Post by Rostam on Aug 19, 2011 13:55:39 GMT -5
Archer
"If my heart is afraid, I would rather not remain alive, but die.
I am always prepared to perish; but to lose? That will never happen."
"If my heart is afraid, I would rather not remain alive, but die.
I am always prepared to perish; but to lose? That will never happen."
OTHER ALIAS[/color]: // Rustem, Rustam, He-Whose-Manliness-Outshines-The-Sun, The Man Without Fear, The Undefeated Champion of Persia
CURRENT AGE[/color]: // 40
YEAR OF BIRTH[/color]: // Unknown, death/greatest exploits around 1300 B.C, so then subtract 600 more years, and you get ~1900 B.C, approximately.
GENDER[/color]: // Male
ALIGNMENT[/color]: //Lawful Good
OCCUPATION[/color]: // Greatest Paladin of Persia, Champion of Champions, Demonslayer, Dragonslayer, Kinslayer.
[/size][/ul]
[ARE YOU... CALLING ME... A COWARD?!]
[Oh good, I thought I heard you wrong]
[Another quest, huh? Very well, present your case]
[Casual]
HEIGHT[/color]: //247 cm
WEIGHT[/color]: // 304 kg
EYE COLOR[/color]: // Red Spirals
HAIR COLOR[/color]: // None/Red Fire
PIERCINGS[/color]: // None
TATTOOS[/color]: // None
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES[/color]: //
[/size][/ul] [/blockquote]
- Loyal
- He remained loyal to his King even after his son had lost his life due to Kaykus being afraid of the combined power of the father and the son, and them overthrowing him. To be fair, that WAS Sohrab's plan, but Rostam knew nothing of it, nor would he accept it if he did: as when he had mortally wounded his son, and learned who he was, he called for a potion that would cure the wound. The King, afraid of what might happen, refused, and despite all his grief and anger, Rostam had not betrayed his liege.
- Devout
- Before being a warrior, Rostam was a man devoted to Ormuzd to the last drop of his blood. He had been a a true paladin, and prayed for guidance often, and Ormuzd responded many times, by granting him inhuman strength, by showering him with gifts - indirect ones, like seemingly chance meetings, or happenings upon objects he needed, or miracles to guide his faithful warrior.
- Honorable
- Honor was and is everything to Rostam, though 'Honor' doesnt carry quite the same meaning as it does when one thinks of this word in the context of, for example, Camelot's Knights. Honor was something you gained or lost by your actions, true, but the amount of ways to gain or lose it far outnumbered the ones in the British Isles. Showing pain, for example, was dishonorable. People thinking of you badly was dishonorable, therefore each hero had attempted his best to never have anyone think badly of him, to strive for perfection, and none had accomplished this to the point Rostam did, or come as close as he did to losing it all. A hero lived only as long as his name was clean - as soon as it was tarnished, they would be stricken from history, their immortality - this was referencing both future generations and the afterlife - as it was believed, destroyed.
- Obstinate
- The main reason for his troubles. If it were not for this unfortunate character trait, Rostam would not have continuously denied being who he was, and Sohrab could have told him about his parentage, thereby preventing the entire tragedy. Rostam, however, denied it, and Sohrab died. This stubborness of his is his prmary sin, and was present throughout all of his major battles; he is unyielding and determined to see things through to the end, often battling for days on end, or facing impossible odds and somehow overcoming them.
- Proud
- But not to the point of arrogance, as that had been sinful; he was proud of his sons, his disciple, his father and mother, his lineage, and most of all, his country, but he had never been proud of himself, being rather humble.
- Noble
- His nobility is within his entire story, as he generally helps the opressed and strikes at the wicked, while remaining generous (dying of thirst and hunger in a desert, finds food and water and shares it with a stranger), and tries his best not to kill people who do not deserve death: Case in point Esfandyar. He listens to the youth's insults, enduring his sneers, and almost pleads with him to not continue this foolish fight, attempts him to make him see the error of his ways. But Esfandyar, who is forced to obey by his father, does not listen, and takes it for the older man's cowardice, refusing him. Only then does Rostam slay him.
- Cunning
- Somewhat contradictory, and the main reason why Persian Honor is different: There are times when Rostam grieves over using tricks, lying, or using the situation to his advantage, and there are times, which is most of the time, that he is completely fine with -some- of them. He seemed to be greatly distraught at killing Esfandyar with a trick despite the man having forgiven him, for example, but does not seem to feel nearly as much when he lies to his son's face several times over to conceal his identity, which also leads to a death: perhaps this should be likened to the Knights' odd tradition of masquerading as each other using different heraldic shields. Additionally, he seems to have no issue against using tricks or fooling those who are dishonorable.
- Big Eater
- Champions tend to do everything on a grander scale, and Rostam was the Champion of Champions. It comes as little surprize that the man isn't full until he ate a full elephant.
- Blood Knight
- Though he was not unreasonable, a yearning for battle was something a warrior was expected to have, but being too into it was something frowned upon. Rostam managed to balance upon the threshold, fighting with zeal.
