Dyerseve
09-13-2006, 04:41 AM
Dear Friends,
This letter is to bring to attention the current state that has overcome me. The state being
[Dyerseve stared at a painting, mentally trying to find the meaning that seemed to fade whenever he tried to add precision. Maybe it was not the meaning that held priority, but what to do with the painting. What was one to do with a painting that had similar features? Yes, the painting was of a forest; yet, this forest was hard to look at. One could not stare at it long for the sheer unpleasant feeling one would get if a prolonged search was conducted. The forest was surely sinister or was it the decay that tricked one’s eye? Maybe, it was the fact that the canopy pushed the rest of the forest aside and sucked up the sun for itself. Despite the canopy’s greedy branches, light did get through the rest of the starving forest. The moss despised the light and it would rather feed off the trunk of a tree. Unlike the moss, the vines did not feed off others. The vines took it. The vines were methodical, patient, and efficient. A victim was often caught off guard by the slow process. The life being strangled until it faded out. The moss and the vine hinder the light’s purpose -growth-. However, the light tended to ruin its own work. The forest was too dark to determine the color of the plant life; but one thing was for sure. Once the light touched its objective, it would turn brown and crumble. Groans were heard from trees being held up by the glue of the forest. The forest proclaims these its saviors. Only the spinner knew what the purpose of this glue was.
“This painting is not worth hanging on the wall in the inn,” mumbled by the one known as Dyerseve. This last remark caught the maid’s attention. The maid had an urge to point out some the hidden details in the painting. A maid of such a low status did not, however, meddle in a client’s business (even in Theramore) and neither did this maid. But, unlike other maids, who would grumble behind their client’s back, she was content with the knowledge she had and she was more interest in the man’s defense then her pride. As she worked, an aura of warmth followed her.
The opposite side of the room was cold, unpleasant. The man examining the painting was not a pleasant person to be around. Dyerseve noticed a subtle urge in the maid. He interrupted her duties, “What do you think of this painting? I should destroy the painting, yes?” The coldness of the words was unsettling.
“Why would you destroy the painting, Mast… Reyd?”
Dyerseve’s hand moved over the painting. “What redeeming quality does this painting have? It would be better that the painting be destroyed.”
“Sir, it is not for you or I to decide. The painter should be the one that decides if the painting should be destroyed. Can you honestly say that it would be better that the painting be destroyed? Aren’t you assuming some things here?”
Dyerseve motioned that he conceded the point. And for a moment Dyerseve was human and not cold or distant. Human you still are Dyerseve. This cannot be. It was just imagination (his internal guard) fortifying his defenses. This hesitation cost him too much time. Dyerseve packed a filled vial, he was holding and turned to the maid. “You are a wise woman, and sadly I do not possess your wisdom. I must be going for my business awaits me.”
“You think too highly of me Master Reyd,” she replied as Dyerseve was walking out the door. As Dyerseve heard the last two words he paused for a moment but he continued without a word.
Red shingles, stained with dirt, formed a shield against the elements. Shelter and working structures merged into the mountainside. Some wooden structures stood alone, however they were not as abundant as the mountainside architecture. A well-worn dirt road bent towards the mountain, as if trying to become one with the rock. Dyerseve stood staring at a city that was born of the barren’s nature. The city conformed to nature.
The wind picked up and dust pelted Dyerseve’s face. A few of strands of hair flew from Dyerseve’s head. He ignored the dust and concentrated his duties at hand. A person that has stayed in Tanaris for any length of time learned to ignore the dust. For Dyerseve, he just finished spending two weeks in the desert without seeing another soul. Dikastis had sent him there to prepare him for the task at hand. It was difficult to follow a vulture or even take a vulture seriously. However, the form Dikastis took told and taught Dyerseve many things about himself and Azeroth.
“Dyerseve why do you try to destroy my work?” While it was eerie to vulture producing sound without physically movement of the mouth, the question was more odder by far. How could Dyerseve produce error? Did he not conform himself to Dikastis? Did he not represent his master?
“But, Mas…”
The vulture spread his wings out to symbolize his greatness. Fear built up in Dyerseve, for the vulture appeared small before and appeared unworthy to Dyerseve. Now, the vulture was great, the physical size did not concern Dyerseve, but he knew that Dikastis was about to bring down the hammer.
