[Memory] hope for the hopeless
Posted: Fri Sep 03, 2021 10:07 pm
??? Age of Wonders
Dreams were a funny thing. Talon knew that he was dreaming and yet this felt like more than that. It felt like something stronger, something deeper. It felt like he was reaching part of himself that he had simply forgotten and now it was resurfacing. So he simply floated through the dream. Watching. Living. Experiencing it for what it was.
The light of the setting sun found him. It always found him. She had promised it to him. He felt the warmth of the sun’s rays upon his back as he stood there, thinking on everything that had happened to him in recent days. How many faces had he seen lost to the darkness? It was stretching further and further across the lands. He did not know if he had the strength to push it back. He was so close to finding the answer. He was so close to finding the path forward. Since he was a boy, he had been fighting to reclaim the broken family that had been stolen from him by the sinister darkness that was obsessed with them. It had killed his mother. It had swallowed his father. It had stolen his brother. Only he was left to stand against it. He had been to the Oracle of Vicis. He had touched his hands upon the Tapestry of Fate and seen the weave of history that was to play out.
Over and over again the scene played out in his head. Over and over again, he saw himself perform an atrocious act that made his gut twist into knots and his heart clench in his chest. The way to defeat the insidious evil digging its claws into the world had been made clear to him. The Goddess of Fate had said that it was the only way to stave off an era of terrible suffering. He stared down at the blade of Novuril as it reflected the light of the sun. His hand clenched tighter around the hilt. So many lives were resting upon his shoulders he thought the weight of it all might crush him.
“How can this be Justice?” He spoke aloud to no one but himself. Squeezing his eyes shut he thought through the vision of the future that had been shown to him. It was the decided path. It was the future that could be if he did what he had been shown. It was the path that meant the Light, his Light, would prevail. It was the path where he exacted terrible Justice upon those who had committed the dark atrocities in the war that continued to ravage the lands. It was the moment that was supposed to give Hope to a broken and confused world.
“You ask too much of me.” He squeezed his eyes tighter. The burn of frustrated tears stung behind his closed eyes. “Too much.”
His shoulders shook. He struggled to contain the anger, the frustration, the grief, and the pain that had been building up inside of him ever since he had been shown the way forward. With every passing day, the twisted dark was growing stronger. Its shadows were being cast across the world and as those shadows grew, the power of both the Dragon Gods and the Mistlords waned. Their ability to interact with the world as mortals were consumed by their Fears, thirst for Vengeance and the Shadow that he fought against, interfered with their ties to Ransera. Only he stood in the way. Only he, as the avatar of Light, Justice and Hope, was still holding sway over the mortal souls tied to the material plane. For such was the nature of demigods, to live and breathe as a mortal while serving as a bridge to the divine.
Arcas opened his eyes, looking up into the skies. He let out a cry of pain and sorrow, driving his blade into the earth. He fell to his knees and hung his head.
“I cannot…” He shook his head. “I cannot do it. This cannot be Justice.”
The skies darkened and in the distance, he heard a soft music. At first he thought it was Syren, her whimsical music coming through the winds to comfort him. When he looked up into the skies however, he saw clouds dancing only when he focused, they were not clouds. He did not know what compelled him to, but as he stared at the swirling mist of formlessness that was growing closer and closer, Arcas sang. The words were in Draconic, the language older than Ransera. It was the tongue of dragons and of the gods. As the music grew steadier and he found its harmony, Arcas let it fill him. He sang of the pain he felt. He sang of the injustice he was faced with. He sang of the grief he felt in knowing the road that lay ahead of him. He sang until his voice harmonized with the voice singing the melody that thrummed through him. It was all he knew how to do in that moment.
It was all he could do. The rest of what lay ahead of him felt impossible, for in his heart, he did not want to do it.
Dreams were a funny thing. Talon knew that he was dreaming and yet this felt like more than that. It felt like something stronger, something deeper. It felt like he was reaching part of himself that he had simply forgotten and now it was resurfacing. So he simply floated through the dream. Watching. Living. Experiencing it for what it was.
------
The light of the setting sun found him. It always found him. She had promised it to him. He felt the warmth of the sun’s rays upon his back as he stood there, thinking on everything that had happened to him in recent days. How many faces had he seen lost to the darkness? It was stretching further and further across the lands. He did not know if he had the strength to push it back. He was so close to finding the answer. He was so close to finding the path forward. Since he was a boy, he had been fighting to reclaim the broken family that had been stolen from him by the sinister darkness that was obsessed with them. It had killed his mother. It had swallowed his father. It had stolen his brother. Only he was left to stand against it. He had been to the Oracle of Vicis. He had touched his hands upon the Tapestry of Fate and seen the weave of history that was to play out.
Over and over again the scene played out in his head. Over and over again, he saw himself perform an atrocious act that made his gut twist into knots and his heart clench in his chest. The way to defeat the insidious evil digging its claws into the world had been made clear to him. The Goddess of Fate had said that it was the only way to stave off an era of terrible suffering. He stared down at the blade of Novuril as it reflected the light of the sun. His hand clenched tighter around the hilt. So many lives were resting upon his shoulders he thought the weight of it all might crush him.
“How can this be Justice?” He spoke aloud to no one but himself. Squeezing his eyes shut he thought through the vision of the future that had been shown to him. It was the decided path. It was the future that could be if he did what he had been shown. It was the path that meant the Light, his Light, would prevail. It was the path where he exacted terrible Justice upon those who had committed the dark atrocities in the war that continued to ravage the lands. It was the moment that was supposed to give Hope to a broken and confused world.
“You ask too much of me.” He squeezed his eyes tighter. The burn of frustrated tears stung behind his closed eyes. “Too much.”
His shoulders shook. He struggled to contain the anger, the frustration, the grief, and the pain that had been building up inside of him ever since he had been shown the way forward. With every passing day, the twisted dark was growing stronger. Its shadows were being cast across the world and as those shadows grew, the power of both the Dragon Gods and the Mistlords waned. Their ability to interact with the world as mortals were consumed by their Fears, thirst for Vengeance and the Shadow that he fought against, interfered with their ties to Ransera. Only he stood in the way. Only he, as the avatar of Light, Justice and Hope, was still holding sway over the mortal souls tied to the material plane. For such was the nature of demigods, to live and breathe as a mortal while serving as a bridge to the divine.
Arcas opened his eyes, looking up into the skies. He let out a cry of pain and sorrow, driving his blade into the earth. He fell to his knees and hung his head.
“I cannot…” He shook his head. “I cannot do it. This cannot be Justice.”
The skies darkened and in the distance, he heard a soft music. At first he thought it was Syren, her whimsical music coming through the winds to comfort him. When he looked up into the skies however, he saw clouds dancing only when he focused, they were not clouds. He did not know what compelled him to, but as he stared at the swirling mist of formlessness that was growing closer and closer, Arcas sang. The words were in Draconic, the language older than Ransera. It was the tongue of dragons and of the gods. As the music grew steadier and he found its harmony, Arcas let it fill him. He sang of the pain he felt. He sang of the injustice he was faced with. He sang of the grief he felt in knowing the road that lay ahead of him. He sang until his voice harmonized with the voice singing the melody that thrummed through him. It was all he knew how to do in that moment.
It was all he could do. The rest of what lay ahead of him felt impossible, for in his heart, he did not want to do it.