- The Fettered
- Committed to serving Ormuzd, protecting his country, and upholding his honor and reputation as a the Greatest Paladin. He will not pause, hesitate, or shy away from doing what is necessary, but he will adhere to his moral compass and actions that befit a knight.
LIKES[/color]: //
Ormuzd
His wife, Tahmina
His son Sohrab
His steed, Rakhsh
Honor
Fair Combat
Iran
Esfandyar, the only man who he considered an equal
DISLIKES[/color]: //
Kings
Devs
Treachery
Poison
Betrayal
Cowardice
Dishonor
Shame
Shughad
STRENGTHS[/color]: //
Combat
His cunning
His faith
WEAKNESSES[/color]: //
His faith
His honor
His mount being inaccessible
[/ul][/size][/blockquote]
MY LEGEND: //[/color]
[Rostam Wikipedia]
[Rostam's Seven Labors Wikipedia]
[Reputation in the Tragedy of Rostam and Sohrab in Shahname]
[Rostam and the Fire Dragon Asdeev]
[Age]
[Shahname Rostam and Sohrab]
[Transferring the Spirit of Rostam to Iranian Arms and Armor]
[Shahnameh, the Epic of Kings: Part 8, Rostam and Sohrab]
[Dragon Slayers: Rostam and Rakhsh
[Rostam kills the Dragon
[An English Rendering of Rostam and Sohrab by Matthew Arnold based on the Shahnameh]
[Encyclopaedia Iranica, Babr-e Bayan]
[Rostam]
[Terminology of Arms and Armor used in the Shahname: a Comparative Analysis "Swords and Maces"]
[Rostam and Esfandyar]
[The Death of Rostam]
[The Epic of Kings]
[Haft Khan]
[Akvan Wikipedia]
[Characters of Shahname][/blockquote]
MY HISTORY[/color]: // I... Am Rostam.
Rostam the Pehliva of Iran. Rostam, Champion of Champions. Rostam, the Man Without Fear. Rostam the Dragonslayer. Rostam the Demonslayer... The immortal Rostam... I have been called all this and much more. My heritage is one of both greatest honour, and greatest disgrace. I am Rostam, son of Zal, son of Saam, son of Neriman, son of the legendary Garshasp, whose line begins at the governing of Queen Jamshid, may her name be blessed. But from my mother’s side, I am descended from Zahhak, the legendary immortal Div, who had been the Lieutenant of Angra Mainyu, whom is prophecied to arise at World’s End, and fight Fereydun once more. I have gotten my share of troubles over this half of my lineage, but I always strove to prove those who sought to show I had been a cursed one, that it was always choice, that was important, not what your ancestor did. Just look at how much Esfandyar and his father differed.
Either way...
I suppose I should begin not at my birth, but at my honoured father’s. Zal had been frowned upon by many, just as I have, because he had been born as an albino, which was said to be a sign of latent magical power. Thinking this was a curse, my grandfather, Saam, had left the infant in the mountains. A pure Simurgh had found him, and raised him atop the highest peak. After he had matured enough, a dream was sent unto my grandfather, about the survival of his son, whom he thought cursed. Overcome with guilt, he had went into the mountains once more, and tried to scale Alborz, failing each time, until he had seen the figure of my father, Zal, stand at its top, and called out to him. The Simurgh carried my father down, and gave him three feathers, instructing him to burn one to call out to her, and cause her to invoke a miracle.
The first had come when my father fell in love with Rudabeh, and both Saam and my mother’s father had objected to this union, nearly sparking a war. That was when Zal had burned the first feather, and the Simurgh instructed him how to achieve this marriage with a peaceful resolution. Symbolically, however, the much greater miracle was the union between the descendants of Jamshid and Zahhak, something which was considered impossible.
The second... The second had been shortly after, when I had been born. It was a very difficult birth, and my mother would have died because of the sheer size of my body – I had been a very large child. Zal burned the second feather, and the Simurgh once more granted a miracle, to impart knowledge how to safely deliver me and bless my birth – as all know the Simurgh is the Divine Messenger of Ormuzd himself.
The third... I shan’t speak of yet.
It soon became apparent that I was anything but ‘normal’ however; when I was a mere one day old, I already looked like I was a year old, and it took two nurses to feed me enough milk until I was full. When I had moved on to solid food, I needed the same amount as five men in order to be sated. As time went on, this became worse and worse – when I finally had an adult’s body, I needed to consume about 5000 kg of food in one sitting in order to fuel my body. It was a difficult part of my wanderings, trying to find enough food each day – It is why I had taken to hunting. Taking the food from the nearby villages when I needed it in the volume that I did just didn’t seem like something befitting of a Pehliva. As a direct result, I always preferred the more coarse foods, growing accustomed to them, instead of the delicacies I had been fed when visiting Shahs.
