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Date Posted: 15:34:24 03/31/02 Sun
Author: Fizban
Subject: <Sample>

Goddimus forced the rusted shovel deep into the freezing earth one last time, before collapsing to his knees, his head slowly coming to rest in the palms of his hands. Blood tricked down his wrist, mixed with sweat and the few tears he would ever allow to show. Billows of snow clustered about his boots, relentless in their attempts to cling to the raw flesh beneath.

Off to his left, a fire crackled, shaking him from his 'zone'. His head raised, showing off the rough features of his face now weighed down by his tireless efforts of the past week. A beard was just coming into place, ending just before it got to his chin, but long enough to catch the flakes that circled in the North morning wind.

His normally blue eyes seemed gray from the dismay he felt within himself. He was lost now, without a part of his core that had never been denied him before. The quest for the greatness he sought was now full of complex twist and turns like those he had never know.

"I will remember," he mumbled to himself, barely from the lack of nourishment he had recieved coming to such a place. He turned again to each mound of soil, shutting away the memories that pryed at him, making him weak. Again the fire crackled, but he ignored it, contemplating his future.

With events happening so rapidly following one another, he had less and less time to do this. Every injury released a sigh of pain throughout his body, reminding him that he was but a mere mortal and capable of dying. Fresh blood squeezed it's way from deep within him to flow through the open sores as he moved closer to the fire and warmed himself.

Fatigue judged him now, and his thoughts took longer to grasp while he sat their alone in an open field overlayed by heavy snow. He rocked to and fro, hearing ghostly voices, and feeling a touch close to death. The fire was his savior, it's light giving him a beacon to focus on. What little concentration he had would be needed in order to make it through the night.

Soon enough he was rolled on his side, looking into the fire after stuffing himself with the tough fish-meat he carried in his sack. He covered himself in a thick layer of bear skin, bringing him close to sweating when he was not careful.

He dozed on and off, fearing what sleep could bring and equally what the lack of it could do. A fit of rants overtook him, controlling what little mind-power he attempted to summon in order to stop. Clearly he needed, had, to sleep or face the open hands of death. His eye-lids, speckled with flakes, closed.

{Dreaming} Goddimus' bulk rose easily from the ground, now fresh with white-roses and shrubbery. He looked down to his body, amazed to find that his wounds had been healed. Though he was bare, he could not feel anything. No wind, sound, just his breath as it rolled from his lungs and formed in front of his eyes in cool clouds.

He walked across the soft grass, many times, knowing he should have crushed many things with his large feet but seeing no signs of his passing.

Goddimus stopped as his eyes fell upon those he had lossed more than a week. They rested like nothing had happened, waiting for him to come closer, as if to play a game with him.

Twice he ceased to move, expecting the figures to vanish in the distance like the illusions he knew them to be, but each time they simply looked up and stared. An eagerness to rush them flooded his heart, bringing mist to his eyes, but he quickly hushed it. This would not, could not last, and he would not be battered emotionally again.

Goddimus kneeled before them, daring a smile which quickly died as the two animals stood. His hands moved in quick, precise shifts, welcomes and goodbyes to his friends. A Winter Wolf, and Mountain Bear.

The two creatures remained in their places, watching the Barbarian in his show of respect. Thoughts past between them, beyond the train of any human or likenessess thereof. This was one formed over years of companionship, and done without a true need of physical showing.

Slowly the wolf bowed, touching it's nose to the ground. A short thought passed to Goddimus, "You are ready," or that is what he felt within his psyche. Imitation the wolf, the bear touched it's great nose to the ground, delivering the same message, "You are ready", before returning to it's natural position.

He marveled as the two figures he had come to love over the decades they had been together fluttered then disappeared. Nothing immediately appeared in either of their places, but soon enough a white stone grew from the ground. A blade, which could easily be mistaken as normal, rested at it's center.

Goddimus rose to his feet, and stepped to the sword, ready to claim it as his own although he was still unsure if he should.

It was a great weapon. The blade was long and smooth, having circular ridges that covered half of it from where it met the guard. The ridges seemd odd somehow, as if they were teeth, capped with silver, making them perfect.

The guard was constructed of adamantime and mithril, giving it a silver shine as it shaped four claws, one spreading up or down on the left or right. The hilt, was wrapped in a thin gold material that was feathery to the touch. At the center of the hilt on each side, were large eyes.

The pommel of the sword was smoothed over and shaped into thirteen balls, the largest being in the center of them.

"I deserve nothing of the sort. My weakness.." he looked upon the weapon one last time in admiration before a deep hatred of it's beauty crushed him.

Quickly he rolled it in his hand and placed the pommel against the ground. He felt the tip of the blade, then positioned it just below his heart. "I feel this is a nightmare. Such beauty in a weapon is not granted to those who let innocents die."

He cried out as he pushed, and pulled himself down onto the blade, taking in every bit of pain with only a single tear. Again the creatures appeared before him, this time burning in fire, walking towards him with menacing smiles nestled on their faces...

Goddimus quickly opened his eyes, remembering he was still in the cruel Northern mountains of the Dwarven king. Sweat dripped from his face now, forming a pool around his shoulder and beneath the bag he rested it on.

He breathed in a moment or two, telling himself that it was nothing but a dream. Yet, he failed to notice to things. The first was the scar on his chest left by the sword. The second, the sword which lay over the now faded fire, it's blade end facing him.

Shaking again, he layed back down. "I will remember."

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Replies:

<Sample2> -- Fizban, 15:36:50 03/31/02 Sun
- Re: <Sample2> -- ridcully, 18:40:33 03/31/02 Sun