The Sons of Sasan

[Arteh 1837]

THE SONS OF SASAN

 

 

 

Sasan was a feared warrior amongst the Steppes; yet he was naught when compared to his sons. Born to Sasan and a doting mother, they were only suckling babes when their father was butchered by jealous rivals, dragging him from the place he slept and slaughtering him before the entire band.

 

Their mother took the boys, distraught with fear, and fled - carrying the boys on foot for days and nights on end until they reached the towering walls of Al’Wakrah. She looked after them for a few more years, the most peaceful of their lives, before she too fell to death. Struck by an awful illness, the stench of her death forced all visits from the house and the eldest son, Darius, was only seven. The younger, Cyrus, was but a scant four years old, and clung to his brother’s shadow.

 

Their mother’s death left the pair of children broken and distraught, cast out onto the street by the looters who soon came to occupy the miserable home they had spent their last few days in. Darius sheltered Cyrus as well as he could, and despite his temper managed to pass through the wretched months beneath shelter on the streets, stealing the food they needed and eating nothing more.

 

Life is tough as a child, and Al’Wakrah was a cesspit of trouble and a den of degeneracy. The boys scrapped with the dogs for food, and there were many times when Darius had to protect Cyrus from fights he had brought upon himself by bragging of his father - a dangerous man to boast of given his many enemies.

 

After four years on the streets of the Caliphate, the boys were recognised by an old warrior from the tribe of their father, a man who had loved Sasan dearly. He took the pair back to the steppes, beneath the great blue sky, and they were returned to their peoples. Under his tutelage they grew and prospered into mighty horsemen, taught daily that the horse was to be their life; brought up beneath the great blue sky.

 

As the pair grew so did their fervour, Darius grew to be a devout worshipper, zealous in all his acts and wroth when his faith was challenged. Such a rigorous upbringing did not suit the younger Cyrus however, and as he was taught the Khopesh he grew arrogant - a cynical youth with the hallmarks of decadence.

 

The sons of Sasan were protected by the old warrior for as long as they could, and under him they grew. Darius, tall and strong yet patient in his acts, skilled with the Yatagan; the counter to his cocksure younger, Cyrus, arrogant and decadent yet not without a certain charm and skill to his actions. Through these differences, the two had inherited natural-born leadership.

 

Though as all men do, his bones grew brittle and his hair faded into ash; life fled the old warrior and the boys rode east once more, beneath the guide of the sky. Yet this time they were not boys, but they were men - true heirs to Sasan - and prepared to do well by his name. The Azghari was formed by them, for coin and glory, and they pitched themselves close to Al’Wakrah’s great yellow walls.

[Arteh 1837]

6 minutes ago, DPM said:

"hail neighbour" says allies across the pond

"Salaam" says Darius as he offers a curt wave.

[CheekyNolan 5420]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.