A Torch Against The Night

[Suicidium 1295]

 

As a flower thou wither in the absence of light
With no rays and no heed where the agony hides
When the bloom is no longer a forthcoming bright
And the singing is now not a prayer, but cry
In the wisdom and bravery thou reckon the faith
And the spirit takes over misdeeds that were made
As a flower thou wither in the absence of light
Though thy soul is remembered, embodying might
You cannot control everything, but you can at least play the odds

The Astrean banner falters...

 

As the embers of the auburn lights of the rolling wheat fields of Ducal Elysium burns bright, casualties strewn on the icy lake served as a scorching reminder of the rout of the few Rangers and Norlandic militia men that battled against a cohort of marauders and a voidal mage. A seeming continuation of the sullen nature of battle and contest which defined the histories of the descendants across constant worlds. War and conflict never changes: a reality that permeates through the fabrics of the rise and fall of civilizations. 

Despite so, in defeat, stood lessons to be learned, of tactics and training for those that remained. Of practice and commandery. There were souls to consider, and protect. It was a vicious, damning cycle of responsibilities. The fundamentals had always stood to be seen for all eternity, a community that fails to protect its own, collapses on its seams. Peril can never be ignored. 
 

 

Eugeo hoisted and placed down his norlandic helm in turn, a devastated look on his features as he looked to Lunar Vanari with an exasperated sigh escaping his person.  His heart mirrored the figure by the Elysium dock, her sloped shoulders made a mournful line that sharply contrasted with the backdrop that saw a few dots of the trading ships that traded with Elysium in the horizon. As soft, freezing waves rolled onto the rocky shores, there was a trepidation in the air as the Duke apologised to the Vanari chieftess in a melancholic circumstance. 

 

Such senseless brutality and violence befell the scene that the two surviving combatants would encounter, but optimism would have to happen. The Duke nodded singularly to the Vanari and lit a torch in his saunter as Elysium marked the defeat with a cry of unity and solidarity in the community to strengthen its combatants. 
Eugeo had stared into the abyss, it stared back:
Woe to the abyss of giving up. 

 

As if tuned to Elysium’s sense of revival, the Astrean banners gently swayed in reverence, an air of resistance to them:
The spirit of Elysium was not in the wars fought, lost, and bled by, but in her people. This, of course, didn’t mean they would turn a blind eye to any neerdowell or foreign invader. Elysium would be strengthened by her people, for her people and their rights to defend their homes, loved ones, and livelihood.  

 

Some flowers withered in the absence of light, while others learned to bloom in its absence. 
Elysium would create its own light to thrive in. 
 

We are a torch against the night.