A piece of folklore that one of my characters used to tell as a story. Describes how Arien's Blood and Arien came about.
There was a time, when the world was young, that things were far more uncertain than they are now. The land, drawn forth from the sea by the hands of the ancients, had become home to the first men. The greatest among them, their spirits radiant and strong as the ones that came before, became great lords and ladies. They acted as the governing wisdom and shield of their people. Great monsters still waited in the Deep, growing jealous of those that had risen into the light of day. The serpentine leviathans rose from the depths of the old sea and stalked across the Urth.
One of the first men, a great lord, hid his people and his family within the walls of his castle. A leviathan soon found them, its body tearing across the land, leaving the dried riverbeds in its wake. The lord was unable to get all of his people into the keep as the monster destroyed the outer wall. Those that were left outside ran for their lives as the giant slackened its jaw and swallowed the castle whole. The rest of the townsfolk fled as its serpent-like tails wrapped around the whole of the castle. Over time, its body hardened and sprouted a forest of malicious thorns and briars to thwart would-be rescuers. Deep within the castle, the silent stomach of the beast lulled the occupants into an unnatural sleep.
With the benevolent lord out of reach, the people suffered. Monsters ravaged the land and thieves followed in their wake, gathering what they could to fill their bellies.
Out of this sea of sorrows, a warrior arose. With red hair and the temper of naked flame, he vowed to rescue the great lord and his family. He shunned all offer for armor or shield and instead leapt into the grim work of the sword with only his speed and fire to protect him. He cut his way to the sharp-toothed forest that the leviathan had grown and began to traverse it, each step tearing at his skin and pulling at his hair.
He hacked and fought his way to the gates, now sealed within the flanks of the giant serpent. With all his might, he struck at the iron flesh, raining blows for seven days until it began to seethe like the smith's forge... with one last blow, the iron flesh yielded with a cacophonous roar. So mighty he was, the gates shattered, long rotten from their time within the beast. For miles around, the remnants of the monstrous corpse began to fade to ash, leaving only the verdant fields that the great lord ruled over. Streaked with blood from his wounds, the warrior staggered into the castle. He fell to his knees before the throne where the sleeping lord still sat. As the stones turned red with the warrior's blood, the lord, too awoke.
The wise lord, his breath stolen by the sight, stood from his thrown and knelt down by the fallen scion of war. Tears wet his age'd cheeks as he cradled the warrior’s head. The lord asked the warrior, 'what is the name of my savior so I might beg the heavens for his life?'
The warrior smiled, his face growing white with death. He spoke grimly, 'My name is Arien, my lord, you honor me by remembering it.' The king answered, his tears peppering the man's bloodied face, 'Heaven and Urth will remember you, my son.' With this, the king cried out to heaven that this valiant warrior never be lost to history. Each drop of his blood that fell to Urth now blossoms in the spring, reaching skyward.. reaching up to the quickly moving moon, that bloody-eyed warrior who fought so long ago.
