//Just moving this from my old account He stood on the peak of a dune in the red sands. His black boots sank into the surface layer of the scorching grains, the sun casting a red glow of the shined tops of the uncovered parts of his boots. He looked out into the distance, his purple eye seeming to glisten with multiples of colors in the light of the red sun. His hair, a mess from his long travels, covered his left eye with its black mess. Despite the raging winds of the flame desert, accompanied by its unholy heat, he remained in his black robes, flowing down to his lower calves, touching the start of his boots. Under his cloak he wore what was at one time a very fine black, pinned stripped vest, but time and travel had worn its thread. His pants and also seen better days, wholes in the fabric revealing scars on his tanned legs. Around his neck he wore a pendant, a simple circular holster for the carved gem that was set in it, its deep purple color seeming to absorb all the light around it. His right hand raised to his eyebrows as he looked off to the west. The towering dunes that scattered the desert gave all who do not know them harsh travels. The distant sound of a distinct warhorn could be heard echoing across the sands. He looked further into the distance, a small silhouette slowly growing. The horn blew again. He returned his hands to his pockets, he no longer needed to see what was coming across the horizon, the call of the horn gave it away. As the silhouette grew into vision, so did the call to war, echoing louder and louder, bouncing off the dunes. The sounds of clanking, old-fashioned armor became audible as did the sound of approaching horses. They sent a whole platoon after me? The man thought, worried that the Nations to the west my have finally learned of what he carried around. He soon worried that his confiding in his friend in the Nation of Lightening may have been a mistake. Tossing aside worries of treachery for the time being, he refocused on the issue at hand, the quickly oncoming platoon of soldiers. Being attacked in mass was nothing new to him, but it was unusual for any nation in these times to formally dispatch a platoon; most soldiers had been sent on the Great Quest. He wondered which would be worse, them actually coming directly for them, or them being tipped of that an artifact lay in the depths of the sands. After pausing a moment to ponder the severity of either situation, he again threw it aside as an unnecessary thought until after the pressing issue of approaching soldiers was dealt with. He locked his fingers together and stretched his arms into the desert sky, extending his whole body into a muscle relieving stretch. It had been some time since he had actually had to fight in large numbers, a mugger every once in a while was not the same as the men who were coming. After stretching his body he sat down at the top of the dune and crossed his legs. He then pressed the palms of his worn hands together in front of him and closed his eyes. Hopefully, he thought, this wouldnt require any serious display of strength of resources. He thought of the scythe, the scythe. One of the Grand Artifacts being sought by the nations, the one whos quest to find lead his entire homeland to fall into a great abyss. Hopefully, he thought, he wouldnt even need to use the scythe. Hopefully, he thought, they didnt even know it still existed. He sounds of the oncoming soldiers grew ever louder through the echos of the dunes. He was ready.
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 02:40:54 +0000
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