Reminiscence.

[monkeypoacher 8055]

I.

 

It was a calm midnight, the storm striking Lenniel subsided with great casualties. As the damage wrought by the dark assailants being slowly repaired, Tyrnal sat in a spruce forest clearing, kicking his feet against the side of a cliff. His vacant gaze stared forward at the road. Lost in thought, he paid no mind to passers-by, or the time that passed, the suns and moons that rose and fell as he sat, meditating, mind attempting to process what had just happened, what he had just done.

 

It had started at the fall of a long, treacherous day’s sun. He climbed a hill back to the Demones manor in hopes of bandaging his wounds when suddenly his eyes caught a small Mali’ker. On her face, eyes with black sclera and glowing blue irises flashed across his vision. The girl, in his head, flashed with that of a woman, someone he knew to be an ally of darkness; he slowly looked down to his bloody stump of an arm, and with a growl the fight started.

 

The rest was a blur, until the point where he lay, curled up on the ground as flames soared above his head. A child’s scream, a man’s agonied cries, entered his ears, unwanted trespassers into the Mali’s overcrowded mind. He writhed in anguish, regret conflicting with rage, empathy with bloodlust. He twitched violently against the ground.

 

Tyrnal snapped from his trance as he noticed someone familiar walking down the road. A girl in a blue dress, with long white hair hanging down. He stumbles back, bracing himself against a tree. As he closed his eyes in confusion and a paroxysm of joy, he heard a bloodcurdling muffled scream. He opened them, startled and horrified, to find himself in the cave of Calastnolurd, peering down into a watery lake when the same shriek pierced his ears. Violently jerking to the side as his face contorted in fury, he rushed towards the Klaren Fortress, drawing his dagger. As he entered, he tripped and hurtled into the void.

 

II.

 

His eyes tore open again. He was back in the clearing, lying in a pile of leaves. He twitched, unable to sit up. The same girl stood over him, smiling down. Tyrnal smiles, giggling, squealing, sobbing, whimpering. “It… it’s all…”

 

“A… dream… a dream!”, he could barely choke a sentence out as he cries tears of joy, looking up at her. With a blink and a turn of his head, he stares into the face of a half-elf, holding an arming sword. His blonde hair dangles down wildly to his hips, lifting rugged black goggles on his face and smiling. Tyrnal can barely help himself, laughing out loud, placing a hand on his face. As he opens his eyes again, he lets out a pained, choking gasp.

 

III.

 

Tyrnal grasps the cold steel of the sword piercing his chest. A smirk is all he receives from his assailant. He looks up at the steps of Gronkkston, at the two… all too familiar, a couple. As he drops to the ground with nay more than a pained gasp, the man walks away, laughing at his pain... He closes his eyes, not opening them for a while. As they lazily flutter open, he finds himself staring out of the narrow slit of a dwarven bunker. Orcs and humans swarm around the position. He turns to look at the dead dwarven comrades, his friends, enemies, alike, lying dead on the ground, chests and skulls pierced by bolts. He shakily holds the pike in his hand as he hears the metallic clangs coming from the entrance. Uttering a prayer, he shuts his eyes again.

 

Tyrnal lies down on the forest floor. He lies there for a while.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.