To those who would call me evil, I write these words in hopes that you should know my true righteousness. Even as I pen this, I hear flames of hatred licking at my ankles. Smoldering coals of begrudging come from Sala, and I fear this is largely due to ignorance.
I was born into the shadow of my elder brother. While he was exalted by the masses, honoured by the nobles, and smiled upon by our father, I was treated as a knave.
I am not ashamed to admit that I carry the natural swordsmanship talent of the Aiolen lineage. From Edohein unto this generation, the Aiolen name has been worn by many great warriors. Our father, Rentholne Aiolen, was not so much a man of the sword as the word, but not weak a man was he, and the Aiolen blood still flowed strong in his veins.
It was this blood that nearly predestined one of us--my brother or myself--to someday take a seat on the High Council of Salandorf. Two may not serve on the council, and so it became fate's decision in who would be the next to serve.
Each passing day brought more honour to Mahatar. It seemed to come so easily to him, being all that the people wished. Meanwhile I sat in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to prove myself equal.
As I grew I amassed a group of friends of my same persuasion. Those who knew they were destined for greatness, but too often brushed aside. We were a close knit brethren, though vastly misunderstood.
Come the Tournament of Edohein's Blade, my comrades and I rose quickly through the rabble that challenged us. One by one then, they fell away from me, until it was I against my accursed brother.
It has been said the Mahatar bore the blood of Edohein himself in his veins, the spirit of an entire army coursing through his veins, and the strength of that legendary warrior. I would not elevate him to that immortal plane, but I will admit that he was a masterful swordsman.
The duel was not short, as so many others throughout the tournament. Though it apparently lasted but minutes, my arms told me that the time stretched into eternity. The force and speed of blows startled even myself, but the blade was but my tool in the defeat of not only my brother, but his ever rising fame. Perhaps then, a name would be made for myself.
Fate scrawls cruelly on the lives of some, while giving others far more than they deserve. That pompous windbag defeated me only through the slightest excession of endurance to mine.
As the sun set on that day, I knew that I could never spend my life living under my brother's shadow. While he feasted at the table of the High Council, and at my father's right hand, I crept away to my chambers, equipping myself for the long journey ahead.
It was a mocking predawn when we left, I and my closest comrades. We charged each other to someday rival Salandorf, to make a name for ourselves that would mute even our homeland's greatest praises.
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