As long as I can remember, I had been practicing with weapons; the rate at which I grew soon had me able to spar with grown men, but after a while, I had grown far too strong to be able to find any useful result in training with them, except exercising restraint. There was one particular incident when I was twelve, when one of my father’s elephants, the sacred white one, had gone insane, and rampaged throughout the yard. The closest weapon had been my grandfather’s mace – I call it that, but really, it was passed down from Fereydun, his ancestor: the Bull-Headed mace which defeated Zahhak – taking it, I stood in its path, refusing to move, and roared my defiance at it. I still remember the frenzied stare of those small red eyes when it trumpeted and charged me. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the moment it realized I wasn’t going to stand aside, and felt its skull crack with a single blow... The travel of the large animal’s corpse through the air, lifted as if by an invisible force, and flung backwards into the wall of the keep... That was the time I first experienced victory, but more importantly, I realized the potential of my strength.
Seeing my prowess, my grandfather said he would pass the weapon to me if I completed an arsenal filled with worthy arms. So, I set out on a journey to complete a raiment of armor and weapons worthy of my ancestors. One by one, new weapons had come into my arsenal, but I had yet to find a proper armor. Thus, one day, I heard rumor of a terrifying beast which haunted the waters of the sea near an Indian coast, said to only emerge once a week to devour and destroy anything that was near it. I would have went to slay it as a test for myself, either way, and as a duty as a Pehliva, but... The curious part were the tales I’ve heard once I asked those who had fought the beast and escaped. They said the beast had been impervious to any weapon, and invulnerable to fire, or water. I dismissed them as cowards’ tales, as fear, as they say, has giant eyes.
Upon arriving at the coast, I went to sleep and waited for the monster. As it turned out, the monster was a dragon, and the stories had indeed been true. No matter what I attempted, my weapons could not hurt it. Even the Spear of Ind, which ignited whatever it struck, had been useless. Perhaps if I had Fereydun’s mace, I could overcome its protection – but what ifs are a coward’s way of thinking – I had been a mere fourteen years old, far from wise, yet. A true man merely presses forward, no matter what. We fought to a standstill, until I had finally remembered the incident with the elephant. My first weapon, after all, had not been the mace itself, but the strength I had been blessed with. After that, the fight had ended fairly quickly; I merely choked the life out of that oversized snake, crushing its neck until its agony stopped. The satisfying crunch of its bones had been enough to let me know of the success of my tactic.
That was how I acquired Babr-i Bayan, a coat of armor I had always donned before battles... it is also how the legend of my invulnerability started, as the coat possessed the same features it did on the dragon while it was alive, after I had skinned the beast. The only one to ever manage to get through this armor had been Esfandyar... Truly, a man who could match me, and perhaps, due to Sohrab’s demise, had been the only one worthy of becoming my successor as a Champion of Champions, and the Protector of Iran. But I stray from the topic.
My father next gave me instructions to rescue one Kayqubad from Mount Alborz, where Zal himself had grown up – apparently the dragon Asdeev had imprisoned that man there, and he had been prophecied to become the Shah of Iran, so we couldn’t have that, could we? It was a particularly unpleasant fight, the monster flew me up into the sky and offered to drop me into the mountains or into the sea. I told him I preferred the quicker death, and to drop me into the mountains. Because of how Asdeev’s mind’s worked, I knew it would do the opposite of what I wanted, even if it understood I was tricking him. He dropped me into the sea, I lived, naturally, as I was immune to water, and then proceeded to beat him to a bloody pulp until he retreated – I’ve not managed to actually kill him until many years later, with a bow. We remained bitter enemies until then, as that dragon had a very long memory.
After I set Kayqubad unto the throne of Iran, I had next headed to the Sepand Fortress, paying due to my ancestor, Nariman, who had died protecting it, and capturing it alone. I approached it cloaked, but it did little to mask my footsteps and height. The guards above didn’t raise an alarm; after all, it isn’t quite normal to expect what I did after that, merely kicking the massive steel gates down and entering the courtyard. I needn’t explain the slaughter that happened after, but it was quite disgusting, wiping myself off from all the blood after I had finished with the defenders. I learned not holding back was a bit problematic. Things tended to turn to goo and explode. By this time, I had been fifteen and counted as an adult, and of course, my great height, power, and weight, made things slightly difficult as the ground tended to crack wherever i went; the worst was when I sunk into stone to my knees when I jumped from a wall.
This was when I had received news that Afrasiyab, cursed be his name, decided to invade Iran, so I had to somehow make it across half the country and meet him in battle. Obviously, that wasn’t happening on foot, even with my giant strides and tirelessness, so I figured I needed a horse. The problem was, even after I lassoed a large herd, and tried out each in turn, I broke their backs as soon as I attempted to sit on them. Rather sad, such beautiful beasts, they were. As I neared the end of the herd, I prayed to Ormuzd to grant me a horse able to carry me to victory, and as soon as I had been done, I saw the leader of the herd; a giant white stallion. It had taken quite some time to tame him, but amazingly, he endured my weight. In honour of Ormuzd granting my prayer, and the horse’s color, I named him Rakhsh.
Needless to say, we trampled Afrasiyab into the dirt that spawned him.
