FALLEN ANGEL

Ourania cast her snow-white radiance upon the young priest who sat,
pensively upon a small wooden bench in the serene gardens of the
Chrysalis Basilica. He looked up at the beautiful, pure white marble
walls of the temple, and felt very much at odds with this unadulterated
structure that stood so chastely before him.

Seelin slowly got up from his bench, still deep in thought. He gazed
resentfully at the divine structure, committing every detail of it to
memory: the archway, carved so intricately, every inch of it covered in
perfect artesian work, clearly the result of a master at work; columns,
cut painstakingly with perfect, smooth marble; above them, rested
dreamlike, wispy spires, rising high into the sky, beckoning all to join
them in their heavenly flight.

From the gardens, Seelin walked into the northern part of the Basilica
and walked east, peering into the room containing the holy book of the
church. There it lay; the sacred codex rested upon a golden apse so
faultless, it could only have been created by the divine. He turned his
back to the room, as he walked on down the halls. Somewhere from his
right, came Hansel�s congenial laugh, echoing emptily through the long,
bare halls of the basilica. Gritting his teeth, he kept walking towards
the southern entrance.

Seelin knew himself better than any other did � he was a simple man; he
had no intricate details or wispy spires; no master artisan had created
him; there was nothing dreamlike or divine about him, no depth to his
soul�he lived for only one thing � something so at odds with this place,
he felt utterly alien as he walked through the halls. For Seelin lived
only for revenge.

Upon turning eighteen, Seelin had planned to join the Occultists of
Ashtan; however, on the night of his eighteenth birthday, Seelin had a
dream; a dream so vivid, he knew it was not just a dream. It was a
vision.

He had stood alone, upon a dry, bare, wind-swept plain, his dark hair
blowing in the wind. He was wearing a priest�s robe turned the deepest
black imaginable, and was wreathed in an aura of incredible power. In
his vision, no mortal being wielded power such as that which Seelin did.

He woke up the next morning knowing exactly what he had to do.

Oh, how sweet the blood would be, how delightful the humiliation!

Of course, the day after his dream, he had joined the priests instead of
the Occultists. He had now spent the last ten years of his life waiting
patiently in his white priest�s robes for his vision to come true. He
had waited and waited for some sign of what he was to do.

While waiting for his power to realize itself, he had toiled
fanatically, spending every waking minute poring over scrolls on combat,
perfecting his fighting technique, acquiring new skills, and learning
how best to employ them. But he had waited for ten years now, and his
patience was beginning to wear thin. He had worked so diligently and
still he had not been rewarded.

All this work, Seelin had done for a single goal: revenge for what his
father had done to him; revenge for what his father had done to her.
Seelin�s mother.

His father, Arlain, had been a good father to Seelin all of his life �
and had even been a good husband to Seelin�s mother, Lirria. Seelin had
always been closer to Lirria than Arlain, and had loved her as he loved
no other. One day, however, he could love her no more. His father had
come to be enamoured with a pretty young girl who had just joined the
city; she ran circles around him, flirting with him, toying with him,
until finally Arlain divorced Lirria, and married that disgusting
Delosian prostitute, Josie.

He would not only slaughter his father; Josie, too, would die the
slowest, most painful death Seelin could conjure up for her. In fact, he
would not only do these two things � he would do worse than that; he
would humiliate his father�no, not his father�Arlain, publicly, and
destroy his life forever. He would do to him, what he had done to
Seelin.

Arlain had broken Lirria�s heart � she had loved Arlain with such
intensity as very few partners feel for one another. After Arlain�s cool
dismissal of her, her broken heart decided it had nothing more to live
for; on that same day, she took Arlain�s most prized rapier, and with
it, stabbed herself in her already wounded heart. Where her sword
pierced her chest, no blood leaked from her body; for her heart had
already bled every last drop it could.

Seelin snapped out of his reverie, realizing he had already left the
basilica, and was walking with angrily towards the Northern Gates of
Shallam with a strong sense of purpose within him; though what that
purpose was, he knew not.

He walked first along the Zaphar promenade for a short while, walking
alongside the slow-flowing Pachacacha, which sparkled beautifully in the
sunlight. He then reached the Western portion of Fish Street; to his
left, small fishing boats lay out in a haphazard pattern, pulling in the
plentiful fish of the river. Young women sat together by the river,
washing their clothes, while their children swam about in the waters,
playing happily.

