In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

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In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

Post by minstrelofmyths on Sun Jan 25, 2015 5:43 am

Breath... it comes easily for the living. Yes, at times it is a struggle, but eventually it comes not of conscious thought, but reflex. A need to, a desire to, a passion that drives us against resistance to take a breath eventually. It eventually comes again, or the living die.

The first memories I have are of my mother's face. Not the subtle soft beauty, but the scar the back side of my father's bow had made in it's stead. Her tresses were like spun spider silk, the shades of blue of her skin were of lake ice, and her eyes cloud covered grey softness in tone, and the strength of will to her hands. That scar that my hand stroked over countless times that would never fade was in my mind that day. A crevice, a sign to me no matter what gouge this war caused on my frame it was to erase that scar, all scars, to bring back peace. Not only for her to prosper, my father, and what was left of my siblings, our people, our tribe, our empire.

There was great debates amongst us, great divides. As with all nations, might had made right, and corruption was an infestation that went all the way to the highest sources, tainting all sense of trust. There was political intrigue, there was power hungry individuals, greed. So as our warriors, headhunters, bled out into the snows they the ones in power were profiting. Our fight was fruitless, pointless and we all were very young, foolhardy, and blinded by the propaganda. Betrayal... Betrayal on all sides. Homes were divided, we argued more amongst ourselves then with those in Gun'drak proper making laws to suit their own instant gratifications and greed filled desires. Costs were soaring, not only in the numbers, but in gold. No one could afford enough wheat to make bread. Our crops in Drak'sorta began failing, when the blights and plagues began. Even the game fled the area, that we fed our family's with. Farther and farther the males had to go to hunt. The rich surrounded by the idols donned in gold, growing in their wealth at our expense. In the capital they only gave the youths of our generation one option to provide for our families, to fight the oncoming dark.

I was seven seasons old when I first left home to train, only to come back periodically during my education. In my mind at that time I would do them proud, I already knew my stances, watching my older brother's, learning from my father how to survive as a head hunter. I was more apt with a sword, and my brother at my side his specialty was axes. As I grew so did my aptitude, and so did my abilities to defend what was ours. We were in a place of high rank because of my father's status and because of other high ranking influences. We had everything, the best armor, weapons, food, women, but we were not completely blind to the suffering around us. We trained, we raided, we were rewarded in praise and more, for most of our lives. Arrogant, brutal, strong, vibrant in our lives. It was something to behold, yet each time I returned home my mother's voice told me I was farther from her then I had ever been. My brother's and my mind became militant, and the political intrigue our people carried was not ours. We could not see things as my father did, he seemed ruled in fear. We feared nothing, our solutions were simple, and no longer held the compass of the heart of those at home had. Tales of honor, tales of glory, our voices sang out in triumph as we defeated foe after foe. Only blinded by the fact winning battles did not win wars. However, we were soon upon the battle fields covered in our own people's blood before we could blink. Within our leadership there was betrayal, behind their spoken fealty our loyal guardians were selling out their own. Our enemies multiplied, as our numbers dwindled. Our battle cries were cut short too soon...

Zor'din and I were eventually sent one of our younger brother's to look after... A strange one, too imaginative, too confident and cocky for his own good. As we all were... as we all were once. Since he was to be in our unit, we gave him all kind of hell, worse then we would with any new inductee. He did well, too young, but they were coming into the ranks younger and younger, rushed through their training. As it was getting worse, the losses were becoming too heavy. We had our laughter, we had our stories, we had a past that was given to us that we continued onward with retelling it to him. We were seasoned by this time, nineteen or twenty winters, and having the scars and the mentality to prove it. This one brother was sheltered, favored by both parents that coddled him from reality. He was skilled but the reality was not present in his eyes. The reality we all were going to die. By this time Zor'din and I knew it... but the least we could do was to give the youth enough tools to survive on his own while we had the time. We looked after each other as it had been taught, as it had been in our nature.

