The Hood

The Stallion’s Right Hand

Written by J. L. Gryphon

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Click Here for Audio Version

Ambient sounds courtesy of tosha73 and EminYILDIRIM

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Greetings to those below. I am Death, though Azrael is the name I go by. So, too, does the Hood go by his moniker. No one knows his true name. Well, I do, but I won’t tell. After all, how can I ask to be called Azrael if I don’t also respect what someone else wishes to be called? That, and it would spoil the Hood’s well-tailored and intentioned mystique.

With that in mind, I’ll share with you what I will about the Hood. But if you really want a glimpse of who he is beneath all that, you’ll have to ask him yourself. This is because I said last time I didn’t envy his position. I still don’t. But it’s different than Raniero’s publicity problem. The Hood’s problem is personal, private, and . . . definitely outside the norm.

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An Old Memory

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by David Mark from Pixabay

You see, the thing about the Hood is, he’s old. Not old for a Sithuwaye, mind you. In fact, he’s quite young in that respect, especially considering his immortality. Being two centuries old seems like nothing in the face of that. But indeed, the Hood is old thanks to the way of the world. More specifically, thanks to the Battle of the Royals Dead.
In that battle, the island of Rhye was ravaged. Everyone over the age of fifteen throughout the entire kingdom of Rhyastil was killed. Slaughtered. I was there. And I can tell you it was one of the most . . . thorough . . . battles in history. But when you douse a fire, there’s always those few cinders you miss. The Hood, then, if it’s not too poetic to say, is one of the last flickering embers of a world stomped out and erased. He’s old because he lived. Because he didn’t die when he was supposed to.
I won’t tell you how the Hood escaped. Once again, it would spoil his mystique, and it’s my opinion that there’s nothing worse than spoiling a mystery that deserves to stay one until the opportune moment. But I will tell you it has something to do with the hood he’s named for.
I will also tell you that the Hood’s age is why Chabaal was fascinated by him. Dare I say obsessed? Here was a living, breathing echo of everything the Fisherman hoped to restore. Chabaal called him a remnant, but . . . hmm. I won’t. The word “remnant” is . . . well, let’s just say you need to be a bit higher on the ladder for me to call you that. Hmph. There’s a lot of words Chabaal used—old words—that bore a historical weight he could never understand. Then again, not even silver-tongued Feyaga understood the true depth of “remnant.” But I digress.

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A Creeping Sickness

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by AnnaliseArt from Pixabay

Where were we? Ah, the Hood. Yes, I said I did not envy his position. This is for many reasons, the last of which I’ll get to in a moment, but this is a significant one, as well. The Hood, I regret to say, is sick. And I don’t think he’s getting better. He puts on a good face about it, of course, but the fact of the matter is, he’s a Sithuwaye. And because he’s a Sithuwaye elf, there are certain things he needs that he can never escape.
I have spoken about araya liseté in the past, but in brief, I’ll remind you an araya liseté—or, living gem—is a symbol of love, belonging, and connection. A Sithuwaye needs to feel these things just as much as they need water. Otherwise, their immortality, the white sithu fire that burns in their blood, will start to fade. They will die. With this in mind, you might call an araya liseté a medical necessity. Because as time marches ever on bringing change and . . . me . . . at least that immortal Sithuwaye has that symbol to remind them. To keep them going. To tell them they’re not alone. Herein lies the tragedy of the Hood.
You see, the Hood doesn’t have an araya liseté. He never had one.
Traditionally a Sithuwaye receives their araya liseté from family members or other loved ones when they turn seven. The Hood didn’t. In fact, there were no loved ones around at all who might have thought to. I honestly can’t imagine what that would do to any child, let alone a Sithuwaye child. It gets worse when you realize that even Chabaal the Fisherman—murderous, raging, and lost as he was—he had an araya liseté. Even Chabaal had someone who loved him enough to give him one on his seventh birthday. But not the Hood.
I think it’s why the Hood is as attached as he is to the Fisherhook Gang. Why he never left no matter how vicious Chabaal became. Because at least the Fisherhook Gang could represent the semblance of a family. I think, in many ways, the Fisherhook Gang is the Hood’s araya liseté. A broken, desperate, patched up version of one.
But like I said, the Hood is sick. He’s been sick his entire life. And I don’t think he’s getting better.

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Scaled Hopes

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by 13smok from Pixabay

Of course, it hardly helps he . . . ah. I suppose this brings me to my last reason I spoke of. I won’t go into it deeply, if only because it’s really not any of my business. Well, I suppose nothing I talk about in these entries is my business technically . . .
Hmm.
B-But regardless, this in particular, it’s . . . it’s just a little private. The ways of the heart so often are.
The Hood, for all his longing for connection, did find it. Once. This was before the Fisherhook Gang existed, before Chabaal was even born, before the Battle of the Royals Dead. The Hood found love, and he was happy. For that brief moment in time, I think he truly felt . . . whole.
But then she left. She left him. She’s always been flighty like that, I suppose. Considering what she is, too, I’m not surprised, but for the Hood, I hope you can see why it left him hollow. His one point of connection, belonging, and stability gone. So he eventually joined with Chabaal and the Fisherhooks, and the rest is history. He still hopes she’ll come back one day, I think. And in some ways she has, I suppose. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Hmm? What was she? Oh yes, I did say “considering what she was,” didn’t I? Well, to fully understand that, I’ll remind you that in the world of Orosta, dragons are not animals. Their claws, scales, tails, and teeth aside, they are considered to be a fellow people just like the humans, the jeenta, the undine, and so on. Because since when was personhood defined by two legs instead of four?
So . . . yes. She was a dragon.
And there come the questions bubbling up, hm-hmm. But I will answer you the same way the Hood answered Silas McGain when he asked:
“Use your imagination.”

Signed your intrigued narrator,
Azrael the Star of Death

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Book Information

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Image by J. L. Gryphon via Artbreeder

Alignment

Neutral Good

Species

Elf

Conditions

• Morsé d’keyae

Ethnicity

Sithuwaye

Other Ethnicities/Cultures

• Rhyonian

Honorary & Occupational Titles

• The Hood

Date of Birth

The Month of Joffell, Day 12, 14798 NS

Year of Birth

14798 203 Years old

Birthplace

Unknown

Current Residence

Unknown

Gender

Male

Eyes

Hazel

Hair

Shaved

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Dark brown

Belief/Deity

The Children of Le Sair

Aligned Organization

The Fisherhook Gang

Related Myths

• The Black Unicorn

Known Languages

• Sithuli (1st - fluent)
• Orostian (2nd - fluent)
• Lingua (3rd - fluent)
• Zishlyn (4th - fluent)