“Do you understand what you are about to say? Was it not I who gave you the message to deliver? Do you have the foresight of when to speak and stay silent? Dyerseve are the power you wield yours? I tell you to go for the good of Azeroth, yet my own messenger seeks to destroy my work for his own selfishness. You are not great Dyerseve. You are not above Azeroth. You will crawl on your belly, Dyerseve, and Azeroth will see this. You will serve Azeroth like a dung shoveler serves his city. Azeroth will know it is my message that you bring. Why should Azeroth care about you? You will go into Ogrimmar and deliver my message on the rooftops. I will be patient with them. However, if anyone seeks to harm my messenger then you will cut their life short because they seek to cut Azeroth’s life short.”
The pain of the Tanaris desert was great. Tanaris was a place design to destroy life. Sand tore at Dyerseve body and the heat cooked his skin. The pain of the desert disappeared and a new pain took over. The words of Dikastis were like a ballista to Dyerseve. And shame did more damage than this place of death. One does not cast dice when betting with your master’s wealth.
Dikastis produced a jar of water and commanded Dyerseve to drink.
“Master, I am not worthy of this.”
Time moves and time goes and one cannot have more.
Dikastis continued to break Dyerseve. And as Dikastis broke Dyerseve, the desert mirrored Dikastis.
“Master, I thirst.”
Dikastis motioned to the jar. Dyerseve grabbed the jar and began to drink. “Remember that people’s time in this world is finite.”
Now, he was in a different type of desert. He turned his head to the left and on the dirt road was an Orc child. The Orc child’s eyes burned with anger at the presence of Dyerseve. Dyerseve turned his body towards the child and unsheathed one of his daggers. The dagger called out for the child’s blood, for the dagger did not care about innocence.
In defiance, the Orc child stood his ground as Dyerseve closed his distance. In defiance, the Orc child’s eyes still burned and showed no fear. A step away, Dyerseve kneeled to the child’s level. Dyerseve’s free hand jumped towards one of the child’s hand. The child tried to yank back his hand by shifting his body weight away from Dyerseve. However, the firm grip did not let the child go. The dagger hand placed the dagger in the child’s hand pointed at Dyerseve’s throat.
Void of all feeling Dyerseve pronounced slowly, “If you are eager to kill, go ahead Orc child.” With this being said, Dyerseve released the child’s arm. The child’s stonewall determination crumbled like a house on the sand. “Killing is not as easy as it seems.” Dyerseve pointed towards a stone hut near the back entrance of Orgrimmar. “It would be best to stay way from this business.” Once again the unsettling nature of Dyerseve took effect. The child turned and ran without looking back.
Dyerseve turned his focus on his duty and retook his position on the rooftop. He uttered a quick prayer and began speaking about the coming of Dikastis. The Horde, at least those heard and understood common, looked up from the bank and shouted threats. “You Alliance scum! I will have the pleasure of feeding your insides to my children! Throm’ka!” (which means scum). Dyerseve blended into the shadows and turned on his heel, heading for the entrance.
Of course, members of the Horde tried to stop him. However, Dyerseve was not unfamiliar with this and terminated those who wanted to destroy the message and the messenger. His way was clear except the Orc child standing in the middle of the bridge playing some type of game. Dyerseve slowly walked to the middle of the bridge and knelt down beside the child. “You are not safe out here.” The child looked up at Dyerseve and in one quick motion the child plunged Dyerseve’s dagger into his chest. Dyerseve’s once white robe now was stained with a blood spot that was expanding. Blood dripped from the robe and gave life to the wood that was long dead.
“So, you are ready to kill.” Dyerseve looked at the child and he produced a smile. “I guess I should thank you because you have freed me from my duty.” Unable to keep his balance, Dyerseve slipped off the edge and plunged into the cleansing water. The impact of the fall shattered his bones and sent a spike of pain through out his body. Body systems began to shut down, unable to sustain the shock of the dagger or the fall. At the same time, the river engulfed Dyerseve, as he could no longer resist. The undertow dragged his body on the riverbed and dumped it out in the ocean. The ocean unable to choose what garbage to accept, also accepted the body.
Off in the distance, someone was watching and recording the events that took place. He scribbled on a small piece of paper address to Lady Prestor. “I made sure no one recovered the body. Dyerseve will no longer bother you.
L.”
He rolled up the paper and put it in a small container. “Fly Kopaki.”
On another piece of paper address to a SI:7 agent. “The Prestor informant has been lost and we cannot retrieve it. We have lost our evidence.
L.”
Again he rolled up the paper and put it in a small container. “Fly Kanarini.”]
I urge you all not to be concern about my state and move on to new things. There will be loss and this loss may be sad. However, there will be gain and one should give thanks for any that comes your way. I am only one among many and the many is greater than the one.
