The Holder of Destiny


In a time forgotten, there traveled a man. Lonesome and shrouded in mystery, he wandered the fringes of reality, nowhere, yet everywhere. Nothing, yet something. He endured trials far worse than any man before him, triumphed over beasts far more dangerous than any man before him, and changed the world more than any man before him.

Myth exalts him, though his nature is unknown. Having bested death, he continued his dark quest. Blackened and damned, nature cursed him. He was supposed to be dead, yet wasn't. Wonders of the world passed him by. Barren deserts dare not take him. Colossal beasts shrunk under him, and mighty storms hailed his presence. Darkness shifted before him, a pawn on a chessboard. He was simply the orchestrator, seamlessly constructing his will before his eyes.

A dozen years after his dark encounter, the cursed man faced the fiercest gale of storms. Winds tearing up those before him, they ventured nowhere near him. Exhibiting his trophy to the fury, he soon began to part the clouds.

In a dream, sat high on a mighty steed, he was the finest general the land had seen. Faithfully, his force followed his every whim. The enemy crumbled before his fist. No fun in an easy victory, he laughed. The Pearl city before him set ablaze. No longer would he have to envy the jewel of the night. The denizens fell to the cold steel like sheep. He could no longer control himself, his wicked cackle only deepening the wound of his foe.

Before long, the white gem of night shone red. The great tower called in desperation, yet it's call fell upon deaf ears. Soon, it would all come crashing down. The guards were proven, but numbers often outdid skill. The doors were obliterated, two standing. My legion was no match for his sword, so I sought to end it all myself.

Twas a night of dance, of strike after strike, parry after parry. Like serpents we wove and tore at each other. The night wept, the moon shedding tear after tear for every clash. Finally, he buckled at my power and I ended his insignificant life. The light left his eyes, a foreboding sight. Knees weak, his throne and city fell under my iron fist. Yet a presence was near still, a weak heart beating. My dark possession was robbed from me, the only love I kept, where the malice of a tainted heart resided. All ended.

The fearsome gale parted, stranding the weary man. On his small raft, a fragile, blackened heart, weakly beating. He had become the very man he feared he would have. It was a feeling he would soon grow accustomed to.

After all, it was simply his Destiny.

Categories: | Legion's Objects |

Last modified on 2009-12-27 07:19:07Average Rating: 2 / 5 (1 votes)Viewed 4378 times

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