Post by Aldrid on May 5, 2014 6:12:42 GMT
With a grimace the large bear of a man trudged on through the thick, knee deep snow. The wind bit sharp and his cloak was barely any comfort against the frozen chill that raked at his face. The ends of his thick, orange beard were tipped with frost and his breath escaped in short silvery puffs, quickly snatched away in the roiling blizzard that swirled violently around him. Even for someone like him born in lands with winds as harsh as a mother's scorn the cold was a bit too much for him. He would have to find shelter, and quickly. His eyes combed around the open expanse. There was nothing in sight except the silhouette of large, ominous mountains that stretched forever upward. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the same as what was in front of him. Nothing but a veil of white and grey. It was a grim and desolate place. Turning his sights back on the mountain ahead, he began to trudge on. No matter how long he walked, it didn't appear as if his destination had grown any closer. The light of the day had all but faded, casting the world into an endless twilight. The blizzard had only worsened. His situation was growing dire. With grim determination, he set himself to keep calm despite the growing frustrations and continue walking; out here in this destitute place where he was isolated from everything and everyone, all he could rely on was his tenacious desire to press on, and search for what he had come for.
The further he went, the more hopeless he felt. He had come this far on rumor alone. He was chasing shadows. There was no evidence that what he sought after was really out here, or if it had even existed; but when a man was desperate enough, he looked to the most impossible things in hopes of finding a shred of truth. More often than not, someone was made to be a fool, and forced to suffer in bitter defeat as the last of their will was crushed. Not him though. He had nothing else now - his purpose torn from him, his only sense of joy, gone. Something had stolen the warmth from his heart and the sun from his skies, pitching him in an endless spiral of misery and desperation. He had frantically clawed at the bare straws that remained, and finally found something for his effort - he would not turn back. He refused to think his efforts had been in vain... yet the further he walked, the deeper the panic set into him. What if she was gone for good? What if his search this entire time had been for naught? He couldn't accept that.
Just as his tormenting thoughts had reached the pinnacle that drove men into the deepest recesses of hell, the traveler came to a dragging halt. His lungs burned. Breathing quickly, the Goliath of a man collapsed to his knees, hunched over and shivering. He couldn't press on. There was nothing here. Nothing but the sweet whisper of death, and the taunting, jeering laughter of those that wanted to see him fail. Sitting up he looked to the sky with the cold, desolate eyes of a man who had finally come to the ends of his resolve. Suddenly and without thought, a vicious roar tore from within him and clawed its way up his throat. It was a bloodcurdling sound. His lament echoed around him, carried on the wind and amplified by the snow-veiled earth. As the end of his outburst rippled out and faded, he was left panting and sweating. He had failed. Suddenly though, his call was answered by a roar of it's own - though unlike any he had ever heard before. It was dull and muted at first before it was under and around him, reverberating in his ears and leaving him momentarily deaf. Then recognition hit. It was a cracking sound, like the surface of a pond that had been punctured by some great force.
Rising to his feet, he staggered as the ground began to splinter around him and finally open up like the dark angry maw of some ravenous beast. Everything was chaos. He went tumbling into the abyssal darkness, unable to gain any sense of up from down. He fell for some time, his limbs flailing about in some poor attempt to regain his balance, though to no avail. Finally the cold, hard ground came rushing up to catch him. The air rushed from his lungs and he saw spots against the blackness as he was sent to tumble once more, and come to a crashing halt against something solid. He simply lay there in a daze, before the spinning slowed. With a groan of pain, he blinked a few times to clear the stars away and took some experimental breaths. He was badly battered and bruised, but those seemed to be the worst of it. A sharp pain jarred through his elbow where he had smashed it on the ice. Groaning he staggered to his feet and rubbed at the various pains throughout his body. Finally he took a moment to look around, and what he saw next took his breath away.