Dyerseve.
This letter is to bring to attention the current state that has overcome me. The state being
[Dyerseve stared at a painting, mentally trying to find the meaning that seemed to fade whenever he tried to add precision. Maybe it was not the meaning that held priority, but what to do with the painting. What was one to do with a painting that had similar features? Yes, the painting was of a forest; yet, this forest was hard to look at. One could not stare at it long for the sheer unpleasant feeling one would get if a prolonged search was conducted. The forest was surely sinister or was it the decay that tricked one’s eye? Maybe, it was the fact that the canopy pushed the rest of the forest aside and sucked up the sun for itself. Despite the canopy’s greedy branches, light did get through the rest of the starving forest. The moss despised the light and it would rather feed off the trunk of a tree. Unlike the moss, the vines did not feed off others. The vines took it. The vines were methodical, patient, and efficient. A victim was often caught off guard by the slow process. The life being strangled until it faded out. The moss and the vine hinder the light’s purpose -growth-. However, the light tended to ruin its own work. The forest was too dark to determine the color of the plant life; but one thing was for sure. Once the light touched its objective, it would turn brown and crumble. Groans were heard from trees being held up by the glue of the forest. The forest proclaims these its saviors. Only the spinner knew what the purpose of this glue was.
“This painting is not worth hanging on the wall in the inn,” mumbled by the one known as Dyerseve. This last remark caught the maid’s attention. The maid had an urge to point out some the hidden details in the painting. A maid of such a low status did not, however, meddle in a client’s business (even in Theramore) and neither did this maid. But, unlike other maids, who would grumble behind their client’s back, she was content with the knowledge she had and she was more interest in the man’s defense then her pride. As she worked, an aura of warmth followed her.
The opposite side of the room was cold, unpleasant. The man examining the painting was not a pleasant person to be around. Dyerseve noticed a subtle urge in the maid. He interrupted her duties, “What do you think of this painting? I should destroy the painting, yes?” The coldness of the words was unsettling.
“Why would you destroy the painting, Mast… Reyd?”
Dyerseve’s hand moved over the painting. “What redeeming quality does this painting have? It would be better that the painting be destroyed.”
“Sir, it is not for you or I to decide. The painter should be the one that decides if the painting should be destroyed. Can you honestly say that it would be better that the painting be destroyed? Aren’t you assuming some things here?”
Dyerseve motioned that he conceded the point. And for a moment Dyerseve was human and not cold or distant. Human you still are Dyerseve. This cannot be. It was just imagination (his internal guard) fortifying his defenses. This hesitation cost him too much time. Dyerseve packed a filled vial, he was holding and turned to the maid. “You are a wise woman, and sadly I do not possess your wisdom. I must be going for my business awaits me.”
“You think too highly of me Master Reyd,” she replied as Dyerseve was walking out the door. As Dyerseve heard the last two words he paused for a moment but he continued without a word.
Red shingles, stained with dirt, formed a shield against the elements. Shelter and working structures merged into the mountainside. Some wooden structures stood alone, however they were not as abundant as the mountainside architecture. A well-worn dirt road bent towards the mountain, as if trying to become one with the rock. Dyerseve stood staring at a city that was born of the barren’s nature. The city conformed to nature.
The wind picked up and dust pelted Dyerseve’s face. A few of strands of hair flew from Dyerseve’s head. He ignored the dust and concentrated his duties at hand. A person that has stayed in Tanaris for any length of time learned to ignore the dust. For Dyerseve, he just finished spending two weeks in the desert without seeing another soul. Dikastis had sent him there to prepare him for the task at hand. It was difficult to follow a vulture or even take a vulture seriously. However, the form Dikastis took told and taught Dyerseve many things about himself and Azeroth.
“Dyerseve why do you try to destroy my work?” While it was eerie to vulture producing sound without physically movement of the mouth, the question was more odder by far. How could Dyerseve produce error? Did he not conform himself to Dikastis? Did he not represent his master?
“But, Mas…”
The vulture spread his wings out to symbolize his greatness. Fear built up in Dyerseve, for the vulture appeared small before and appeared unworthy to Dyerseve. Now, the vulture was great, the physical size did not concern Dyerseve, but he knew that Dikastis was about to bring down the hammer.