Kayqubad was succeeded by his son, Kayka’us. An extremely poor decision on the old king’s part, I’d have sooner had the halfwit son of a crazy lumberjack’s daughter, conceived by Ormuzd knows what, take the throne. His first brilliant move involved being kidnapped and held in Hamavaran due to insisting to hold a diplomatic mission there. The next time I had to save his champion from inside an apparently well in Turan – I am not joking. He sent me out of my way to retrieve a subordinate that fell down a well. Its gets better; he let Mazandaran be captured by Div, and then lead the entire Persian army there, only to be defeated by the White Div, one Sephid, who had been the lieutenant of Angra Mainyu. The entire army died there, on the field, to one accursed demon sorcerer, all champions and their Shah blinded, and cursed, and lead to imprisonment and humiliation.
I swore a Haft Khan to retrieve the fool – still don’t know why – Iran was better off without him on the throne - and that’s how my grand quest began.
Ormuzd promised me to fulfill my request in rescuing Kayka’us and the champions, and overthrowing Sephid, but I was to pass seven trials, first. In the first, I had been attacked by a giant lion, which Rakhsh tore apart by himself before I could react, causing me great anger, as my only companion needlessly threatened himself, when he could have awakened me and I would have killed the beast.
The second trial was one of endurance and faith, where I had to get through an impassable desert. No food, no water, for days and days – I don’t think I’ve ever starved as long as I did back then. Then, I prayed to Ormuzd for assistance, and he sent to me a divine ram, which lead me to water.
The third trial continued the torment of the second, adding in trust; I was sleepless for a long time, trying to reach the end of the desert, when there loomed a forest in the distance, deprived from all life. I took shelter in it, and tried to sleep, when I was awakened by my faithful steed. Chastising it for waking me needlessly, I returned to sleep twice more, until at last, I was infuriated with Rakhsh to the point I swore I would roast him if he woke me needlessly again – the next time I had awakened however, I felt something stir nearby, and called to Ormuzd to illuminate me and everything around me, which he granted, and I saw a dragon, attempting to get away. After slaying the beast with some help from Rakhsh, I noticed I had been completely smeared in the beasts’ blood, which was poisonous, and revolting smelling – I bathed in a nearby spring, praying it would cleanse me. Sure enough, there was no harm done, and we continued our journey.
The fourth trial had been one of cleverness; By this time, I had been nearly collapsing from hunger, and I encountered an odd sight: a table, filled with food and drink, set out in the middle of the desert, and a small lyre. I played upon the lyre before giving thanks unto Ormuzd for the sudden feast, and was about to begin when a strange, beautiful woman, dressed in black, approached me and timidly asked if she could join. I bid her welcome, and placed a goblet of wine into her hands with a blessing. At this, she had reverted back into her true form: a monstrous div who sought to deceive me and kill me. An expert toss of the lasso disabled the monster, while a swing of my sword cleaved it in two. After eating everything that was upon the table, I continued my quest, finally reaching Mazandaran.
The fourth trial ended, the fifth had been relatively simple, being a contest of arms between me and Aulad, the champion of Mazandaran, who had been forced to act as such by the demons that conquered his country. He explained to me the country’s cave system, where the demons used to be sealed, and I descended into the caves, slaughtering many of the demonkind, until I came across their chief, Arzang. After killing him, I went back to the surface, to the city of Mazinderan. I’ll not mention the kind of horrors I came across in those cave, and the disgusting things the divs have habits and preferences to; I still believe that place could only be cleansed by fire.
The sixth was a trial of subterfuge, as I had to sneak past the human guards without killing them, and free my foolish Shah and his champions. However, they were still blind, thus not truly free. I decided enough had been enough, and thus, my seventh trial began.
It took everything I had to fight and prevail over Sephid, the king of the Div. The fight furious, and I had to use every weapon I possessed to prevail, finally slitting the monster’s throat with my dagger. He wouldn’t be still until I had decapitate him, of course, and even then, he refused to die: I burned the body, and fashioned the head into a helmet, so that forevermore, that monster which caused so much death, would stare forward, at the glory of Iran through my eyes, and ever once behold me, who slew him. Afterwards, I killed the fool of a sorcerer king who had let out the demons from the caves, and used Sephid’s blood to erase the curse placed upon Kayka’us and his champions., and we returned, triumphant, to Estaxr. That is to say, the Shah returned triumphant – I merely went to Zabul, having accomplished what I came to do.
Many years passed... Many kings I’ve raised to their thrones. I do not recall how old I had been when I met Tahmina, but I certainly remember how I awoke one day and Rakhsh was missing, and my fury at this. I remember how I tracked him until the gates of Samengan, and went directly to the king, promising that heads would roll if my steed was not found. The man was quite reasonable, and assured me that the thief would of course be found. He even staged a feast, anxious to soothe my anger, and after, when I was resting in my chamber, a veiled woman came to me. She was a proud girl, whom said that all of the current heroes and Shahs of Iran were not worthy of her hand, and that she had desired to be wed only to me. She had confessed she fell in love with me, and would not marry nor show her face to any other man.