Before him lay the ruin of an ancient castle, crumbled and broken. The remains of it had been preserved under the ice, and in the gloom was barely illuminated by an eerie pale light. He continued forward with hesitation, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Could it be? Had he found what he had been searching for? Was this the lost kingdom of Hjalrin? Its name had only been spoken in childhood tales that often evoked the sense of adventure that plagued the hearts of young, ambitious men. Rumor spoke that this place chose who was allowed to enter its lands, and who were not worthy. Something flashed in the corner of his eyes and he turned at the sight of it, though paused at what he saw. It was a piece of metal that had caught the light and flashed dazzlingly. Blinking and covering his eyes, he slowly approached it and knelt down. Brushing the snow away, the man couldn't help but stagger back at what he saw.
The metal was of a fine, polished piece of armour still attached to the frozen remains of the dead it once protected. Its body had long decayed and broken away, leaving nothing but tatters of cloth and a skeleton that clutched to a rusted piece of iron that was once a sword. How the armour remained in such pristine condition was beyond him. He slowly walked over and examined the dead once more, before his eyes trailed down to his reflection that looked back. His expression was grim, lips turned downward in a frown behind his burly red beard. His skin was weathered and scratched, pale in the cold though normally tanned. His eyes were of the utmost gentle green, reminiscent of a forest on a hot, lazy summer's day - though reflected sadness and the regret of a man plagued by ghosts. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and crows feet were permanently stamped at the corners, sentiment to someone who had smiled frequently, though this had been lost in time. The long, curly orange strands of hair were tinged with a slight grey, and had begun to darken. He was getting old. Poking at his face, he was surprised just how much he had aged. How long had he been searching? Rising to his full height of eight foot four, he turned and looked over his broad shoulder at the castle once more. At least he should find shelter.
The dull thud of his heavy boots falling on the frozen stone path reverberated about the large crevice that housed the castle ruin. He looked about and noted how the walls were nothing more than a pale, glossy sheen of ice. He would not be leaving the way he came in. His eyes trailed up to the ceiling. How he had survived was beyond him. The fall had to of at least been greater than a hundred feet easy! There was no sense questioning it; best to appreciate what was, rather than what risk having what could be. He moved on with determination to get inside the castle halls. As he passed under the large archway where the ruin of the gate lay, he tilted his head back to look up at the castle before him. It was nothing more than a husk of its former glory, gutted of its splendor and wonder with the passage of time; yet it held some forgone sense of regality. Flying buttresses sprung from the towers and walls, capped with open tops where archers used to stand. the buttress itself was a corridor, each one able to stand two men abreast. The entire structure was grandeur, even with its decimation. Truly this is the place where what he sought for would be resting. There was no resting place more fitting than this.
The further he went, the more hopeless he felt. He had come this far on rumor alone. He was chasing shadows. There was no evidence that what he sought after was really out here, or if it had even existed; but when a man was desperate enough, he looked to the most impossible things in hopes of finding a shred of truth. More often than not, someone was made to be a fool, and forced to suffer in bitter defeat as the last of their will was crushed. Not him though. He had nothing else now - his purpose torn from him, his only sense of joy, gone. Something had stolen the warmth from his heart and the sun from his skies, pitching him in an endless spiral of misery and desperation. He had frantically clawed at the bare straws that remained, and finally found something for his effort - he would not turn back. He refused to think his efforts had been in vain... yet the further he walked, the deeper the panic set into him. What if she was gone for good? What if his search this entire time had been for naught? He couldn't accept that.
Just as his tormenting thoughts had reached the pinnacle that drove men into the deepest recesses of hell, the traveler came to a dragging halt. His lungs burned. Breathing quickly, the Goliath of a man collapsed to his knees, hunched over and shivering. He couldn't press on. There was nothing here. Nothing but the sweet whisper of death, and the taunting, jeering laughter of those that wanted to see him fail. Sitting up he looked to the sky with the cold, desolate eyes of a man who had finally come to the ends of his resolve. Suddenly and without thought, a vicious roar tore from within him and clawed its way up his throat. It was a bloodcurdling sound. His lament echoed around him, carried on the wind and amplified by the snow-veiled earth. As the end of his outburst rippled out and faded, he was left panting and sweating. He had failed. Suddenly though, his call was answered by a roar of it's own - though unlike any he had ever heard before. It was dull and muted at first before it was under and around him, reverberating in his ears and leaving him momentarily deaf. Then recognition hit. It was a cracking sound, like the surface of a pond that had been punctured by some great force.
