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Cyril Darkcloud · 05-01-2002, 10:00 PM

Shadows movin' without a sound
From the hold of the sleepless town
Evil seems to be everywhere
Heed the spirit that brought despair
Trouble's comin' without control
No one's stayin' that's got a hope
Hurricane at the very least
In the words of the gypsy queen
*April Wine

There is a saying among his people, a revered and venerable ideal spoken in time of battle when the odds are long and one does not expect to survive what lies ahead, a few simple words speaking a simple and terrible truth – that a man without hope is man with no fear. Hope - there is very little of that for him once his feet set themselves upon the stone floors of that tower. No, there will be very little hope for him, but fear, that will be present in abundance. It has already risen to demand his attention and submission and its voice will only grow the louder as the harsh unyielding stone separates him from the free and living air. He listens to the terrible logic of his fear, noting the truth of its words. He listens and he understands but he neither submits nor resists. He is afraid and his fear will only increase and it will dog his steps as he moves within the sunless and stagnant air of the tower. So be it.

He has heard the ancient words and marked the tone of voice in which she of the silver caged throat breathed them into the winds. He knows well the words of response but silence is his choice. Such heroic words are not his to say anymore than heroic fearlessness is his to claim. No. It is far too tempting to throw the bold and defiant gauntlet down, to invoke the mighty figures of myth and saga and step forward in the vigor of their example. But such things are not true. He is no hero nor will he ever be. He is simply a man who will do what must be done and there will be no heroic lies about this.

His full strength has not yet returned but that is no longer a concern. He breathes deeply and exhales his thanks into the winds that have so mightily moved on his behalf and the gusting and thunderous movement of the storm begins to change. There is a saying among his people, a revered and venerable ideal spoken when one does not expect to survive what is to come – that a man without hope is a man without fear. He smiles. These words have never passed his lips nor will they today. He is afraid with a great fear because he refuses to live without hope. With a movement swift and decisive he brings his axes together and the thunder of the storm falls suddenly silent. He looks toward the tower. It is time. He fills his lungs with the silent air. The women will live even if his own life is lost and he will spare the life of no one that stands between him and the Mage. He speaks, then, the silent stormwalker, in a whisper that has nothing of the thunder of heroism about it, only the notes of honest fear, “So be it, I will seek you within.”

[ 05-01-2002, 10:02 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

05-01-2002, 10:00 PM	#16
Cyril Darkcloud Lord Soth Join Date: February 7, 2002 Location: New York Posts: 1,980	Shadows movin' without a sound From the hold of the sleepless town Evil seems to be everywhere Heed the spirit that brought despair Trouble's comin' without control No one's stayin' that's got a hope Hurricane at the very least In the words of the gypsy queen *April Wine There is a saying among his people, a revered and venerable ideal spoken in time of battle when the odds are long and one does not expect to survive what lies ahead, a few simple words speaking a simple and terrible truth – that a man without hope is man with no fear. Hope - there is very little of that for him once his feet set themselves upon the stone floors of that tower. No, there will be very little hope for him, but fear, that will be present in abundance. It has already risen to demand his attention and submission and its voice will only grow the louder as the harsh unyielding stone separates him from the free and living air. He listens to the terrible logic of his fear, noting the truth of its words. He listens and he understands but he neither submits nor resists. He is afraid and his fear will only increase and it will dog his steps as he moves within the sunless and stagnant air of the tower. So be it. He has heard the ancient words and marked the tone of voice in which she of the silver caged throat breathed them into the winds. He knows well the words of response but silence is his choice. Such heroic words are not his to say anymore than heroic fearlessness is his to claim. No. It is far too tempting to throw the bold and defiant gauntlet down, to invoke the mighty figures of myth and saga and step forward in the vigor of their example. But such things are not true. He is no hero nor will he ever be. He is simply a man who will do what must be done and there will be no heroic lies about this. His full strength has not yet returned but that is no longer a concern. He breathes deeply and exhales his thanks into the winds that have so mightily moved on his behalf and the gusting and thunderous movement of the storm begins to change. There is a saying among his people, a revered and venerable ideal spoken when one does not expect to survive what is to come – that a man without hope is a man without fear. He smiles. These words have never passed his lips nor will they today. He is afraid with a great fear because he refuses to live without hope. With a movement swift and decisive he brings his axes together and the thunder of the storm falls suddenly silent. He looks toward the tower. It is time. He fills his lungs with the silent air. The women will live even if his own life is lost and he will spare the life of no one that stands between him and the Mage. He speaks, then, the silent stormwalker, in a whisper that has nothing of the thunder of heroism about it, only the notes of honest fear, “So be it, I will seek you within.” [ 05-01-2002, 10:02 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]