I liked her. It took a certain kind of courage to make that sort of statement, and act so humbly when her lineage had been quite noble, and her status higher than mine. She promised me a son who would rule the world as his empire, and her kingdom as a start. She also added she found lead me to Rakhsh, and by her general body language, I realized with a smirk that I had found the thief. But what did I care for empires? Her sincerity, her voice, her naiveté... Those were so much more dear to me than those promises of power. All the power I ever needed, was right here, in my fists. I asked the king for his daughter’s hand, and he agreed with great joy, and there had been a banquet, and as promised, my steed was returned to me. However, I could not stay long with my beautiful wife, as I had once more been called by my father in order to assist him in defending Iran.
Before I departed, I gave her an onyx jewel, and told her to give it to my newborn son or daughter, and that if it would be a daughter, to wear it in her hair, and if a son, then on his arm. Cursed be the day I told her to do that...
Thirteen years passed... And I had once more hear news of an invasion force headed for Iran. At the time, I had been extremely cross with Kayka’us, and refused to answer the call to battle; but he sent people to beg me to come, and I could not resist their pleas. Cursed be that day! I did not know that it was my son who lead the Turanian scum to invade us, backed by Afrasiyab. I was simply visited by Kayka’us’ herald, Geew, who told me of a Turkish invasion force heading towards my beloved Iran, and headed by a hero named Sohrab. I was highly sceptical. That a hero would come out of that land? That was impossible. Besides, this is Afrasiyab’s forces, who I’ve personally humiliated years ago. Trash. Tahmina did send word I had a son, but he would be merely twelve by now. Certainly not a hero, and why would he challenge Iran? In my arrogance, I had forgotten how quick I myself had grown, and Tahmina’s words to me when she promised me the world during our first meeting.
As it turned out later, the boy was naive and his wish was the same as his mother’s: to place me as Shah of the known world, and himself as my right hand. He grew as quickly as me, and demanded his father’s name from his mother, and when she told him it had been me, he grew proud, and asked for a horse, so he could gather an army to unite the world under me. She gave him the onyx jewel to tie to his arm, but it had been hidden under his armor. That accursed scum, Afrasiyab, heard of my boy’s ambition, and greeted him in his palace and threw a feast for him, saying he will send his 12,000 under his command, and sent two generals with him to make sure that the boy would not learn of his father, and kill me without fail, then bind him in chains and bring him to him for execution. Humaan and Bahrman, these generals, told me that, and much more, after that battle....
The first skirmish had happened at the White Fortress, at Iran’s border, which was kept by old Gazhdahman and his warrior maiden daughter, as well as Hazhir, one of Iran’s champions. Sohrab defeated Hazhir in single combat and captured him, even defeating Gordafarid, but she slipped away from him, as he fell in love with her. That was how Kayka’us found out he was being invaded, and that was why Geew was sent to me, to Zabul. For three days, I had packed my things and feasted with Geew, as it is proper for a Pehliva to greet his guests. Upon arriving at the capital, that fool Shah was furious with me for being polite, and threatened first to split my head like an orange, then to hang me and Geew, and finally to send us both to gallows as ‘mercy’. While a giant invasion force he cannot hold off on his own is nearing his borders. Anger is such a weak word for what I felt:
"I am a free man and no slave, and am servant alone unto God; and without me, you, o Shah, are nothing. The world belongs to ME, and Rakhsh is my throne, and my sword is my seal, and my helmet my crown. If not for me, who saved Kayqubad, and raised him to the chair you now sit upon, your foul eyes would never look upon this throne. Had I wished it, I could have sat upon its seat. Now? I am tired of listening to your constant drivel, and your drving this country into the ground – first you waste the whole army on Mazandaran, and now THIS? Goodbye, foolish Shah. I wash my hands of this; let the Turks do as they like with you.”
I rode away from Estaxr.
Not all in the Shah’s court were as brainless as him, it seemed, as Gurdarz, the father of Geew, had immediately informed the Shah just what type of fool he had been, his voice joined by every other champion of Iran – clearly, some hadn’t forgotten what happened at Mazandaran. He as well as most of the nobility rode after me and begged me to return, explaining what kind of a man Kayka’us was – as if I didn’t know. I really didn’t wish to do so, but what did Iran do, for me to abandon it to the Turks? They went as far as to say people will talk that I grew afraid of this champion leading the Turks – that really decided it. Cross, I returned to the capital, only to have Kayka’us, sobered up by his court, also beg me for forgiveness, and granted me control of his armies.
The same day, I went to the front lines with the forces of Iran behind me. At night, I dressed as a Turanian, and snuck into the enemy camp to scout the forces, killing a guard that asked me for identification.
