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Unread 20th of July, 2009, 15:31
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Cadrius
Refusing to Sow [Epic GM]

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Join Date: Jan 2002
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Location: The Emerald City
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His boots crunch through the fine dusting of snow that coats the dirt and leaves. His breath steams in the air. The pelt is there with him, draped over his shoulders. The snow will not last. It is too soon for the winter court to reign. Already he can feel the morning sun warming the air. Lord October will not stand this transgression. By noon all will be brown and orange and red and yellow again. Autumn will hold the world in its grasp once more.

Karus finds his step quickening. He feels the first slick of sweat on his back and belly against his tunic as he pushes himself harder. Now he understands what his father meant. He can feel it. It calls to his blood, singing in his veins. The search will be over. He will return to his village as a man. At last, the son of Brom will be paid the respect he is due. This will prove his worth beyond all reproach. Perhaps it will even help them scourge their ancient enemies from the land.

Visions of being made chieftain float through his mind. He ruled with a firm, yet fair fist. With the giants gone from the earth his people were free to grow and prosper. They started small, improving the wooden palisades and longhouses. As trade opened up a mighty keep was erected. A new power rose in the north and Karus was there to lead them to such heights they had never dreamed before. Eventually he was made king, first of his name, and founded a noble lineage with his beautiful wife—a woman who was believed to carry the blood of an almost dead line of sorcerers. His progeny were both powerful and bright, boys and girls who were destined to rule. Bards penned verses to honor him. Statues were built. A golden age settled across the world.

He comes out of his reverie as a ruined manse looms in his view. The walls, once proud, have been laid low by father time’s wizened fingers. He marvels that all things in this world fight against the slow, inexorable entropy. Time is loaned, we are mighty, and then we are cruelly worn down and crushed. In this all things must obey. This home is no exception.

Brackish water pools across the ground. He stares at the moss and sticks and dark water, wondering if a madman built these walls of stone in a swamp or if the swamp had arisen to drag this manor into its black depths. It is colder here and smells of blight. His nose wrinkles. The pelt hates it too.

“I know,” he says, “but this is where I must go.”

Careful, he strings his bow and puts an arrow to the heartwood. His steps are measured and soft, avoiding the cold, sucking mud with a practiced ease. He is the hunter once more, and this time his aim will not stray. He leans against the lee of a crumbling column and peeks his head around the edge. Nothing stirs in the ruined arches and courtyard. Yet he knows it lies within. The pull is stronger now; the voice is louder.

Karus steps around the column and goes to seize his destiny.