As our lives drew onward we had lost many friends, fellow warriors, relatives, priests, and prophets, gods, and home. We were soon to become a lost nation forever buried under the snow, and we felt the doom descending upon us. We just did not know what manifestation it would take, and how individually personal it would become for each and every one of us. That these moments would even tie us all together in the pages of history. Rations were getting scarcer, replacement gear was taken off the dead, and here they were sending boys in to fray, mere children. We the keepers of the dead world were to take on watch over these innocent souls that couldn't even carry their own weight in gear. Some died of starvation on our marches, some fell ill and were left behind to rot. We carried on, carried on as the world crumbled under the Scourge, the plague, blights, the neburian, our very own people.

The aqueducts were broken, the paint faded on the etched stone walling, the war drums silent, the paved roads our ancestors built cracked, and yet my father could still find reason to gamble at the amphitheater. He too was a broken male, every time we saw him he was worse, every time we went home there was less to come home to. So we did not frequent our returns as much, as the reception home was becoming hollow. We, including our young brother stayed out there for longer periods of time. The debates at the hut had turned ugly, and I could no longer view my father as an honorable male. Although I knew it was breaking my mother's heart, I could not stay in his presence lest I shed his blood. I could not do that her, or any other part of my family that stayed there, while there was so little time left. They could not see as we were seeing, and no matter what they held hope. Even though both of us tried to convince them to make the exodus with the others in the end this was their home, as it was ours.

So the day came....

We entered a village, much like many we had came across on the border lands. The smoke, the cries of anguish that my soul was numb to as the females and children wept, we were to purge it with fire. That was our objective when we came across infestations. It was simple, something that one did not over think. Given the order, Zor'din and the others set off to do just that, to gather what valuables there were, and to set the rest on fire. Young Kor'akk grabbed my arm and began to argue with me, pleading with me not to do this to the women and children awaiting their warriors to come home to defend them. Hysterical and at every angle he had tried to win me over to see his reasoning. Those very same angles my own heart had argued the first time I saw how horrific it was to murder my own people. I tried to justify it, as it had been justified to me that it was necessary, or the illness would spread. As soon as the words were leaving my mouth, I knew how defeated and in ruin all our worlds had become, our dignity, our codes all had been stripped from us during this long course. It was his eyes that moved me to recall my own turmoil, the way he looked to me with so much trust on the line, trust only a child would carry.

We argued as the smoke began to flow from the smoldering huts that would soon engulf in flames. When one the members in our mob regiment shouted " Plague bringer!" The shambling dead, with festering boils and rot, that could infect on contact. Another shout of a dire, and then came the filing in of other ghouls, but we had not expected the shock troops as well. The village had been decimated, they should all be gone but instead we had brought them back with the fires we had lit, they had been waiting for us in ambush. I heard my brother's Zor'din's battle cry amongst the sudden outburst of chaos and sounds, that roar so familiar and the clash of steel upon steel. I left Kor'akk alone standing there in shroud of smoke, cold, and possibly his death....He had been in battles but nothing like this, nothing like what we had done on this day.

I should have never left him alone. He had reeked of fear, and that would have been a magnet to our foe. I had ran to fight this scourge, to join my brother in his plight, as we had done together many times before. Yet as my brother fought he had made a fatal mistake, knocking off the helm of what he battled revealed the most heart stopping sight we had laid eyes on....I stopped short in my trek towards the struggle, staring at what was before me. In all that time of fighting I had not tasted fear as I had in that moment.