Come daybreak, I challenged the leader of the Turks to single combat, so as to not spill blood unnecessarily – he agreed, of course, and we fought, a short ways away from the battlefield. Before the battle, my boy asked for my name ... and I refused. I still do not know what div possessed me then, to not grant such a simple request. We fought for the whole day, but not a single weapon of his managed to harm me, nor could any of my attacks slay him, though I did wound him. It was the second time in my life when I wasn’t overpowering an opponent that still resembled a human – the first was when I fought Sephid. I was amazed by the sheer physical prowess of the enemy – and glad, at the same time, for a true man, a true warrior, lives for such challenges.
Seeing the stalemate, we took our armies, and clashed, but once more, nothing, and I called out to Sohrab again, challenging him. This time, we fought without weapons, wrestling with each other, until finally, Sohrab had nearly killed me,trying to pull out his dagger – I slipped away from him however, informing him that in Iranian culture, the battle was always best out of three. That was a lie, of course, but the naive child believed me – I was glad to have met such a good opponent and wished to prolong the struggle longer, so that I could fight with my full strength. After a short break, I offered a prayer to Ormuzd to return me my strength, which he helped me restrain earlier, and I returned to the fight.
We wrestled once more, knives out, and it did not take long for me to prevail, tossing my opponent, my son, upon the earth, and thrusting my dagger through his heart.
....
Forgive me, Master. It is... a difficult thing, to slay one’s own kin, and be unaffected by it. My son... He swore then, that Rostam, his father, would avenge his death. Confused, and suspecting the worst, I had asked the boy for proof. Wordlessly, he tore the sleeve of his jacket, baring the onyx jewel I gave Tahmina. As all became clear, I sent Gudarz to Kayka’us for a magical potion which he had no short supply of, to restore my child’s health, telling him that I would do anything he wished if he did so. But the Shah was afraid... He sat on his throne, trembling head to foot, as he pondered what would happen if Sohrab, a boy who withstood my, Rostam’s might, until I went completely all out, would join my side. In his delusions, he saw the pair of us, conquering the world as father and son, and ruling it instead of him. Spite ate away at his heart, as he remembered how I humiliated him recently, how I saved him every time, how I prevented him from foolish decisions... How people praised me, instead of him. And so... He did the worst he could: He delayed...
Until Sohrab died, in my arms.
After my boy perished, I went to Kayka’us myself. To this day, I do not know what I was going to do. I recall coming to while snarling, the entire court holding me down without much effectiveness, as Kayka’us crawled away, his eyes crazed, mumbling something. I was later told I did not so much as try to harm him, merely looked at him, and asking one question, ‘Why?’. After that... The Shah had went entirely insane, and we had to get a new one. Duty prevented me from taking his life, even if his life had been one as worthless as that of Kayka’us. He was still... My King.
Deprived of the opportunity, I nearly went insane myself, wishing to throw myself upon my sword, but my sword had refused to pierce my flesh. The other Champions had also tried their best to calm me, but I had not truly calmed until Zal, my father, had arrived, and had a tomb made for Sohrab. My grief had been reduced to one of a quiet, grim types, just as his was, though my mother and Tahmina had been much more vocal – my poor wife hadn’t outlived her son by long – she died one year after him, unable to bear being parted from him.
The Turanians retreated – but of course... I was having none of that. Though Gudarz had ordered the Iranians to retreat back, I did not.
I invaded Turan, alone, massacred all of their precious 12,000, humiliated Afrasiyab, and for seven years, ruled over the Turks as a tyrant. I will not attempt to call it anything else but that, showing Afrasiyab and all of them what one man could do, and paying them back for what they took from me – and the rest of us. After I had decimated them enough, I left for Zabul, from which I was once more called by Gudarz, who assisted our insane Shah to rule. He seemed to have enough sanity now to grieve over his sins – he told me that Ormuzd had sent him a dream, that he would die soon, and to repent for his sins. He apologized for all the pain he had cause me, and entrusted me with raising his own son, Siyavosh. I don’t know if he intended the boy to be a replacement for Sohrab of some sort, or if he just knew I could raise him to be a better man than he could, but I accepted anyway.
The boy grew up to be a much wiser man than his father, at least, and upheld his honor as a hero even when accused of rape which he didn’t commit, and had to make several hard decisions, even marrying into the Turanian family and defecting to them, betraying his father, as he saw it. I knew better. Turanians and Iran had once been one land, one people. Though Sivayosh’s attempt was in vain, I lived to see his son, Kaykhusrau, succeed where his father did not, and eliminate the ancient boundary, unifying the two warring nations again. The aftermath had been terrible, of course, and many died, including my foster son, but I know he’d be happy if he knew his actions led to this, even if he was branded traitor by his failure of a father, who had lost his farr, and soon perished. It was Sivayosh who finally killed Afrasiyab, even after he married his daughter, and decimated his court, by the way – my thanks goes out to him for this service.
