Sworded Tales

Prince Kavar Jessik, seventeenth in line for the throne of Caramahr, was a skilled archer, a noble huntsman and educated in numerous mathematical forms.  Fair in appearance, he bore the cultivated visage of the female line with the rigid bone structure of the Jessik bloodline barely identifiable.  The host of siblings and servants and tutors engendered an affable and approachable persona as the prince matured, but few saw into the deeper recesses of the old soul which wandered within his heart.

For all of the opportunity presented to him, Prince Kavar lived within a prison of privilege.  His personal beliefs were overshadowed by the propriety of a society in which he would not have chosen to exist.  Those naysayers that would scoff at the notion, proclaiming the pining of a spoiled prince little more than idle boredom, abide until the tale’s completion and pass judgment only once both sides of the coin have been revealed.

Among the streets of Archeon’s Crest, royal seat to the kingdom of Caramahr, a harbinger brought hope to the lost and deranged that begged along the forgotten alleys of the city.  Soiled and simple, the prophet known as the Glimma Man moved among the masses, earning a coin here and there with a bit of kind aid or a degree of servitude.  For years the reclusive beggar plied his helpful trade, and the stories of fortunes given, of futures foretold, which surrounded the Glimma Man began to creep from the streets into the tavern tales and bard songs.

None knew the details of the enigmatic Glimma Man, though many had heard the raspy dialect which he boasted.  He was a recognizable figure, yet equally adept at remaining as elusive as his visionary needs required.  The whisperers and gossips knew the best way to reach the Glimma Man, to send word to the hope of the city.  A single silver coin, shined to glimmering brightness could be placed in a simple basket open to the night sky on any street corner of Archeon’s Crest.  If the deliverer’s intent was pure, their need true, the Glimma Man would find them in short order and lend what aid he could.

The tale walked the fine line between truth and legend such that few folks within Archeon’s Crest would dare disturb such a basket offering.  How many truly believed in the Glimma Man’s talents?  Enough to warrant a healthy respect for the gifts left to him.  Only those who were ignorant of his story defiled the glimmering wishes.

All of Archeon’s Crest knew the name of Prince Kavar Jessik.  All of the inhabitants also knew the Glimma Man.  Yet only one soul knew that the two men were one and the same, and neither Prince Kavar nor the Glimma Man were that soul.