The world is what we make it
05-13-2019, 07:18 PM
Lament Pyre It was late in the day, and the young warrior was just returning from his jog through the rogue lands of Boreas. He was slowly becoming familiar with the names and places around Legion. Familiar for the first time, he believed. The lack of familiarity or deja vu hinted that he had never been here before, but of course, he was far from certain. He stopped outside of Legion, not yet ready to enter, as sunset blossomed in the sky above him. The blood red tones of the sinking sun cast shadows upon the woods he roamed in, deepening the reds that washed through his coat. He began his cool down exercises, pushing his body through motions that were more familiar to him then the people that had taught them to him. Something about muscle memory, seemed to holder greater sway in what remained of who he had once been. He could recall no places, no faces, and no names. Yet here he was, moving through a dance that he could form with his body, and not name with his tongue. Strange, how the mind worked. The light was almost completely gone when he was done, and he stretched his limber body, shook out his coat, and looked towards Legion. He really had no reason left to linger outside of its borders. |
Current time: 11-24-2024, 08:37 PM
Powered By MyBB, © 2002-2024 MyBB Group.