“Do you understand what you are about to say? Was it not I who gave you the message to deliver? Do you have the foresight of when to speak and stay silent? Dyerseve are the power you wield yours? I tell you to go for the good of Azeroth, yet my own messenger seeks to destroy my work for his own selfishness. You are not great Dyerseve. You are not above Azeroth. You will crawl on your belly, Dyerseve, and Azeroth will see this. You will serve Azeroth like a dung shoveler serves his city. Azeroth will know it is my message that you bring. Why should Azeroth care about you? You will go into Ogrimmar and deliver my message on the rooftops. I will be patient with them. However, if anyone seeks to harm my messenger then you will cut their life short because they seek to cut Azeroth’s life short.”
The pain of the Tanaris desert was great. Tanaris was a place design to destroy life. Sand tore at Dyerseve body and the heat cooked his skin. The pain of the desert disappeared and a new pain took over. The words of Dikastis were like a ballista to Dyerseve. And shame did more damage than this place of death. One does not cast dice when betting with your master’s wealth.
Dikastis produced a jar of water and commanded Dyerseve to drink.
“Master, I am not worthy of this.”
Time moves and time goes and one cannot have more.
Dikastis continued to break Dyerseve. And as Dikastis broke Dyerseve, the desert mirrored Dikastis.
“Master, I thirst.”
Dikastis motioned to the jar. Dyerseve grabbed the jar and began to drink. “Remember that people’s time in this world is finite.”
Now, he was in a different type of desert. He turned his head to the left and on the dirt road was an Orc child. The Orc child’s eyes burned with anger at the presence of Dyerseve. Dyerseve turned his body towards the child and unsheathed one of his daggers. The dagger called out for the child’s blood, for the dagger did not care about innocence.
In defiance, the Orc child stood his ground as Dyerseve closed his distance. In defiance, the Orc child’s eyes still burned and showed no fear. A step away, Dyerseve kneeled to the child’s level. Dyerseve’s free hand jumped towards one of the child’s hand. The child tried to yank back his hand by shifting his body weight away from Dyerseve. However, the firm grip did not let the child go. The dagger hand placed the dagger in the child’s hand pointed at Dyerseve’s throat.
Void of all feeling Dyerseve pronounced slowly, “If you are eager to kill, go ahead Orc child.” With this being said, Dyerseve released the child’s arm. The child’s stonewall determination crumbled like a house on the sand. “Killing is not as easy as it seems.” Dyerseve pointed towards a stone hut near the back entrance of Orgrimmar. “It would be best to stay way from this business.” Once again the unsettling nature of Dyerseve took effect. The child turned and ran without looking back.
Dyerseve turned his focus on his duty and retook his position on the rooftop. He uttered a quick prayer and began speaking about the coming of Dikastis. The Horde, at least those heard and understood common, looked up from the bank and shouted threats. “You Alliance scum! I will have the pleasure of feeding your insides to my children! Throm’ka!” (which means scum). Dyerseve blended into the shadows and turned on his heel, heading for the entrance.
Of course, members of the Horde tried to stop him. However, Dyerseve was not unfamiliar with this and terminated those who wanted to destroy the message and the messenger. His way was clear except the Orc child standing in the middle of the bridge playing some type of game. Dyerseve slowly walked to the middle of the bridge and knelt down beside the child. “You are not safe out here.” The child looked up at Dyerseve and in one quick motion the child plunged Dyerseve’s dagger into his chest. Dyerseve’s once white robe now was stained with a blood spot that was expanding. Blood dripped from the robe and gave life to the wood that was long dead.
“So, you are ready to kill.” Dyerseve looked at the child and he produced a smile. “I guess I should thank you because you have freed me from my duty.” Unable to keep his balance, Dyerseve slipped off the edge and plunged into the cleansing water. The impact of the fall shattered his bones and sent a spike of pain through out his body. Body systems began to shut down, unable to sustain the shock of the dagger or the fall. At the same time, the river engulfed Dyerseve, as he could no longer resist. The undertow dragged his body on the riverbed and dumped it out in the ocean. The ocean unable to choose what garbage to accept, also accepted the body.
Off in the distance, someone was watching and recording the events that took place. He scribbled on a small piece of paper address to Lady Prestor. “I made sure no one recovered the body. Dyerseve will no longer bother you.
L.”
He rolled up the paper and put it in a small container. “Fly Kopaki.”
On another piece of paper address to a SI:7 agent. “The Prestor informant has been lost and we cannot retrieve it. We have lost our evidence.
L.”
Again he rolled up the paper and put it in a small container. “Fly Kanarini.”]
I urge you all not to be concern about my state and move on to new things. There will be loss and this loss may be sad. However, there will be gain and one should give thanks for any that comes your way. I am only one among many and the many is greater than the one.
Dyerseve.