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Story Hour
The Journey across Midnight (Updated 07SEP03)
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<blockquote data-quote="Tokiwong" data-source="post: 1099399" data-attributes="member: 961"><p><strong>The Old Man</strong></p><p></p><p>Along the trails of Eredane tales spread among those who fight against the resistance of an Old Man who spreads a message of hope to those who have nothing left to cling to. Perhaps it is just an old tale but the man walks many roads, he has been seen in many places, and his tale or variations thereof have been heard from the fest halls of the north, to the open plains of the south. The elves if they know his name do not speak it, but they know him as a friend of the Fae, perhaps the Witch Queen knows his true identity. </p><p></p><p>He was a mystery, his smile, is ocean-like eyes, his very presence seemed to bring ease and comfort, and yet he was not one to converse he spoke very little. Always accompanied by his companion, a dove that seemed to be his eyes and ears in the world. What it knew the Old Man knew, the two shared a bond, that much was known. But nothing else, if the man is truly real he has been walking the roads for centuries. His appearance usually preceded the appearance of great heroes, heroes that brought hope during the darkest of times.</p><p></p><p>But the times have become far darker, and far more desperate as the minions of the One God, slowly break the spine of the insurgency, and claw away at the strongest lines of defense versus full subjugation; the fae. Ninety-nine years of tyranny, ninety-nine years of bloodshed, and ninety-nine years of fear have made Hope become all but a withered dream. Many have all but given on the ideal that a hero, let alone a band of heroes would rise and deliver them from the darkness.</p><p></p><p>But the Old Man has not given up Hope; in many ways he is incapable of losing any semblance of hope. He continues to walk the roads, and keep the faith that the time of heroes has not passed. He watches as young men and women fight a losing war against the blood drenched legions of the Shadow, he feels the pain of the huddled masses as the legates enforce brutal justice, and he smells the decay of a world sliding steadily into dissolution. As the maelstrom of evil and darkness grows, so does the ever-flaming beacon of hope within his breast. He knows that those he calls to the role of heroes will face hardship, sacrifice, and perhaps death. But he knows that ever sacrifice must be done, he must do what must be done to keep the flaming light of hope alive, and he knows that good men and women will die because of it. </p><p></p><p>But the price is worth the sacrifice.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Tokiwong, post: 1099399, member: 961"] [b]The Old Man[/b] Along the trails of Eredane tales spread among those who fight against the resistance of an Old Man who spreads a message of hope to those who have nothing left to cling to. Perhaps it is just an old tale but the man walks many roads, he has been seen in many places, and his tale or variations thereof have been heard from the fest halls of the north, to the open plains of the south. The elves if they know his name do not speak it, but they know him as a friend of the Fae, perhaps the Witch Queen knows his true identity. He was a mystery, his smile, is ocean-like eyes, his very presence seemed to bring ease and comfort, and yet he was not one to converse he spoke very little. Always accompanied by his companion, a dove that seemed to be his eyes and ears in the world. What it knew the Old Man knew, the two shared a bond, that much was known. But nothing else, if the man is truly real he has been walking the roads for centuries. His appearance usually preceded the appearance of great heroes, heroes that brought hope during the darkest of times. But the times have become far darker, and far more desperate as the minions of the One God, slowly break the spine of the insurgency, and claw away at the strongest lines of defense versus full subjugation; the fae. Ninety-nine years of tyranny, ninety-nine years of bloodshed, and ninety-nine years of fear have made Hope become all but a withered dream. Many have all but given on the ideal that a hero, let alone a band of heroes would rise and deliver them from the darkness. But the Old Man has not given up Hope; in many ways he is incapable of losing any semblance of hope. He continues to walk the roads, and keep the faith that the time of heroes has not passed. He watches as young men and women fight a losing war against the blood drenched legions of the Shadow, he feels the pain of the huddled masses as the legates enforce brutal justice, and he smells the decay of a world sliding steadily into dissolution. As the maelstrom of evil and darkness grows, so does the ever-flaming beacon of hope within his breast. He knows that those he calls to the role of heroes will face hardship, sacrifice, and perhaps death. But he knows that ever sacrifice must be done, he must do what must be done to keep the flaming light of hope alive, and he knows that good men and women will die because of it. But the price is worth the sacrifice. [/QUOTE]
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