Nevitash Tarmikos Amir
The last of his kind, and still seeking revenge, the man will bring his people back from extinction.
King of the Island of the Amir.
The boy sat silently, riveted by the story his sister was telling him. No matter how many times he heard them the child could never get tired of hearing the exploits of the Rose King. He knew that the Rose King was just an imaginary person invented to keep him on the path to a good life, but it was still his dream to become the Rose King one day—the new Rose King was decided by a blue rose growing on one’s doorstep on the day of the old king’s death.
Every night the boy dreamt of being the blue roses and kingdoms, and every day he practiced using his scythe and longbow—the chosen weapons of the Rose King—so he could protect his future kingdom, and studied history and politics to be as wise and intelligent as possible to be a good ruler. As his tenth birthday came closer and closer, a new thought sprouted in his young mind; What would he name himself? It was the custom of his village that a child choose his own name on his tenth birthday. His adopted mother, a woman who insisted she be called “Mama G” was reminding him daily that he should choose a good, strong name. One that would bring him pride.
The night before his birthday, the boy woke to the sounds of screaming and the light of fires. He rushed downstairs just in time to see bandits kill his sister and Mama G. As their blood hit the floor, he grabbed his scythe from the wall and rushed towards the bandits. He beheaded the first before any of them knew what happened, and cut a second through the stomach, leaving him bleeding on the ground to die. The last two bandits struck out at the boy, and one knife caught him across his left eye. He swung his scythe around and cut the mans legs off at the knee’s, while the last turned and ran for his life. The boy took his bow from beside the door and shot the escaping man through the heart.
The boy sat in blood for three days, holding onto his dead sister and adopted mother, singing of the Rose King, Nevitash, and praying to Grenth to care for his departed family. He promised the if Grenth would let him live, he would serve him for the rest of eternity. On the fourth day, a group of traveling merchants came across the village and found the boy. One of the older men took him gently from his home, and asked his name. As the boy looked to the ground, he saw a rose that, bloodstained and in the light of the moon, looked the darkest and saddest blue he’d ever seen.
“Nevitash,” he whispered. For the next fifteen years he studied and practiced, and prayed to Grenth daily.