I found a story i wrote 2009 as i was part of a gorean roleplay sim in Second Life. Still think the story is nice and want to share it, so here we go: ( please dont mind the mistakes, english is not my native)
The Phoenix Legend by Cale Alcott
The smoke raises to the sky like thin tendrils, carriers of doom, from the still burning fires nearby. The wisps of smoke wrap there arms around the shape of an ash covered man kneeling on the ground which smolders with the heat of the destruction. The house, his home lies here in ruins, burned, plundered and destroyed. But the loss of his home was not the worst thing that was killing the kneeling mans heart.
Head bowed face stone like, no feelings, no emotions, yet his eyes betrayed deep expression. His hands gripping tightly to a sword stuck into the ground, white knuckles gripping at the hilt. Would there have been someone there, the raw pain and loss would have been seen in the mans eyes. Silent tears streaming down his noble face then dropping to the ash strewn ground like rain drops , his eyelids trembling.
Memories of happier times struck him, he wanted to scream yet remains quiet, just closing his eyes to stop the tears flowing, but to no avail. A scene of a summer sun in the sky over his home and of happy people strolling around, his minds eye focusing on someone special,glancing at the smile and sometimes mischievous eyes of a lovely kajirus the boys voice renting the air with tinkling laughter.
His love, his slave, his boy, full of energy and the joy's of life, willing to serve with his soul and heart. In the mans mind mind hes kneeling at his side, the boy has just served a meal and is enjoying his own with a big smile on his tanned face which the man adored from the very first time he set eyes on the boy. Then he remembers a dance, always pleasing and a joy to watch. He remembers the times he spent with his sitting by the river and fishing, ending up having the most romantic moments, a deep frown crosses the mans face.
But then reality flows back harsh and without mercy, the stinging scent of burned wood and heated stone infiltrates his nose and brings him back from his sweet memories. opening his eyes he stares at the prone shape lying in front of him, motionless. The well framed body of his boy, bereft of life, stabbed to death, one arm stretched out as if to beg forgiveness that he left this world his Master, a sad expression on the boys face, the boys blood running into the scorched earth.
The sun starts to go down tinging the scene with deep shadows and still the man sits eyes locked to the dead boys face, a statue to guard him from further harm, the mans hand lowers to touch the beloved face tracing the cold skin the man lowers his lips to the sweet lifeless lips placing one gentle kiss. Slowly he rises and begins to collect stones of the ruins to build a cairn for the lifeless body. Tears and sweat covering his face, working automatically, moving restlessly until the task is done and the cairn is finished.
Lifting the boys now broken flute smashed like his boys body, the silently mourning man moves to place the flute over the cairn tenderly, tears drop from the man eyes leaving not a name on the cairn but tears . Running a hand over the stones as his lips form quietly the words 'safe paths my love'. Slowly moving away from the last resting place of his beloved, the mans face set as hard as the stones that cover his boy, he whistles sharply and loudly for his tarn, a huge regal animal with gleaming reddish brown feathers.
A fluttering shape lurking high above getting faster and closer as the sounds and smells of his tarn envelope the man, the man feels the gusting wind and a loud tarn scream rents the air like the screaming of the dieing. With its rustling wings the tarn sets down, stretching its wings and closing them with a smooth motion, huge dark eyes scan the mans face.The tarns beak reaches down to the man, nudging softly the at mans shoulder, feeling his riders pain and loss, the tarns eyes seems to weep at the Veil of sadness that surround his owner.
Stroking the tarns head tenderly, the grieving man saddles his mount, revenge filling the mans heart, eyes now hard as diamonds flashing with anger in the suns setting rays, Checking his saddlebags for the weapons and fiery surprises needed for his revenge. The man turns slowly one last time to his boys cairn his eyes filling with fresh tear's, wiping away the tears his face now set with an anger enough to frighten the most hardened outlaw, the man mounts his tarn,taking to the air flying hard into the sky never once looking back, the man follows the tracks of the raiders who robbed him of the most important thing in his life.
Harsh winds and the flapping of his tarns wings are the only companions of the rider as he flies all night the stars catching the anger and hurt in the mans eyes, following the direction the raiders took. No sleep, no rest will he allows himself, crouched against his tarns neck, thinking of the past day and seeing images of the ruins and dead body of his boy burned deep into his minds eye.
