a farwell to the crusade

[Turtleofthewoods 106]

Standing amidst the crumbling ruins of the Crusaders’ old meeting hall in the ruins of old Ravenmire, Turtwin let his gaze wander over the remnants of a past long gone. The air was thick with dust, the scent of aged stone and decay mingling with the echoes of memories that refused to fade. He could almost hear the laughter of his comrades, the heated debates, the whispered vows of brotherhood spoken beneath these very walls.

 

Each moment there stirred up the ghosts of his past—moments of triumph, of sorrow, of unbreakable camaraderie. He had clung to the hope that, one day, he would see them again, that the Crusaders of the Void would return. But after fifteen long years of silence, that hope had withered into a painful acceptance.

 

With a heavy heart, he unfastened his Arazi Voidblade, the weapon that had been his companion through countless battles. He turned it over in his hands one last time, its dark metal catching the dim light filtering through the fractured ceiling. Then, with a quiet sigh, he placed it upon the ancient stone floor, leaving it to the mercy of time—the dust, the wind, and the slow, inevitable decay. His watch had ended, and with one final glance at the ruins of what once was, he stepped away, his heart burdened yet resolute.