Lore, Sagas, Short story

The Ferciúin is called.

Siblings who fight with each other are expected in almost every home. A matter of life and growing too, to find a place in life and family. A phase which passes eventually, even if it so often seems to take too long. But sometimes such rivalries grow and find nourishment in the hatred of one’s own blood. Such hatreds can bring shame to a family if they remain, but such things can bring a lot more.

In the southern land of Orten, far from capitols and other great cities, folk of status can often divide an estate among their children while naming one to oversee it all and have a final say. At times arguments come when the time arrives to contest the will of elders when they are dead and burned, but sometimes the will is learned early and fighting fills the family home. When rifts grow and demand appeasement, blood can become the greatest of foes. To that, he listens.

One child fought another in Orten for control and the final say in their family’s estate. They did so by labeling their sibling a drunken gambler who had been seen attacking the fragile and defenseless, bringing shame and dishonor upon the family. They did so not privately, but publicly, hoping the rumors would spread and that such words would reach the ears of their parents. The fouling of blood in the home – That, he smells.

One child fought not only with words in public, but by calling blood against blood. They called for family from far afield with stories of scandal and disgust and threats of family lands being lost. That one child had no cause or reason but greed and dishonor. The coin and status was more than most would ever have, yet still there needed to be more. Blood was called against blood and lies upheld as truth, the destruction of the child’s own family. To rebel for spite and self interest – For that, he comes.

The Ferciúin travels unseen, leaving neither sound of footfall nor footprint behind. No broken branches show his path, no scent to be followed by dogs. The quiet man, the Ferciúin, comes and only those who turn against their blood for no just reason can feel him drawing near. And nearer will he come, for the damage to blood has already been done. A relic from ancient oaths of honor, the Ferciúin comes at his pace.

Part two can be found here.

 

Daily post: Rebel

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4 thoughts on “The Ferciúin is called.”

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