The Last Of The Sky

[Kaiser 2347]

 

The night is young for most, it's moon basking in the sky with thousands of stars, all seemingly flashing of color. Sleep holds a certain form of ease; people do not move when they are asleep, they do not think. This gives The Sky Thief time to hold his memorial.

 

With coming tides of young, Halfling or other, of the cloak and dagger, he seems very useless. Too many people and too little talent; staying silent, moving swiftly, and abiding by codes are what most thieves no longer have. They cast away friends for coin above their greasy fingers, and would throw away, into the fires of the world their own mortality for simple value. Value, between what is an opinion, as being a thief is not always about stealing for coin, or stealing for objects, but for value. Knowledge, power, friendship, all things which people have lost sight of...

 

Richard moves back fire logs of birch or of oak, a nice pile of woods ready to have an amber light ablaze. These fires are that of rebirth, not destruction. Those of rebuilding, not tearing down.

 

The time was coming, but he feared it. Death takes friends, in time, and it pains him. 'Who can I look forward to dyeing today, hmm?' he asked. Days gone by like wind, and life with it. He waits for his own death, but he feels it's far off, some years away. For now, who he was, who he is, needs to be washed away. The seas between Asulon, Aegis, and Anthos could not wash away his mind, he wanted to repent,  for what he is not sure, but he feels regret for his life. Maybe it was taint for being a little funny, but he feels deeper...

 

The fire starts with a wonderful spark, it's low and hopefully won't awaken anyone. Richard breaths in, and out, deep but yet still shallow. He closes his eyes as the fire spreads up, bigger, now, better, stronger, faster. Exactly what he wants to become. A better Halfling. A batter friend. A better human. He opens his hands for a last look at the old hood... The copper pins, the little quill, and the leaves and grass blades he poked in, all laying without movement.

 

A few memories he'd rather remove but he'll never lose, something he keeps comfort in. What these symbols stand for is something that is tattooed inside his heart, the needle was sharp pain; the ink? experience. Sorrow. Love. Something held beyond his head but finally given to him in a moment of no use. Maybe the idea of staying a Halfling, staying sane, staying normal, was about what's around you, not you yourself. People are not born evil, not with destiny, nor with any goals. They, a blank canvas, their life the paint.

 

He squints at the old memorabilia, but tosses the hood into the fire. The flames wrap around it like water, but the heat feeling more like fire. It's held up by rocks, it won't spread, so he leaves it. No need to watch as it burns out. What's there will burn away or melt into the sands of time. He pins the note he lead out for this even on the notice board. He'd left this up for a long time, longer than expected...

 

~Hobbits (And Bircalin), The Sky Thief is no more. His death falls into the lake like planned, and his time is over. The last second had washed away just this night. I am sorry for what has happened to anyone, or to you personally, reading this. Enjoy your peace, as the terror is yet over.~

[Parading 302]

That was a really good read and it synced with the music well. I never really knew the Sky Thief, even when I played my halfling character. I have only heard good things.

[Bircalin 332]

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