As the sun rises and the tarn flies tirelessly steered by his rider over soft green lands and rolling hills, a mountain chain on the horizon, small villages getting ready for the day pass beneath the man at one with his tarn, nature seems to assist the tarn and his rider, no rain and a stiff wind from behind allows the tarn to raise its speed without forcing the tarn to use much of his own strength riding the updrafts. Arrow like they are darting through the sky, diving up and down following the winds.
Spotting a burning village in the distance the man sees smoke rising high into the lightning sky, tingeing the rising suns ray a steely grey, seeing other victims of the raiders wrath the wanton destruction. Circling over the flaming homes the man screams out his anger to the four winds and vows to bring the raiders down. The tarn screeches hearing his rider's bellow and together they dive deep to see the carnage left by the raiders, anger grips the mans heart like a vice.
The day passes in a blur the mans eyes red from tiredness, yet his is strength fed by anger and revenge as the sun starts to settle slowly down, the tarn and his rider arrive at the foot of a mountain chain, the land rolling with soft lush hills. glancing to his right the man sees the raiders Charging towards a small village which snuggles into the hillside. The villagers unaware that doom is so close. "Fly! Fly my friend!" the man shouts and "steers" his tarn over the heads of the charging raiders riding high on there tharlarions.
As the tarn swoops low the villagers shout and become aware of the raiders women and slaves scattering. The men of the village gather and prepared for the oncoming threat the clatter of arms filling the air. The tarn circles and flies again against the raiders its huge talons ripping one raiders arm off as the raider falls to the hard ground , The villagers who cannot fight trying to get into safety. Running women and slaves, trying to hide. The chaos evokes the pictures of his destroyed home of what his village went through,turning sharply in a second swoop the man readies his arrows of death.
The tarn rider's mind clear like a mountain stream ,sharp as any sword as he prepares his fiery surprises. the raiders arrows start to fly against him,deadly but not well targeted. He lights a small torch as his tarn circles and swoops down, held steady by the belts of his saddle. Reaching down into his bag he pulls out a small earthen wear flask with an oily wick,the man ignites it and throws it down between the raiders black smoke and mayhem ensue, as his tarn keeps swooping down again and again as at each pass the fiery hell rains from the man and his tarn.
A wave of arrows seek to strike the tarn and the man , but they dodge riseing swooping and banking left and right to avoid the swarm of deadly missiles. As the sun sinks more sending its last rays over the mountains and setting the sky on fire with blazing colors catching the smoke laden air, as the fight goes on. The land below the tarn is spotted with burning fires and bodies strewn at odd angles and still the raiders ride against the village, followed by the man and his trusty tarn.
Invading the village the raiders find shelter between the village buildings, barely harmed by the peasants. Not able to hit the raiders the tarn rider refuses to throw down the fire flasks so as not to damage the homes of the innocent. Suddenly an arrow strikes the flask the rider is holding, pottery shards scatter like hail from the sky, oil pouring over him and over his tarn's back, the smell of oil invades the mans nostrils as another arrow strikes the man in the back sinking deep into the mans lung. A soft moan escapes the mans lips as Losing his grip on the torch the oil is set on fire.
A huge live fire ball fills the now darkening sky as man and rider ignite like a wild beacon ,the sudden heat making the tarn scream in fury and pain, it flies higher and faster, the fire growing on its back, the tarns feathers now aflame as the fire starts enveloping the mans clothing and body. His last words choked from blackened lips.... 'I am following you my love' .... darkness embraces him. fighting against the inevitable, rising higher the tarn with its sad load flies over the mountains edge towards the sun.
All eyes turned to the cloud filled sun setting sky as the Shadow of the burning tarn filled the clouds as if the brave man and his tarn had returned to finish what he had started, all fighting stopped as the brave man and his tarn now both dead yet alive in the huge fireball turn on an air currant heading back towards the village, black smoke following the burning mass leaving a trail of death in there wake, a shout from the raiders fills the air 'The Bird of Flames is coming for us RUN!' as the raiders run from the village fear filling there hearts, an old woman of the village her voice barely more than a whisper 'A Phoenix may the Priest Kings be blessed" a noise filled the air, the soft swish of a tarns wings beats and the deep sigh of a lost lovers moan. as the Phoenix disappeared forever.
Many centuries have passed since these things happened. But these events were never forgotten.
To remember the rescue and honoring the sacrifice of the tarnrider and his mount the villagers celebrate this day every year and named it the" Raise of the Phoenix". This day was the day where the legend of the gorean phoenix was born and proudly the villagers tell the story whenever they can to keep the memory alive.
