The disturbing sound of twin swords clanging to the ground, the soft patter of leaking blood, and the twinge of an aching heart brought back to reality a man long thought a myth. He was once a warrior, revenge and obsession driven to find a way to put a stop to a man who he had deemed a rampant tyrant. Long he had been on this path, ever since their first interaction. He had matched through futuristic wilderness, overgrown with metallic and silicone vine-like wires. He has slept in ancient fields where magic trumped man-made arms, and mythical beasts were plentiful and obliviously dangerous. At every turn he has failed at his goal, he had been within reach, an inch at the most - and still had not managed to gain the power to reach beyond that woeful barrier.
How he longed to end that man.
How the night seemed to laugh, as though his reach and rules and deals brokered controlled their very twinkle. The sun seemed to glare harder with each step, as though the untouchable had placed a magnifying glass between it and him. Each failure mounted up until he walked over mountains and oceans of each. It had started easily enough, a failure was a failure, and he could move past it. Each taught him something about the man, or something about himself. But now, each failure was another weight that brought with it another step away from who he was.
Who was he now?
No longer the warrior who danced elegantly with swords names after children, his own flesh and blood. He was not the man who had competed in the first tournament of many, a simple human against fantastical creatures of lore and destruction.
No.
Life had failed him, he had failed himself, and now he was something different than when he started.
His last bout had not been a pretty one. He had slaughtered the man, and his child, in cold blood with many swings of his left handed weapon. He had not flinched when the small child took up arms against him in defense of his slain father. Instead he bathed in his blood as well.
As noted sounds and pains bought him back to his reality, and baleful eyes cast themselves upon the open field. It was mostly empty, except for a lone tree and long grass. The latter swept across his pants, brushing against him in the light breeze. With each inhale and exhale he could almost taste the Chi that had been expelled here. Battles won and lost.
A flicker of life danced through his eyes, as they flicked downward and he saw the crossed weapons lay on the ground. Almost a second later they were back in his hands, his body part registering what had become an extension of his limbs. He did not return his weapons to their sheathes. Every fiber in his being told him there would be no need for that.
Have you had you fun, Liaison? The Warrior, Dessembrae, your hunter has fallen.
(My posts will come sporadically, due to two jobs, moving and being confined to a phone. Whomever posts first shall be my opponent. Nothing is at stake. General T1 rules. )
How he longed to end that man.
How the night seemed to laugh, as though his reach and rules and deals brokered controlled their very twinkle. The sun seemed to glare harder with each step, as though the untouchable had placed a magnifying glass between it and him. Each failure mounted up until he walked over mountains and oceans of each. It had started easily enough, a failure was a failure, and he could move past it. Each taught him something about the man, or something about himself. But now, each failure was another weight that brought with it another step away from who he was.
Who was he now?
No longer the warrior who danced elegantly with swords names after children, his own flesh and blood. He was not the man who had competed in the first tournament of many, a simple human against fantastical creatures of lore and destruction.
No.
Life had failed him, he had failed himself, and now he was something different than when he started.
His last bout had not been a pretty one. He had slaughtered the man, and his child, in cold blood with many swings of his left handed weapon. He had not flinched when the small child took up arms against him in defense of his slain father. Instead he bathed in his blood as well.
As noted sounds and pains bought him back to his reality, and baleful eyes cast themselves upon the open field. It was mostly empty, except for a lone tree and long grass. The latter swept across his pants, brushing against him in the light breeze. With each inhale and exhale he could almost taste the Chi that had been expelled here. Battles won and lost.
A flicker of life danced through his eyes, as they flicked downward and he saw the crossed weapons lay on the ground. Almost a second later they were back in his hands, his body part registering what had become an extension of his limbs. He did not return his weapons to their sheathes. Every fiber in his being told him there would be no need for that.
Have you had you fun, Liaison? The Warrior, Dessembrae, your hunter has fallen.
(My posts will come sporadically, due to two jobs, moving and being confined to a phone. Whomever posts first shall be my opponent. Nothing is at stake. General T1 rules. )
