon Soul

Pet Friends