The memory of vibrant paint upon the etched pillars in blue, purple, burgundy, gold, the capital stone walks were littered talandra's rose petals untouched by the ways of warring. Triumphant roars, dowry of raptors, and of gold bijou coins, song, drums, the gong tolling the hour the champion of Har'koa took my aunt as a mate, and I had witnessed it. I had been a part of the ritual, the revelry, the feast, the moment. We had a place at the table as my uncle proclaimed he would honor my father in providing his sons, me and Zor'din the best in education, in all matters. He respected us, he found a place in his home for all of us as if we were his own sons. He spoke of the old stories, the old gods, the loa, the battles he fought, taught us with a patient yet stern hand and with humor. We looked up to him, we helped his family the best we could in what means we had in return. We could have never repaid him, or our aunt for what wealth that had been granted us. He was not of blood yet he had extended us every opportunity because to him we were family, because of morals and values that were soon to be no longer present. We were family, he had been at our first proving trial, he came to our exhibitions in prowess and education. In those golden spun years of prosperity he was more a father to us then our own, a viewed brother in spirit. We, although young and reckless had done our best to gain his approval in the manner in which we held ourselves in the same standards, and tried to achieve the level in which he had seemed to succeed. He had been suddenly lost to us, as was our wealth, as was everything the day he betrayed the priests in defiance to their will. We had not expected to see him again. We had not known.... only that all of it was cut short, a name that had become as hushed as a whisper within the falling snow. It was a face we would never forget.

Kor'akk looked to me as I was frozen in that moment of time staring at the Scourge before me. " What was it? "  That small child like voice had asked, I could only answer in one word.

" Raji'din. "

The Scourge did not replace the helm at first. As I ran forward Zor'din was beheaded before my eyes. His hot blood splattered against my face in the swift slice of his own axe used against him. I ran with my weapon drawn with such vengeance in me, with that determination and will that all my people have carried since the time we were pursued all the way to these lands. I moved to strike with all my years, with all my hopes, ambitions, aspirations, dreams, behind it, with all my memories, my suffering, all that had been lost, my brother's blood, my mother's wails. It was my last move, my last roar into the hell of all that betrayed me. I was looking into the eyes of my oblivion as I felt the cold hand of my death come closing in, crushing the very air from my neck. I no longer saw my uncle, I no longer saw anything that was behind or before me, I had to breathe! So easy it was to breathe while living.... a struggle at times but every breath was worth it...

" Last words? " The sneer and voice of my death spoke centimeters from my face.

So hard to breathe.... where was my weapon? Where was Kor'akk?! Run! My mind was trying to make sense, while my body tried to fight with every ounce strength and will to breathe. Kor'akk... I saw him in my peripheral vision standing there terrified. Zor'din was gone, the others were gone, all our brothers, cousins, our home, our gods they were gone. Nothing was left, but this terrified boy.

" Spare.... him..." I barely managed to croak out through the blood that fill my mouth and bubbled out in despair.

My answer was blackness. I thought death would be a shroud lifted and the great bear would welcome me home, we would hunt the wilds together, fish the running rivers. I would be home with those of my ancestors, all those prayers, all those tributes paid in those hopes of an afterlife. Yet what I faced was nothing, nothing, but a cold darkness that ended my life with a snap a twist of my uncle's wrist. Gone from me was that world, of family and fealty, gone from me was that world, and I had thought that nothingness was the worst thing to befall me. I was so very wrong. Fates were entwined, even after death... legacies are gone but not forgotten. My fate became as one of all those that had fallen before me as I was brought before our master.

Time passed...

" I spared him... " The voice I had to come to recognize as one of my own manifested briefly besides me in battle, only to fade within the masses.

It did not matter, nothing did.... nor would it ever again, no remorse, nor regret. It was empty, hollow, no purpose save one, to be the instrument of my liege. Briefly with those few words I had suffered well in that knowledge that within my death where else nothing mattered, there had been a life saved that had.
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minstrelofmyths

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Re: In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

Post by Brixtul on Tue Jan 27, 2015 2:11 pm

(( Ughhhh... so sad, Rock!!! Jeepers. ))
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Re: In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

Post by Valendil on Wed Jan 28, 2015 12:21 pm

((Excellent read! Thank you for sharing. Damn))
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Re: In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

Post by minstrelofmyths on Sat Jan 31, 2015 1:35 pm

(( In a way he's still with us! So there's a better way of looking at it. Very Happy ))
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Re: In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

Post by minstrelofmyths on Sat Jan 31, 2015 1:36 pm

(( Welcome, and thank you for reading and enjoying. Very Happy ))
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Re: In my death.... there was a life that mattered. ( journal entry)

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