Was there not a single thing in this despicable city that did not
contrast with Seelin so perfectly? The people he walked by gave him a
wide berth, as his fiery eyes dared anyone to meet them. He glanced at a
child playing on the street, who fled in fright as the priest passed him
by.

As Seelin reached the beginning of the Fish Markets, the number of
people on the streets grew, until finally he was in the thick of the
bustling fish market. The stink of rotting fish filled the air; Seelin
kept on walking through the sea of people, and finally reached the end
of the markets. He walked along Zanzibaar Street for a time, passing
shops to his left and right, with vendors calling out to all passers-by.
Finally, he reached the monumental marble and iron gates of Northern
Shallam, where Pericles greeted Seelin jovially with a grin.

Suddenly, something happened to Seelin. A loud ringing in his ears,
black in his vision; he smelt burning, tasted ash, felt nothing � all
his senses were numbed, as he was enveloped in the presence of the
divine.

An incredibly powerful voice boomed through his head: �Seelin!�

Seelin was at a loss for words; he tried to stammer out a plea for
mercy, but was not able. The god spoke again, an ominous laugh
accompanying the words.

�Thou shalt travel to the Dungeons of Azdun, where after consid�rable
peril, thou shoulst happen upon a cave; enter, child, for thy destiny
awaits thee.�

Everything abruptly returned back to normal as he regained control of
his body. Pericles and others around him were looking at him
concernedly, but before anyone could speak, Seelin turned and left
Shallam at a brisk pace.

�Travel to the Dungeons of Azdun�

Seelin�s mind still reeled with the impact of such power; all thoughts
and memories were blasted out of his head. All he could remember was one
thing. Only one thing was important:

�Travel to the Dungeons of Azdun�

Seelin pulled out a map from his pack, and finally located Azdun upon
it. It would be a long, arduous walk. Seelin already had some salted
pork in his pack, and he would be going along the Pachacacha most of
way, so he would be fine for food and water. Without a backwards glance,
Seelin started the trek.

He followed the road through the gently rolling hills until he was
nearing the Pachacacha. At this point, he left the road, and walked in a
North-westerly direction until he reached the river.

The walk to Azdun would be easiest following the Pachacacha, and so,
muttering a prayer to the gods, Seelin parted the waters before him with
his devotion.

Seelin walked along the river, keeping the waters constantly parted for
him. Still, Seelin could not think clearly. He tried to remember why he
was going to Azdun, but could not. Where was he going? He could barely
even remember that, as his feet took him along the riverbed.

People enjoying the bright warm day, fishing on the banks of the river
cried out in alarm as the priest parted the waters before him; for
Seelin needed only a foot or two of water parted for him, but in his
hazed state of mind, he parted the entire width of the Pachacacha. Fish
thrashed about wildly on the riverbed; one fisherman shouted in anger as
he lost his catch to the parted waters. Seelin did not notice any of
this, as he kept up his steady pace to the northwest.

As Seelin continued on walking, his mind began to clear somewhat. He
recalled his vision�and what was happening to him now. There was a
connection! Only a god could grant him power like that he had in the
dream � what could that voice have been but a god? Excitement rose in
Seelin as he picked up his pace.

Finally, the river started to curve into a more westerly route. Seelin
found he was walking into the now setting sun�had that much time passed?
It was morning when he had left Shallam! Seelin studied his map, and
with shock, realized he was nearing Azdun. Where had the day gone � he
remembered nothing of the journey along the river.

Seelin glanced at his map yet again, and saw he was just northeast of
Azdun. He scrambled up the riverbank, and started the final stretch of
his journey.

Seelin was now in the lush Dakhota hills. His view of his surroundings
was greatly compromised by the hills all around him and the tall, thick
forest of pine trees, but somehow, Seelin managed to navigate his way
through the dense forest, until finally he came upon a sudden clearing
to the south.

A glorious castle once stood in this clearing. Now, overgrown ruins lay
before him, with one or two walls still standing here or there, but most
of it now lay on the ground as rubble. Seelin wondered what had happened
to the castle to destroy it so. Perhaps the answers could be discovered
in the depths of the dungeon below.

Seelin was beginning to feel hungry, so he sat on the grass and ate a
good bit of the meat in his pack. Feeling thirsty after the salty
repast, Seelin walked over to the well to get some water, but found it
empty

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Sarapin, in the year 377 AF.