- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
Lost and Forgotten
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No rooster greets the rising sun's light. The light, as always, reveals the temple first. Old and crumbling the temple still stands proud. Resting at the top of a cliff its dilapidated structure is the first to see the sun's light. A dusty tunnel carves itself through the cliff to create a passage to village below. Windows reveal the world to those that would travel the tunnel. Small shrines to different spirits are lovingly worked into the tunnel and windows, honoring spirits that have long abandoned this place. Silence is overwhelming in this tunnel. No birds sit on the windows greeting the day; no murmuring of chants from the temple of above; no cries of life from the village below. The village fairs no better than the temple or tunnel. Old and forgotten the doors in the village are closed and the walls broken. Some houses lean against others as if begging to be helped. If one were to gaze through the crumbling walls one would only see emptiness. There are no pots or pans left. No tables or chairs. The houses and stores are simply, empty. Violence did not descend upon this place. Where the people of this village went to is known only only to the ancient and gloomy trees that surrounded this forgotten place and to the old man living in the tunnel.
A crevice in the tunnel wall opens up to a very small space. An old man sleeps on a ratty blanket. A pair of worn sandals, a old and withered candle, and a book of yellow pages bound in cracked leather are the other inhabits of this small space. Slowly the old man opens his eyes. With careful movement he puts on the worn sandals. Then he picks up the ratty blanket. He lovingly inspects it as a mother would her first child. With agonizing care he finds a hole in the blanket and slips his head through it. If one was to look closer at the blanket one would see designs and color that long ago faded. With his tunic finally on slips out of the crevice and into the tunnel. With sure steps he begins to walk down the tunnel. No sound is made while he walks. There is no hesitation in his steps. As he walks through the village the sun's light drives away the last of the shadows. Past the village he stops by a crooked gate. Covered with chains and rust no one has opened this gate in a long time. Sitting on a moss covered stone the old man begins his watch. Only when the sun begins to set does he move again. With the sun to his back he walks back to the crevice. Carefully he removes his sandals and tunic. With a soundless snap of his fingers the small candle begins to burn with feeble light. On his tunic the old man sits and slowly reads his book. Darkness is all around by the time he turns the last page. With a sigh he sets the book down and lays his head on his tunic. The candle flickers out and darkness swallows light.
Slowly the old man opens his eyes. With careful movement he puts on the worn sandals. Then he picks up the ratty blanket. He lovingly inspects it as a mother would her first child. With agonizing care he finds a hole in the blanket and slips his head through it. If one was to look closer at the blanket one would see designs and color that long ago faded. With his tunic finally on slips out of the crevice and into the tunnel. With sure steps he begins to walk down the tunnel. No sound is made while he walks. There is no hesitation in his steps. As he walks through the village the sun's light drives away the last of the shadows. Past the village he stops by a crooked gate. Covered with chains and rust no one has opened this gate in a long time. Sitting on a moss covered stone the old man begins his watch. Only when the sun begins to set does he move again. With the sun to his back he walks back to the crevice. Carefully he removes his sandals and tunic. With a soundless snap of his fingers the small candle begins to burn with feeble light. On his tunic the old man sits and slowly reads his book. Darkness is all around by the time he turns the last page. With a sigh he sets the book down and lays his head on his tunic. The candle flickers out and darkness swallows light.
Nothing has changed in this old and forgotten place. Nothing can change here. Filled with ancient wood and stone, to heavy to move on from this single action. The world has moved on from this place. Action carries weight. Some actions are only important because they have been done before. Here in this little fragment of the world one action has carved a place. It is like a dream. Endless repeating without hope of escape.
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@yrsillar Omake for the Omake throne
I hope you like this piece. I had this idea ever since we talked to tree man in the bloody dream. He didn't know he was in a dream just like the old man here doesn't know he is repeating the same day over and over. Anyway please enjoy and critique!
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No rooster greets the rising sun's light. The light, as always, reveals the temple first. Old and crumbling the temple still stands proud. Resting at the top of a cliff its dilapidated structure is the first to see the sun's light. A dusty tunnel carves itself through the cliff to create a passage to village below. Windows reveal the world to those that would travel the tunnel. Small shrines to different spirits are lovingly worked into the tunnel and windows, honoring spirits that have long abandoned this place. Silence is overwhelming in this tunnel. No birds sit on the windows greeting the day; no murmuring of chants from the temple of above; no cries of life from the village below. The village fairs no better than the temple or tunnel. Old and forgotten the doors in the village are closed and the walls broken. Some houses lean against others as if begging to be helped. If one were to gaze through the crumbling walls one would only see emptiness. There are no pots or pans left. No tables or chairs. The houses and stores are simply, empty. Violence did not descend upon this place. Where the people of this village went to is known only only to the ancient and gloomy trees that surrounded this forgotten place and to the old man living in the tunnel.
A crevice in the tunnel wall opens up to a very small space. An old man sleeps on a ratty blanket. A pair of worn sandals, a old and withered candle, and a book of yellow pages bound in cracked leather are the other inhabits of this small space. Slowly the old man opens his eyes. With careful movement he puts on the worn sandals. Then he picks up the ratty blanket. He lovingly inspects it as a mother would her first child. With agonizing care he finds a hole in the blanket and slips his head through it. If one was to look closer at the blanket one would see designs and color that long ago faded. With his tunic finally on slips out of the crevice and into the tunnel. With sure steps he begins to walk down the tunnel. No sound is made while he walks. There is no hesitation in his steps. As he walks through the village the sun's light drives away the last of the shadows. Past the village he stops by a crooked gate. Covered with chains and rust no one has opened this gate in a long time. Sitting on a moss covered stone the old man begins his watch. Only when the sun begins to set does he move again. With the sun to his back he walks back to the crevice. Carefully he removes his sandals and tunic. With a soundless snap of his fingers the small candle begins to burn with feeble light. On his tunic the old man sits and slowly reads his book. Darkness is all around by the time he turns the last page. With a sigh he sets the book down and lays his head on his tunic. The candle flickers out and darkness swallows light.
Slowly the old man opens his eyes. With careful movement he puts on the worn sandals. Then he picks up the ratty blanket. He lovingly inspects it as a mother would her first child. With agonizing care he finds a hole in the blanket and slips his head through it. If one was to look closer at the blanket one would see designs and color that long ago faded. With his tunic finally on slips out of the crevice and into the tunnel. With sure steps he begins to walk down the tunnel. No sound is made while he walks. There is no hesitation in his steps. As he walks through the village the sun's light drives away the last of the shadows. Past the village he stops by a crooked gate. Covered with chains and rust no one has opened this gate in a long time. Sitting on a moss covered stone the old man begins his watch. Only when the sun begins to set does he move again. With the sun to his back he walks back to the crevice. Carefully he removes his sandals and tunic. With a soundless snap of his fingers the small candle begins to burn with feeble light. On his tunic the old man sits and slowly reads his book. Darkness is all around by the time he turns the last page. With a sigh he sets the book down and lays his head on his tunic. The candle flickers out and darkness swallows light.
Nothing has changed in this old and forgotten place. Nothing can change here. Filled with ancient wood and stone, to heavy to move on from this single action. The world has moved on from this place. Action carries weight. Some actions are only important because they have been done before. Here in this little fragment of the world one action has carved a place. It is like a dream. Endless repeating without hope of escape.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
@yrsillar Omake for the Omake throne
I hope you like this piece. I had this idea ever since we talked to tree man in the bloody dream. He didn't know he was in a dream just like the old man here doesn't know he is repeating the same day over and over. Anyway please enjoy and critique!
