05-30-2018, 02:39 PM
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]The sounds of a quickly moving sword echoed gently into the air. Foot steps moved forward and back, on the attack and then on to defense, always moving. The aforementioned sword flew forward, slicing into the air, into an invisible enemy, before returning to its owner as a means of protection from an unseen blow. The movements were fluid, powerful, vicious, and yet it was somehow beautiful. This activity continued for several minutes as if it were a bit of a warmup.
Thomas' mind was elsewhere as he practiced, but his eyes were focused on the sack dummy he had sat up. He stepped forward quickly, plunging the sword deep within the bag of what appeared to be dirt and sand. He yanked the sword back to himself, dirt flying away with the action and then beginning to seep out of the gash in the sack. He performed this action once, twice more. The swings and stabs were hard, brutal. One could tell he was experienced if they should be watching. And though his movements appeared amazing and quite talented to watchers on, he knew he had grown somewhat sloppy since his time in the army.
He could hear his former mentor's disappointed sigh, could feel their harsh and angry stare. 'I taught you better, boy,' they spat. It felt so real, but he knew this was a trick of his subconscious. It was but a simple memory. He recalled it now. In his seventeenth year of life, after six months gone from the royal army, he had returned to them. He had been away on princely business and had grown weak. His mentor was disgusted. His peers shunned him. The army was no place for the kingdom's favorite boy, they all said. His rank was lowered, and he had to begin again, attempting to rise in the ranks, to prove himself. It had taken a month, but he did it. He had always been better than the rest; it just took time to sharpen his abilities.
Thomas slashed again, cutting the sack halfway open. A third of its contents escaped onto the ground below. If it had been a moving target, perhaps he would have been impressed. The target he was using was mere child's play. There was nothing to it. The only reason he was wasting time was to work out stress and anger and to practice.
The lionhearted man stepped forward, placing the cut up bag on the ground. He grabbed another sack full of dirt and tossed it lazily onto the stool he had been using as a stand for his practice dummy. He raised his father's sword, taking a breath, searching for a strike point.
"Oh, Brother, it was a shame you couldn't have wielded a sword against me to protect Mother and Father. But you couldn't dream of hurting me now, could you?"
He visibly flinched. Thomas could hear his sister's voice. He could see that malicious smile of Faye's and the murderous glint in her eyes. His mind told him what happened next, and he experienced the ghostly feeling of his sister's sword plunging into his chest. He felt cold. He felt Faye's hands shaking him. Her tone was pleading as she begged him not to die, as she begged him to forgive her, but he could not make out the words. He could not even be sure that she was hoping he lived. All he could focus on was how cold he was. And then, there was nothing.
The next thing he recalled was Kaarina. He saw her smile as he returned to reality, and it took all his strength to wipe away her tears of joy. He was tired, but his little witch had brought him back. He remembered his own happiness before the weight of everything slammed into him at once. She explained to him all that had transpired in his absence from the world: how Faye had slipped further into darkness, how the kingdom slowly but surely fell around their feet, how the world... seemed to end. She explained how it had been a few years. She explained how she was... sick. He had looked at her then, holding onto her hand. She was frail, and her skin was pale. Her green eyes - those eyes he loved so deeply - were dulled.
He was allowed one year with his love before she faded. She had died on an early summer day. She had seemed so alive in those last twenty four hours, but deep down, Thomas knew. They had been sitting on a hill that overlooked an ocean (Kaarina had never seen one before, and it was her dying wish). He remembered the sound of the waves, the smell of salt, the gentle cry of the seagulls. He had held her hand. The weak smile on her face had melted his heart. And in mere heartbeats, he had to watch in agony as her smile slowly, slowly, slowly crumbled. She whispered her love for him, and he returned the words quickly, effortlessly.
In that moment, he had produced a small ring from his pocket. He had asked for her hand in marriage and though she was weak, she rasped a 'yes.' Shaking hands had slipped the golden band around her finger. Her smile revived itself in those few seconds. She had never looked more beautiful to him than in that time. He had kissed her, gently, before holding her close as they sat, watching the sea. Thomas had held Kaarina's hand as her grip on him and this world slipped.
She had died not long afterward. He had buried her on the hill they had spent their last moments together on. He had picked every wildflower within a one hundred foot radius and placed them all upon her freshly dug grave. He had stood over her final resting place, cold and sad, until the sun had fallen from the sky and then some time after that. He could not stay here, but he made a mental map to this place in his heart. The young man had held onto her necklace as he finally left her side. It weighed him down more than his emotions. The ring he wore on his own finger felt too heavy to keep on him. But he carried both things. To this day, he carried them.
As he returned to the here and now, Thomas realized what had happened. The sack was completely destroyed. It had been slaughtered, ripped and cut, slashed and torn. Dirt and dust clung to the air, and he found himself coughing. He was breathing heavily now, too. In his journey into his memories, he had destroyed the practice dummy in a wild rage. It was frightening - even if he had only dispatched a sack.
The former prince took a small step back, placing a hand to his head. His breathing was slowing now, and his hand fell from his hand to Kaarina's necklace. The circular pendant was cool to the touch. He remained still for a few heartbeats. And then, he moved toward the sack, tossing it to the ground before picking up another. Thomas inhaled and then readied himself for more training.
