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-|-Then it fell-|-


kindEmperor
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Rok Nardin - Waves



 

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 1st of the first seed. year 100 of the second age

Brankhyn Doomforged facing off with a minotaur.


 

“Drape yourself with the hide of a great beast you had slain” 

 

What is great? Who decides these titles and who makes them? Does the wild monster of the east give itself such? Or is it earned as a race as a whole? Dwarves known to be greedy thus they are titled the most greedy. Orcs tend to spill blood. They are known as warmongers. Perhaps it was I that named it great, through actual war and blood spill”
 

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“Drape yourself in its skin” 


 

“Its hide is rough, its blood is water swimming down the bank of a river, as I cleave its skin. It is like peeling an apple half dead. This apple as great as it is, still cries.



 

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“Now place its hide over that ash skin” 

 

“As its cloying skin was cleaved off. The apple peeled. I draped myself with its hide. It clung to me like a lover. I thought it would reject me. For why wouldn’t it ? I killed its great master. 


 

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“Why?”


 

“Why not ? It gives me warmth in the cold. It didn’t look so great on the beast of the hills, it grew old. Still it lofted its mighty axe in the air and thrusted it around. The first spear I threw, Worthless a mere distraction, the shot of explosive metal tore it apart. Now I can sit on top of this mountain with this heavy hide as my protector. It is my triumph 


 

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“Seriously, why ? Award the whole truth on it!” 

 

“fine.”


 

“The day was young when I sought out on a hunt to find something, near anything to coat my skin of ash. My eyes of red, scouted and surveyed the lands like orbital stars prying over whatever lurked the hills. I need not ask why I must drape myself in this skin, But I would and I was restless. Though soon It appeared like gold in the river. And I made my attack, in short it fell with a bolt releasing impact and shrapnel across its system. I then brandished a blade then made clothing of its skin, Its blood splattered like a child playing in the sand… I thanked It, for why wouldn’t I ?

 

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“The fervent Doomforged journey after baring its skin on skin” 

 

“Then it's a heavy burden and weight placed on my shoulders. I draped myself with its seasoned hide, I walked to a place of rest as I spent the day. Restless yet another burden I was given, yet I cherish each burden as a trophy. I carry it as a dead lover. Now the mountains erected like spears stand before me, Perhaps I should make a throne on the top? Then I rest. Its hide will protect me, as I dream and wonder. Or It will be a nightmare haunting and everlasting. What blunder would that be? If I fell asleep? Not knowing which to expect.

 

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Brankhyn marched atop to the mountains, after slaying to then cut the skin of the minotaur. He placed its hide over himself, as he made his way to the mountain ever greater in height then he. He began to think of a poem or a song? Just something to distract his mind from the ache of an exhausted body. Then soon enough he had made it. Atop of the hill, atop the mountain he placed himself down. The hide kept him warm, its heat gathering within itself. He then lifted out a strange orb of sort draconic in all nature, he then stared at it.

 

“Know of this burden, and love it” 

“Know my name. But do not spill it”

“Thous songs are ever so sweet”

“Thy dreams ever so haunting”

“Fonder the skin, and mine ambition, mine passion can take you”

 

The dancing fire that brimmed in the lamp was dim though set. It flickered the fire with constant action ; those smoldering red eyes of his gave a reaction of wonder, of beauty and a ugly lie, that sung the truth. 


 

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