Rising to his feet, he staggered as the ground began to splinter around him and finally open up like the dark angry maw of some ravenous beast. Everything was chaos. He went tumbling into the abyssal darkness, unable to gain any sense of up from down. He fell for some time, his limbs flailing about in some poor attempt to regain his balance, though to no avail. Finally the cold, hard ground came rushing up to catch him. The air rushed from his lungs and he saw spots against the blackness as he was sent to tumble once more, and come to a crashing halt against something solid. He simply lay there in a daze, before the spinning slowed. With a groan of pain, he blinked a few times to clear the stars away and took some experimental breaths. He was badly battered and bruised, but those seemed to be the worst of it. A sharp pain jarred through his elbow where he had smashed it on the ice. Groaning he staggered to his feet and rubbed at the various pains throughout his body. Finally he took a moment to look around, and what he saw next took his breath away.
Before him lay the ruin of an ancient castle, crumbled and broken. The remains of it had been preserved under the ice, and in the gloom was barely illuminated by an eerie pale light. He continued forward with hesitation, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Could it be? Had he found what he had been searching for? Was this the lost kingdom of Hjalrin? Its name had only been spoken in childhood tales that often evoked the sense of adventure that plagued the hearts of young, ambitious men. Rumor spoke that this place chose who was allowed to enter its lands, and who were not worthy. Something flashed in the corner of his eyes and he turned at the sight of it, though paused at what he saw. It was a piece of metal that had caught the light and flashed dazzlingly. Blinking and covering his eyes, he slowly approached it and knelt down. Brushing the snow away, the man couldn't help but stagger back at what he saw.
The metal was of a fine, polished piece of armour still attached to the frozen remains of the dead it once protected. Its body had long decayed and broken away, leaving nothing but tatters of cloth and a skeleton that clutched to a rusted piece of iron that was once a sword. How the armour remained in such pristine condition was beyond him. He slowly walked over and examined the dead once more, before his eyes trailed down to his reflection that looked back. His expression was grim, lips turned downward in a frown behind his burly red beard. His skin was weathered and scratched, pale in the cold though normally tanned. His eyes were of the utmost gentle green, reminiscent of a forest on a hot, lazy summer's day - though reflected sadness and the regret of a man plagued by ghosts. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and crows feet were permanently stamped at the corners, sentiment to someone who had smiled frequently, though this had been lost in time. The long, curly orange strands of hair were tinged with a slight grey, and had begun to darken. He was getting old. Poking at his face, he was surprised just how much he had aged. How long had he been searching? Rising to his full height of eight foot four, he turned and looked over his broad shoulder at the castle once more. At least he should find shelter.
The dull thud of his heavy boots falling on the frozen stone path reverberated about the large crevice that housed the castle ruin. He looked about and noted how the walls were nothing more than a pale, glossy sheen of ice. He would not be leaving the way he came in. His eyes trailed up to the ceiling. How he had survived was beyond him. The fall had to of at least been greater than a hundred feet easy! There was no sense questioning it; best to appreciate what was, rather than what risk having what could be. He moved on with determination to get inside the castle halls. As he passed under the large archway where the ruin of the gate lay, he tilted his head back to look up at the castle before him. It was nothing more than a husk of its former glory, gutted of its splendor and wonder with the passage of time; yet it held some forgone sense of regality. Flying buttresses sprung from the towers and walls, capped with open tops where archers used to stand. the buttress itself was a corridor, each one able to stand two men abreast. The entire structure was grandeur, even with its decimation. Truly this is the place where what he sought for would be resting. There was no resting place more fitting than this.