Slipstream The
Honour And The Road
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Light... is this
something I deserve to see again, after all I've done?
The dawn light woke Arngrim, the dappled effect
bathing the area in a variety of shades and colours. As he
struggled to his feet he took in his surroundings, an
near-endless field of green with only a few scrubby bushes and
trees between here and the edges of eternity - for the ground
was so flat that could see the violet light in the distance
beyond the boundaries of the earth.
I... I shamed
myself, and my comrades. Whilst I made a fool of myself in the
reception of a wedding and thought nothing of the tournament's
purpose, they were still fighting with honour. Zynk, you had
your own problems to deal with and still took it upon yourself
to deal with mine, to help me. And Beowulf... you chose to
take on those demons by yourself, sacrificing yourself, so
that others could enjoy their fleeting lives for one more
moment.
Could I ever give that much of myself to
others? I saw you fall, a demon's claw piercing your chest,
and I saw your face as you fell. What was the emotion in your
heart at that moment, my friend? Was it relief at your pain's
ending? Was it the cool contentment of the warrior who dies in
battle, as he should? Or was it something else, something I
can't name because I've never been able to feel that way
myself?
And Zynk... you fell, also, though I did not
see it happen in the maelstrom of battle. You were our centre,
our guide in a world neither of us truly understood even
though you didn't know it yourself. You brought us together,
and held us together when we were in need.
Why was it
I alone who survived? Can I carry on your legacy? It has never
been a part of me before to give freely of myself to
strangers, not to support others in their times of need, yet
you both showed me that these things are neither weaknesses
nor shames.
Arngrim unsheathed his broadsword and
looked down at the still-bloodied blade, thick with ichor and
demon remnants, yet somehow the runes along its length were
still visible along its length and were picked out by the
morning light. For The Honour And The Road, they read
in the Old Tongue of Midgard, referring to the path of the
adventurer and hero. Arngrim smiled, and bent to the ground to
clean the blade with handfuls of grass and leaves.
It falls me to honour your sacrifices, to make sure
that you are remembered by the world. And I won't fail you, my
friends, he called to the heavens. I carry this blade
for all of us. And I swear by it that your lives will never
have been in vain.
---
"Are you just a blade of grass,
to be blown in the wind?"
Last edited by Slipstream on 08-08-2001
at 03:55 PM |