Post by garland on May 13, 2018 18:37:45 GMT -5
A thousand keys.
A thousand lives.
A thousand hearts.
Roughly was the estimate of the number of makeshift testaments that remained buried within these sands. Each of them erected to the violet and amber sky, now as lifeless and still as the masters that had once called them their own. Fallen blades of fallen warriors, all whom could have called each other comrade upon a day long passed. These crossroads of fate’s cruelty, spanned onward for as far as observing eyes could see. The continued protest of the tearing earth would groan, as a weapon far from abandonment tilled a path behind its still breathing wielder. The metallic echo of the man’s breath behind the ornate helm, was the only thing to escape, as the armored juggernaut would come to a cease where the four paths met. There was little doubt within Garland’s mind, that he now walked upon a new world.
A scarred and defeated world.
His heart would know pleasure from every horizon he gazed upon, for the remnants of this world’s ultimate discord were everywhere to be found. Now it rested within the emptiest, grim shade that harmony could offer. How inviting it was, this eternal truth of war; an inevitable destination for all who walked the path of conflict. It was one he had witnessed time and time again, if only temporary, for every repetition endured at the hands of those fateful four. In a certain light Garland pitied the fallen that had once littered this desert, whom never knew a seeming endless cycle of combat’s grim pleasure. They knew not a return to glory, they felt not the thrill of crossing blades with another any longer. Only shameful defeat graced these pitiful souls.
The tip of Rebellion’s great form was thrust into the sand, mirroring the graves that dominated the sands about it. Plateaus had long been erected to the south, with a single spire-like rise had been given form not far from their reach. Upon further examination of the key-filled sea of golden sand, there existed scars in the earth, prominent only to the eye upon the wind’s ever-shifting change. Traces of more than one battle upon these soils, yet Garland only saw it as a single, great feud spanning many years. In some ways his theory behind this conflict held truth, yet there was certainly more to this world than what the mere surface would reveal. He had never been much of a reader in the past he had shed long ago, yet even Garland knew to never judge a book by its cover. There was little doubt in his mind this world held great significance, yet to whom for whatever purpose, he knew not.
Truth as with harmony and discord, would always come with time.
The former stalwart stilled his thoughts as he kept his eyes upon the horizon, as though expecting something of significance to reveal itself. Then it was that a glint of light would appear in the distance, one that would seem to stir Garland’s very soul at the sight of it. He could feel misty blue widen a fraction behind the ironclad face. The heart that burned with the fire of chaos, would quicken its steps behind the armor. The grip upon the hilt of the sword remained ever firm, as the lavender cape would billow in the wind to his flank. It was then finally, did the ever prominent silence finally shatter, as Garland’s deep voice would emerge, to speak the words he had been longing for what felt over two thousand years.
”The hour has come at last.”
Zest, Warrior of Light