Lovers True and Fated   
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Introduction. This tale is one full of sorrow and sadness, wrought with love, twisted by death. The tale tells about the life and love of Mi'khran and Dilluar, who lived as Shendar in a past so distant that the desert folk had not yet come to full conscience yet. The couple was so much in love, their souls so intertwined within each other that the tragedy that happened one day would scar the world forever. That day, when Mi'khran met his Nemesis...

ather around young folk, in this story I will travel with you into the far past of the Shendar, the desert people. I will go to a time in which the Ráhaz’Dáth was even a more perilous place than now, in a time when the Shendar had not yet adapted to the way of the desert yet. The aj, who play a large part in present Shendar culture, had not yet been tamed, and so much wisdom was yet to be developed.

I will tell you of a romance so cruel, so full of tears and death, so full of pain and sorrow. Yes, indeed, the story of two souls, whose lives were intertwined from the first moment of history. All have their own destiny, but it is my belief that Seyella elected these two destinies to become one, like the all consuming love that existed between them. Of whom am I talking? Well, if you spare me the time, I will give countenance to the tale of Mi’khran and Dilluar…

It happened that there were two lovers, Mi’khran, son of Ul'Ghan'a, and Dilluar, daughter of Me'shen'a. They belonged to the clan which eventually would become the Shen-D’aurus. Given their appearance, these two younglings were always looked upon as being Baveras-blessed – they did not know how wrong that assumption would prove to be – because they emanated a tranquil beauty and seemed the true incarnation of pure youth.

If one looked into the deep blue eyes of beautiful Dilluar, they would see the eternity, the ever moving waves of their precious Seven Jewels. How foreboding these sights were, they did not realise. Her jet-black hair would reflect the pure passion of Foiros, when it glimmers with the last sun-rays of the lingering dusk. And her face, ah, were hers not such a cruel fate, she would have been inspiration to many a poet or artist, and not just a figure in a tale told by an old man in his last days on this world. When she smiled, it was as if the very air you breathed was sweetened with the subtle perfume of love. How can I describe such beauty accurately, how can I describe the subtle signs of elegance in her every move, the touch of her hand, the sensuality in every single thing she did?

Mi’khran seemed the embodiment of strength and agility, possessing the power of youth but also already the stamina of men much older than him. It was a joy to see him climb the great dunes of the central desert or participate in other games, his enthusiastic laugh would be heard all over the nomad-camp, inspiring the hearts of the people nearby. His prowess in the hunt was not easily matched, his courage and pride like those of Foiros himself, fierce and flaming.

There was also another matter which separated these two from the rest; Love. Never before had there been seen a love so fierce, so strong, like a fire which burns unquenchable, the tongues of the flames reaching higher and higher, marking the sky red and full of motion. Never were the two seen separately, always together, in almost every subtle movement of their bodies one could easily read the signs of love, the affection for the other so great, that each seemed less without the other. They lived their lives and they were full of joy, the very presence of them enhanced the group, strengthened everyone’s heart in grief-stricken times, heightening the pleasure in joyous times.

Then it was their fate that disaster should strike the young couple. It was that day that Mi’khran set out to gather food with his friends. In those days, survival was the most important matter to the Shendar, and if they could not scavenge a meal from the desert, then they would soon perish. The group was travelling towards the Jewels, for beasts were often seen there, when a young friend of Mi’khran, Killuan, suddenly fell to the ground screaming.

It was only then that the group saw the danger. In their youthful enthusiasm, they were all barely a year passed their first kill, they had failed to recognize the rock they passed as one of the dreaded rock-snakes. But they could clearly see the magnificent animal now, its head raised above the ground, its eyes keenly on the man on the ground.

Everyone was as motionless as an adan’sonia tree, not able to move.

Mi’khran, in his courage, was the first of the men to move. He raced towards Killuan and as he saw that the snake was about to strike he reached his companion. Pushing his friend aside, he faced the snake alone. But the snake had already begun its strike and under the eyes of his companions, Mi’khran was struck down, falling to the ground whilst holding the ráhaz'estár in a fierce grip. The venomous fangs had pierced his shoulder, and all knew that the young man had forfeited his live. In his last seconds, Mi’khran managed to hold the snake and kill it with a clean blow from his knife. Then they both fell to the ground, their blood mingling with each other, all hope of life lost, and sorrow filled the companions. They began the slow and horrid journey back to the camp, Mi’khrans body carried by the others.

Oh cruel fate! Was it not that just that day, Dilluar had gone out to see if her beloved was already returning; was it not that just that day, she saw her hope and love vanish in one strike as she saw the body draped on his companions shoulders. There could be no doubt, her soul mate had been bitterly slain and death had overtaken his glorious life.

The young Dilluar fled from the scene, running as fast as possible towards the Jewels, not wanting to go anywhere, just wanting to be nowhere.

She collapsed eventually, on a dune near the Seven Jewels. There fair Dilluar wept and wept and her tears resembled a waterfall so rare in that region. It is said that a small pool was created by her tears and she was in the middle of it. Only the gods know how long she stayed there, on her knees, crying.

Eventually she fell into a deep sleep, overcome by her tiredness, succumbing to the easing blankness of slumber, the soothing emptiness of the land of dreams.

She awoke to the sight of small creatures around her. They were sandrollers, a curious type of creature. Small balls of fur they seemed, and they were drinking from her pool of tears. Comforted by the presence of other beings, Dilluar crawled towards them and sat with them, trying not to scare the wild creatures too much. They remained with her there, drinking her sorrow, calming the young broken girl.

When her tears were all gone, the sandrollers made ready to go away, moving in the direction of the Jewels. The once so strong but now fragile mind of Dilluar could not handle this though; she could not be left alone again. Summoning all her energy and strength, she pursued the beasts, in her mind they were the only things in this world which could keep her sane. She managed to follow these little creatures right down to the edge of one of the Jewels. There the sandrollers stopped and started drinking again, not from her tears this time, but from the fresh glimmering water of the Jewels. She fell next to them, and also drank the cool fluid. It soothed her sore throat, harsh and sore from the sandy winds of the desert.

Oh, would it be that the story would end here, the tale not full of doom but of righteous sorrow. But alas, it was not allowed to be so as the sandrollers seemed to be swept away by the waves of Baveras, right under the eyes of the frightened girl. All her beauty had vanished in the mask of sorrow and grief she wore, and as she saw her last buoy on her lake of sanity sink and disappear under the dark waves of madness, she lost her reason, her life, her passion. She arose and jumped into the deep water, which embraced her with its cool arms. She did not even try to remain afloat; had she done so, she would have seen that the sandrollers were capable of swimming, they had not drowned, they had just acted in their natural capacity. Poor Dilluar just let herself be taken away by the numbing waves, desiring oblivion. Baveras granted her that void of thoughts and took her to the heart of the lake. It is said that she remains there still.

This grievous story ends as they actually all end, with the gods. Baveras, becoming aware of the tragedy that had befallen in her domain, became so angry that she vented all her rage by cursing the sandrollers. She accused them of misleading the young girl, and forever coloured their eyes blood red, to remind all on the death they had caused. In addition, she banned the sandrollers from her domain forever; they would never be able to swim in the water again, they would simply float, almost never touching the water, the waves of the Jewels.

Thus ends this tale, it is not full of joy, no, but then again, is this world not wrought with tears and sorrow? Is it not just that which gives us our history, our identity? We are shaped by the tales of people like Mi’khran the Brave and Dilluar the Fair, they affect us in a way which we’ll never truly understand, but also in a way which will change our hearts forever.


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