Prologue
The Willingness of The Spirit
"...the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."
Matthew 26:41
It was Mahlenken's death that signaled the beginning of the end.
Deaths as a rule are neither noble nor elegant. In Murushk's experience they had once been most notable for their brutality and savagery. Yet now if found in foe, friend, or stranger; death had become naught but a tally mark in a column most grim. The dim recollection of any impact upon his soul had been repressed over the years.
Now, staring at his childhood companion's ruined face, the sad music of the crossbow's flight still echoing in his ears, Murushk found himself once more shocked by the suddenness of this most final event.
How many nights at campfires in their youth?
How many years spent training as squires in the courtyards of Falador?
Memories of commiseration over the aches and pains arising from the rigours and demands of preparation.
Always they had been together, almost as brothers. Each knowing that the other would be there to watch the other's back in any situation.
Then came the years campaigning against the foe. Each new season bringing a more disturbing report of twisted magics roaming the land.
The army had fought well but the enemy had somehow developed a method of adaptation beyond the ken of the best of generals.
Yes, the force of this army had been taxed but valiantly they had endured.
All seemingly now ordained to end here for Murushk.
In a dank passageway deep in the bowels of a long abandoned prison, fighting once more against strange enemies, he slowly began to fail.
Here each yard gained was at the cost of blood.
The foe's retreat was now notable by the discovery of dropped weapons. Some of these sadly could be recognized as having once belonged to fellow companions, long departed from the field.
The Willingness of The Spirit
"...the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."
Matthew 26:41
It was Mahlenken's death that signaled the beginning of the end.
Deaths as a rule are neither noble nor elegant. In Murushk's experience they had once been most notable for their brutality and savagery. Yet now if found in foe, friend, or stranger; death had become naught but a tally mark in a column most grim. The dim recollection of any impact upon his soul had been repressed over the years.
Now, staring at his childhood companion's ruined face, the sad music of the crossbow's flight still echoing in his ears, Murushk found himself once more shocked by the suddenness of this most final event.
How many nights at campfires in their youth?
How many years spent training as squires in the courtyards of Falador?
Memories of commiseration over the aches and pains arising from the rigours and demands of preparation.
Always they had been together, almost as brothers. Each knowing that the other would be there to watch the other's back in any situation.
Then came the years campaigning against the foe. Each new season bringing a more disturbing report of twisted magics roaming the land.
The army had fought well but the enemy had somehow developed a method of adaptation beyond the ken of the best of generals.
Yes, the force of this army had been taxed but valiantly they had endured.
All seemingly now ordained to end here for Murushk.
In a dank passageway deep in the bowels of a long abandoned prison, fighting once more against strange enemies, he slowly began to fail.
Here each yard gained was at the cost of blood.
The foe's retreat was now notable by the discovery of dropped weapons. Some of these sadly could be recognized as having once belonged to fellow companions, long departed from the field.
We must all learn to embrace our own inner newbishness
09-Dec-2009 05:26:44 - Last edited on 26-Dec-2009 14:52:37 by Resoun