Thomas' mind was elsewhere as he practiced, but his eyes were focused on the sack dummy he had sat up. He stepped forward quickly, plunging the sword deep within the bag of what appeared to be dirt and sand. He yanked the sword back to himself, dirt flying away with the action and then beginning to seep out of the gash in the sack. He performed this action once, twice more. The swings and stabs were hard, brutal. One could tell he was experienced if they should be watching. And though his movements appeared amazing and quite talented to watchers on, he knew he had grown somewhat sloppy since his time in the army.
He could hear his former mentor's disappointed sigh, could feel their harsh and angry stare. 'I taught you better, boy,' they spat. It felt so real, but he knew this was a trick of his subconscious. It was but a simple memory. He recalled it now. In his seventeenth year of life, after six months gone from the royal army, he had returned to them. He had been away on princely business and had grown weak. His mentor was disgusted. His peers shunned him. The army was no place for the kingdom's favorite boy, they all said. His rank was lowered, and he had to begin again, attempting to rise in the ranks, to prove himself. It had taken a month, but he did it. He had always been better than the rest; it just took time to sharpen his abilities.
Thomas slashed again, cutting the sack halfway open. A third of its contents escaped onto the ground below. If it had been a moving target, perhaps he would have been impressed. The target he was using was mere child's play. There was nothing to it. The only reason he was wasting time was to work out stress and anger and to practice.
The lionhearted man stepped forward, placing the cut up bag on the ground. He grabbed another sack full of dirt and tossed it lazily onto the stool he had been using as a stand for his practice dummy. He raised his father's sword, taking a breath, searching for a strike point.
"Oh, Brother, it was a shame you couldn't have wielded a sword against me to protect Mother and Father. But you couldn't dream of hurting me now, could you?"
He visibly flinched. Thomas could hear his sister's voice. He could see that malicious smile of Faye's and the murderous glint in her eyes. His mind told him what happened next, and he experienced the ghostly feeling of his sister's sword plunging into his chest. He felt cold. He felt Faye's hands shaking him. Her tone was pleading as she begged him not to die, as she begged him to forgive her, but he could not make out the words. He could not even be sure that she was hoping he lived. All he could focus on was how cold he was. And then, there was nothing.
The next thing he recalled was Kaarina. He saw her smile as he returned to reality, and it took all his strength to wipe away her tears of joy. He was tired, but his little witch had brought him back. He remembered his own happiness before the weight of everything slammed into him at once. She explained to him all that had transpired in his absence from the world: how Faye had slipped further into darkness, how the kingdom slowly but surely fell around their feet, how the world... seemed to end. She explained how it had been a few years. She explained how she was... sick. He had looked at her then, holding onto her hand. She was frail, and her skin was pale. Her green eyes - those eyes he loved so deeply - were dulled.
He was allowed one year with his love before she faded. She had died on an early summer day. She had seemed so alive in those last twenty four hours, but deep down, Thomas knew. They had been sitting on a hill that overlooked an ocean (Kaarina had never seen one before, and it was her dying wish). He remembered the sound of the waves, the smell of salt, the gentle cry of the seagulls. He had held her hand. The weak smile on her face had melted his heart. And in mere heartbeats, he had to watch in agony as her smile slowly, slowly, slowly crumbled. She whispered her love for him, and he returned the words quickly, effortlessly.
In that moment, he had produced a small ring from his pocket. He had asked for her hand in marriage and though she was weak, she rasped a 'yes.' Shaking hands had slipped the golden band around her finger. Her smile revived itself in those few seconds. She had never looked more beautiful to him than in that time. He had kissed her, gently, before holding her close as they sat, watching the sea. Thomas had held Kaarina's hand as her grip on him and this world slipped.
She had died not long afterward. He had buried her on the hill they had spent their last moments together on. He had picked every wildflower within a one hundred foot radius and placed them all upon her freshly dug grave. He had stood over her final resting place, cold and sad, until the sun had fallen from the sky and then some time after that. He could not stay here, but he made a mental map to this place in his heart. The young man had held onto her necklace as he finally left her side. It weighed him down more than his emotions. The ring he wore on his own finger felt too heavy to keep on him. But he carried both things. To this day, he carried them.
As he returned to the here and now, Thomas realized what had happened. The sack was completely destroyed. It had been slaughtered, ripped and cut, slashed and torn. Dirt and dust clung to the air, and he found himself coughing. He was breathing heavily now, too. In his journey into his memories, he had destroyed the practice dummy in a wild rage. It was frightening - even if he had only dispatched a sack.
The former prince took a small step back, placing a hand to his head. His breathing was slowing now, and his hand fell from his hand to Kaarina's necklace. The circular pendant was cool to the touch. He remained still for a few heartbeats. And then, he moved toward the sack, tossing it to the ground before picking up another. Thomas inhaled and then readied himself for more training.
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my one true love is under the ground
and i'll never be anybody's hero now
and i'll never be anybody's hero now
thomas dubois | lionhearted | blackfall
