Returning Home....

A forum for followers of War.
sascha
Posts: 2
Joined: Sat Apr 26, 2014 2:09 pm
Guild: Knights
Temple: War

Returning Home....

Post by sascha »

Once she reached the entrance to the temple, Sascha looked up at the familiar statue of Eisenhertz in all his splendor. This was a sight she hadn’t seen in many years. She wondered how many times she had passed this familiar face in the past. It really had been far too long since she had walked through the halls of the Fortress. Time to right that wrong.

Sascha passed through the archway, the regular guards at the gate recognized her markings and didn’t move. The courtyard was highlighted with the ominous statue of Lord Zir. She still remembered walking in here and being in awe and fear of this statue. She saw him in person once. He exuded power with his presence and it made her proud to be one of his followers, making her want to do better, to be something. She was once. Now...that was the past.

She went further into the fortress, just past the courtyard to see Whasker. He’s taken care of the Shrine to Azyhier for as long as she could remember and years beyond that, if not centuries. He still housed other options of mounts for legionnaires to use, riding in style into battle. After a brief conversation, she continued on. There was a place she had in mind to go.

While walking down the hall, she passed lines of weapons of various types made by the best forgers in the lands from right here within the halls of the fortress. Portraits hang on the walls of past Blades, Champions and Heroes, all those of great honor that remind many of those within the fortress of what they would like to someday live up to.

Eventually she came across the bartender, Rousse. Still looking as tattered and torn as before, Rousse still has the biggest tankards filled with the best drinks in the lands. Many battles have been discussed, boasted about, and patched up after while drinking at this bar. The popcorn she’s picked from her red hair. The alcohol she’s washed her old wounds in and worn back to the guild. Ahhh...the memories.

The walk continued. She knew she was getting closer as she reached the Hall where most members dreamed of doing the most important thing of all...forging their own blade of power. The forge was where she enjoyed hanging out. The feel of the blazing fire feeding her inner desire. The pounding of metals left a ring in her ears that was so melodious, she could be lulled to sleep if she gave it the chance. If she was ever lucky enough, she may get the chance to forge a blade here. For now, though, she would rely on the skills of the master forgers that worked here. They kept the faithful of the fortress well equipped with the best possible weapons. As she walked through the forge relishing her favorite sights and sounds, she made sure to speak with each of the forgers for just a little, not wanting to interrupt their fine work.

Closer yet. She came to the stairway that led down to the battlegrounds. The hard work of the forgers was placed here. Warriors grabbed weapons as they needed them while running to battle, leaving them here covered in blood and guts afterwards for cleaning and repair. Every weapon here was pristine, other than the cob webs that had grown on them for lack of use.

Her memory must be failing her. She knew the smell of fresh blood, yet the smell was absent from this location. How could that be? The smell of blood and sweat should be fresh here often from various battles of training if nothing else. The Legion Faithful would tire out day after day practicing their techniques and abilities to work as one unit from this location, taking on the best and worst that could be found all across the lands. Now….it was absent. Sighing, she continued on, hoping things would soon change.

Entering the Chamber of War she looked around to find there was no fresh blood here either. No new boot prints graced the floor. These have started to degenerate from time of not being disturbed. With a loud scream “FOR ZIR!” she ran around the room for hours kicking up the dirt, re-establishing fresh boot prints in every spot on the ground she could manage. This should never happen.

Hours having passed, exhaustion taking over, she finally stopped at the podium. Sitting down to catch her breath and leaning against it, she looked up at the eerily glowing faint red light that seemed to never end. At least one thing had not dwindled.

Having caught her breath, she got up and looked out at the chamber. The vastness of it overwhelming. She had seen many leaders stand here and give orders, give inspiration, give life to the Faithful of the Legion. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear the speeches as she reached for her blade ready to run into battle with the Faithful alongside her. Their cheers “FOR GLORY! FOR ZIR!” ringing out in unison.

Opening her eyes she realized that she was still exhausted from her run. Even she was out of shape from her long absence. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the back wall and slid down it till she was sitting once again. This allowed her the opportunity to still see the Chamber, keep her back protected and admire the view.


“Once again, the Glory of Zir will be felt through the lands. These rooms will be bathed in blood from the battles won. I look forward to the battles to come.”


Hand on her hilt, she finally drifted to sleep. Dreaming.
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