CONTEMPLATIONS IN HOARFROST

[Evanuri 465]

CONTEMPLATIONS IN HOARFROST

Anxious toes stood on the precipice of rimestruck lake, teetering on the edge of the waters. Already, an errant elf could feel the chilling burn on the soles of his feet. To the side his belongings were laid- a hat and a simple bag, his linen shirt folded neat and dry inside. With boots clipped under-arm, the errant man waded into the water with a hitched gasp as frost ran up his spine.

 

The water welcomed the elf with all the grace of innumerable frozen pins boring into the bark of his bones, each stroke a step deeper into torture. The chill was a weight on his chest, chilling his lungs and stoppering his his ragged breath. 

 

His goal stood in the center of the frozen lake, a dry bar where he was to sit. After his labor through the bitter, biting water, panicked fingers grasped for frozen earth, clawing to remove himself from the agonizing drink.

 

All the while, the question he was bade to consider rang in his mind. He was to wait to ruminate until he’d reached his perch at the water’s center, but the elf was taken by a wandering mind. He had given thought to the Um’ei his entire journey, during each stroke across the water. He had mulled over countless answers to the given question;

 

By the teachings of Eresar, why are we?

 

“To endure?” he thought, introspective of himself, huddled and freezing on an islet. 

 

But endurance is part of the journey; Asioth was a destination.

 

The man knew one thing for certain; He knew nothing at all. Not what he was, not what he would become. Often, he saw himself as ‘journey’ incarnate, always moving but never coming to settle. The thought clawed at him nearly as much as the biting air at his wet skin. How terrible, it would be, if his tale ended here, if he could do no good by anyone, if he could not be the warrior-erudite he once envisioned himself as.

 

‘To suffer,’ murmured he, clutching his freezing and soaked form tightly. A bitter laugh fell from his lips as he attempted to make warmth of what breath remained in his lungs.

 

But suffering didn’t feel like Asioth, or what he had read of it.

 

If suffering was Asioth, he had attained it, as the tundric air made his eyelids hang low, each blink longer than the last. Barely could he bid flingers to flick, or arms to lift, only the energy to ponder remained in him.

 

‘My form will be rendered a block of ice, and I will shatter,’ he thought.  The tundra would take him, and he would perish with no amount of pride in his accomplishments. Would he die a novice in all of his pursuits? Would he be broken, and never rebirthed?

 

A chill ran through the elf. Not of ice, but knowledge. His jaw went shifted and went taut at the notion he remembered, glanced betwixt vellum pages; Strange liturgy that seemed to be an auld sage’s nonsensical ramblings.

 

Their mere thought seemed enough to bid his extremities to move, and feet to support him as he stood. The elf leapt back into the murky water with abandon, a pair of boots left lingering on the floating islet, becoming a figment in the distance as his pain wracked body fjorded the water, and pulled itself agonizingly to the snowy shore.

 

He began a limp across a frozen plain, headed towards sweltering stone. His answer would not be spoken to the air, unless first-heard by a waiting master.

 

Spoiler

OOC: This is just a super brief story of an experience IC, not posted anywhere. Just a trial-writing.

 

Also, sorry for double posting. I've been procrastinating on this one, I'm not really a long form creative writer. I'm sure you can tell.