Much later, when Gushtasp had been raised to the throne, and... he had been about as smart as Kayka’us. His bright idea was to send me away from my now usual position as general of Iran, and appoint his son Esfandyar, because he had been imprisoned (by Gushtasp, no less), while the new general before him and all of Esfandyar’s brothers were captured or killed. But... That wasn’t my job anymore. I lived as a hermit. They did not concern me, as the Shah willed me to not help. Many things happened. I watched the young Esfandyar’s life unfold, his progress to becoming a true hero... It was interesting, and somewhat pleasing, to see another walk a similar path I did. Never did I imagine that I would one day have to fight him to the death... Perhaps it was naive of me. There can always only be one Champion of Champions, and sooner or later, I would need to pass the title on.
One day, I felt a burst of something that felt like anger from somewhere, and saw a boulder randomly falling at me from the sky. I was eating at the time, so I let it get close, and punted it aside. Shortly after, a very disappointed looking young man came into my camp and introduced himself as Bahman. He said that he was sent by his father, Esfendyar, and that Gushtasp told his father to bring me before him in chains. I laughed at the ridiculous idea, treated the youth at my campfire, and told him to tell his father to give up that idea, as it was foolishness, but there was no reason we couldn’t talk. Esfandyar later invited me to his camp, where we feasted and talked, but I could not persuade him to give up on his father’s orders. I felt like he knew that it was foolishness, himself, but his duty to his father was too strong. I attempted to invite him to Zabul, where I could greet him as a guest, but he refused, due to the nature of his mission – that was why we feasted in his camp. Many hurtful words were said – he insulted my ancestors, but I believe I took it rather calmly, all things considered.
But the boy was rash, and arrogant. All of my requests fell on deaf ears – I suggested we try and talk sense into his father, but he would not listen. Lifting my hand against a Kaianide... I did not wish to do it, but no matter how many times I asked, he did not listen to reason, the Divs clouding his thoughts. Thus, we arranged then to settle it by a trial of combat, as the boy threatened to bring me in by force. I... Was prepared to die. Going in chains before that fool of a Shah was out of the question, but falling in combat and passing the mantle to another, who reminded me so much of myself – that was another thing altogether. Plus, if Esfandyar would triumph over me, surely he would be made Shah, and the land would prosper.
If it was merely the fact that my country needed me to lose my life, then I would gladly die, passing on the mantle to the younger generation. I was but an old man who had already buried his son and wife... What did I have to live for, apart from my country, whose Shah had rejected my services? A meaningless existence... But then he tried to take the last thing I had from me; my dignity to die as Rostam, the Pehliva. He wished to see me in chains. He, whose ancestors I had raised to the throne, whose castles I had protected since his great-great-grandfather’s time! How DARE he? My path of valor... It would end there, that day, on the bloodstained banks of the nameless river.
Morning came to me with these thoughts.
I rode out to the side of the river his camp was on, and once more asked him if he would listen to reason, but he merely told me to stop wasting his time, as I had come armed, and clearly prepared to fight, not talk.
And... we fought.
The whole day passed in bitter combat – I’ve never fought this way. The boy was an equal to me, despite not possessing my amount of strength. Every weapon I tried, he matched equally. Our armor, our helmets... They were useless, soon dented. We resorted to arrows, and while I could not put a scratch on him, for the first time in my life, I bled from his. Rakhsh had been dying already, from over sixty arrows stuck in his body; I had been peppered in them as well, and wasn’t too far from death’s door either. My opponent ceased combat, and asked if I would surrender – the day was almost over. I refused, and told him at first light tomorrow, we would resume this fight.
That was the third and final time my father called to his foster mother, the Simurgh.
As soon as he saw me and Rakhsh, he burned the feather, and Ormuzd’s divine messenger came at once. She healed me and my steed, and advised me how to defeat Esfandyar – apparently, he had been blessed with an invulnerable body similar to mine as a reward for some deed of his. She gave me a single feather, and indicated a branch on a gaz tree that I should fashion into an arrow which, if shot into Esfandyar’s eyes, his one weak spot, would surely kill him. Giving me a blessing, and warning me to try and resolve the manner peacefully, she departed.
When morning came, I rode out to his camp once more, and called out to him, as he had been sleeping, apparently convinced I died, as I was grievously wounded and then proceeded to swim across the river like that yesterday. He informed me he thought it was my father the sorceror’s work – that rumor got old about 500 years ago, but what can you do – we fought once more, and once more, I warned him, that we should try and resolve this peacefully, that I didn’t want his blood on my hands. But he refused me, saying I was wasting time. So, I had shot him. The arrow was perfect, just as the Simurgh predicted, and hit him squarely in the eyes. It was almost as if in slow motion that I saw him collapse backwards, and slide off his horse, through a sort of fog that I saw his son and brother running to Esfandyar, and their screams were coming into my ears as if dulled by something... a fresh reminder of my own grief when I killed Sohrab. I dismounted and kneeled next to Esfandyar. My movements, in that time, felt like they lost their power and grace. I felt... clumsy. Intruding upon other’s grief. But I had to know. And so did he.
He spoke.
"My life is coming to an end. Grant me these three favors before I stand before our God. Know how much I honor you, for it is not you who has slain me, but Gushtasp, my father. The curse of the prophet shall fall upon his head for this crime, you were just the instrument of fate. But listen now, for I have little left to say: Take charge of my son, Bahman, raise him in your own land. Teach him the arts of war and the policies of court. And when he is ready, place him upon Gushtasp...MY throne, and serve as his adviser so that he might not go astray."
