Vee

Chapter 1 — Thee’ Old Bard.

From atop the highest mountain, overlooking the distant remains of an old forgotten land sat a bard. His hair tied tightly into twin braids, the color of soft hay with a golden almost ethereal glow. On his head sat a green hat, with the vague resemblance of a childhood story book character. A white shimmering feather that glowed in the sunlight uprooted itself from the side. The feather of a god.

He had received the feather as a gift, payment for the tune he’d play locally.

“Please, take this feather for payment. I am short on Rouz and can not offer much else. I apologize sincerely.” He reached a pale handout toward the feather, watching it glow faintly at his touch. His lips turned upright into a small appreciative grin, placing the feather to his heart. “Thank you.” As Atlas turned, his cap fluttered with the wind. Disappearing into a crowd of merchants.

Taliesin removed the feather from his chest, staring down at it with his golden speckled gaze, glowing faintly in remembrance.

The feather had been ten years of age at that point, at least while in his possession. Still, it looked pristine and untouched despite the rugged years of travel. Partly due to his sparing care and the natural protection placed upon it. Taliesin sat precariously over the edge, his legs swaying back and forth over the side. He runs a pale, unmarked hand against the feather, to most the exchange would be seen as wasteful - receiving a feather as payment in exchange for Rouz. Yet to him, it was merely an exchange between old friends, a friendship that had been lost to time. He doubted that Atlas remembered him, or that the god of despair recognized him for that sense. He had changed dreadfully over the years, posing as a bard and going under the pseudonym: Taliesin.

Off in the distance sat the ruined remains of distant land. A clear memory of the past, he recalled the day it was destroyed, the chaos that ensued. Then with Anaphora’s sudden disappearance, he followed shortly. Perhaps he was cowardly, disappearing at such a crucial point, when the people of Levea needed him most. Needing all of them, really.

Yet he left, leaving only three of the original five divine beings. He had read the poets of him, the stories and scriptures – they looked up to him, like a hero in the mess of destruction. As the story went, Aethen left when the goddess of creation vanished. Vowing to the gods to bring her home, it was foretold by many that they would return with promises of a better land, that their ruler’s sister would return. Yet, they never did, eventually their story was forgotten, and so was his name.

He stopped being Aethen, the god of refuge.