 |
| Main Menu |
|
|
|
|
| Navigation |
|
|
|
|
| Login |
|
|
|
|
| RTQ News |
|
|
|
| Player Stories |
|
|
|
| Player Art |
|
|
|
| Logged in Website |
|
There are 4 registered users online.
You are an anonymous user. You can register for free by clicking here
|
|
| Author |
Message |
|
|
Post subject: A Passing of the Torch
 Posted: Mar 22, 2012 - 08:40 PM
|
|
Royalty
Joined: Jan 12, 2007
Posts: 1163
Location: Flight 518, LOST
Status: Offline
|
|
The old man strode across the court, a slow but purposed walk. Images of better times danced across his eyes, the remnants of a strength buried deep within elder, tired bones.
How had it come to this? He paused mid step, his foot landing awkwardly on the ground, unsure of itself. He clutched a small parchment in his hand tightly, and brought it to his chest. His eyes scanned the courtyard, landed on a bench, and he began to meander towards it.
Having a seat he stuck a tired chin towards the sky as the intensity of the light temporarily blinded him. He had once lived for that sun. Lived for that breeze. The days when wind would sing him to sleep, when crashing waves would sing a lullaby.
How HAD it come to this?, he asked again. He let out a heavy sigh. I suppose when the old become to frail to continue, the aged to slow to take up sword, the younger must take your place. The younger must take up the mantle.
But how had it come to THIS? He couldn't help but feeling the broken, heavy feeling of his chest as he clutched the parchment to it. These younger men and women that walked by - they didn't know. For a second, faces flashed before his eyes. His mouth struck in horror as faces of those he had loved and served with. Those lost. Then the horror turned to anger. Anger at the... No. Besides, what good is anger to an old defenseless man anyway?
Wearly, he pushed himself to his feet and took the last few steps towards the chest. Wearily, but respectfully, his old tired knee hit the ground in homage to those he was doing this too. Reaching out, he felt the lock pop open at his frail clasp, a well made Mirthian lock, to be sure.
The chest opened with a creak, laboriously bending to his will. His old hand reached out and gently placed the parchment inside. His hand straightened it.
A great tear burst from his eye, and made a lonely trek down the contours of his face. He heaved, the dryest of heaves, giving one last look to the parchment.
"My love." A raspy voice came out, startling the man by how frail it sounded. "I have failed you."
With that, he pushed himself to his feet, pulling every shred of dignity together that he could find, and resigned himself to the slow walk back to Marali.
Dead man walking. |
_________________
Valerquez
Valerquez Promo
The Tragedy
|
| |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
FAQ
Search
Register
Log in to check your private messages
Log in