I swore. Whatever I could do... I would do it. I heard him utter the curse which would haunt Gushtasp until the end of his days. The prophecy was fulfilled... I, Rostam, had slain Esfandyar. He sent all others away, and only asked me to remain. Truly, the man’s endurance had been one which honoured him – all that pain, endured with not a single wince or shudder.
"You have slain me by the arts of magic." He said, without anger.
"It is true, for you would not listen to my voice, and I could not bend my spirit unto chains."
"I am not angry with you; you have done what you could not choose, for it was written in the stars, and surely that which is written in the stars is accomplished."
"God is my witness... I strove to turn you from your resolve."
"Yes. I know."
And then the invincible Esfandyar, son of Gushtasp, the only one who I will ever call my equal, smiled... and died. The curse had indeed passed unto Gushtasp, who finally realized what he cause only once his son had perished. Ahh... The curse of the fathers and sons, to only understand each other when death parts them. I took Bahman and educated him as best I could but the boy had an intense hatred for me which... Was understandable. He had not heard his father’s last words, nor do I think he would have obeyed him even if he did. But what that boy would grow into... that is a story unto itself. My story? It ends with my stepbrother, Shughad.
I should say this; my father, Zal, was once given a vision that Shughad, his son, would once deal a terrible blow to the house of Neriman, and so, to prevent this, he prayed, and he raised the boy in as much loving care as he could, then sending him away to Kabul, where Shughad married both daughters of the local Shah. Ahh... Such a petty conflict it was, that cause me to lose my life. The Shah was a greedy man, and he thought that because Shughad was a stepbrother to me, he should not pay me tribute. Thus... they set a trap. One feast, the Shah insulted Shughad, and Shughad left the court, and came crying to me. I was insulted that some Shah dared insult the line of Neriman, so I gathered the army, but Shughad convinced me that going alone would be enough; that the appearance of the hero, Rostam, would cause his drunken Shah that he made a mistake.
I agreed.
The Shah apologized over and over, saying how the alcohol got to him, and to make up for it, organized a hunt and a feast in our honor. Shughad led me and my brother, Zavareh, along the best path for deerhunting - or so he claimed. It was a hunt, why would I put on my invincible armor? Suddenly, Rakhsh bucked, and refused to move. I urged him onward anyway, o, clever beast, if only you could talk... A sudden feeling of weightlessness, and then I knew pain. Tens of swords, spears, and lances impaled my body all over, oozing with poison. This was not a pitfall trap one sets for any sort of prey, unless, indeed, you hunt the most dangerous game: a human.
I heard a scream nearby, and knew that Zavareh had also fell into a similar device.
The joyous face of Shughad peeked over the edge of the pit, where Rakhsh and I lay, dying, and it was clear to me who had done this.
“Your work, Brother?”
“You made many die by the sword. Only fair that you yourself meet a similar end.” I couldn’t argue with that logic, but the gall of the man to claim this was a ‘death by the sword’... He needed punishment. At that moment, the Shah of Kabul also stopped to glance into the pit, a similar smirk upon his face, and offered me the services of his physicians, trying to humiliate me further.
“O hero of renown, what happened to you? I will send forth my physicians, so they could heal you."
"O man of wile, the time of physicians is over, and there is none that can heal me, except Death, that comes to all men in their Turn." I could not lift my hand against him, even if I knew that he was my killer. But Shughad... I was already a kinslayer. At least this once... the burden of that brand would be made useful. “Shughad.” I overcame my pain and smiled at my killer. “Grant me my final request: Give me my bow, and two arrows. I don’t wish to become food for the lions.” My brother was a sceptical greedy coward, but he knew the curse that would befall him if he refused another’s Final Request. He tossed the objects into the pit carelessly, seeking to humiliate me, but when he saw me catch them easily, he ran, hiding behind a tree – it was so easy, really, to see him, even with my vision darkening. All pain had faded, my strength was renewed, as Ormuzd granted me my final request.
For the first time since I met Rakhsh, I left my steed behind – he had already passed on. I pulled myself out of the pit, pulling the spears, swords, and lances that pierced my body with me. I could hear the whimpering of the Shah of Kabul, crawling backwards very quickly, as if he was a crab, and the chattering of Shughad’s teeth. I readied the arrow, and let it fly, piercing through the tree, and Shughad’s evil heart. Having completed my vengeance, I dropped the bow and remaining arrow, raised my arms, and smiled, looking at the Sun. The day was just beginning, but I would not live to see the dawn. In a way, it was mercy, for me to pass at this time, when the new day, new life, was being born, and all things awakened.
“I thank you, Ormuzd, the Merciful, whom all my days I have sought to serve, that He had granted me to avenge myself upon this wretch while the life is yet in me.”
And then... I died, still standing with my head held high.
My duty... was done. [/size][/blockquote]
