A Warriors Prelude
-Jondular 3/98
I am but a tired, roadweary warrior. My armor is rusted and dented
and weighs upon me like a yoke. My sword is dull, its blade chipped and worn
from my many battles, and many have I fought against the Dragon and both won
and lost in my lifetime. But in my rising years, at this time when the
cold wind whistles down the mountain and pierces its way through my cover to
spread its frigid breath across my bones, I no longer hear the same trumpets
of my youth. The thrill of battle no longer sends me on a quest, searching out foe or a cause to give my life in battle against. There is no strength left
in my arm, even, to lift my dutiful sword, or voice left in my throat to
sound a battle cry. My shoulders are slumped and fatigue has become my
companion.
Yet in my nightly ventures among the dark, unknown passages of
unconsciousness there comes to me a vision so heartwrenching in clarity that
even in my sleep my breath is, with a sharp suddenness, captured within my
chest. A vision, that in all my wildest daydreams I could not ever imagine
the likeness of, has penetrated my dreams and fills me with such wonder
I know not what to think or do.
Every man has, within the catacombs of his mind, an image of the perfect
woman, the soft soul that, beyond any other person of the fairer gender
releases him from his own disciplined but barbaric nature. And so it seems,
she has at last come to me. From where I know not, if only from my minds
eye, I care not. It is enough for me to feel her presence, to taste her scent
and to relish my new found release that she has given to me. The strangness
of her is many fold, multi-faceted in nature, for I recognize not her garb
or her mannerisms. It is as if this creature is of another world, a place
unknown by mortal man, yet everything about her is so familiar to me, as if
I have known her for all of my life. Her beauty is generated not from the
simple, superficiality of perfect skin, high cheek bones, and long, flowing
hair, though these attributes are well within her persona, but more from a
mystic, elusive aura that surrounds her and sends my senses reeling in my
sleep, an uncontrollable cascade of emotion.
I cannot place any bonds or chains upon my dreams. They travel
in my mind as they will, fleeting and independant of my own choice, and I
would not stop them now for payment of gold. If she is real then I must find
her but if she is only a figment of my imagination then I must go to her in
my dreams, seek her out in the mists of that abstract world and unite with
her. My choice is made and my mind will not be altered from its course. I
must, if the Gods be willing, take charge of my steed and locate the entrance
to that fantastic land wherein she abides. I shall seek her and the promise
that I know is whispered by her lips and by my own oath, I will once again
take up the sword and shield, face whatever Dragon I must in my quest and I
will slay the filthy beast. This I must do for her strangeness calls to me,
pulling me to her... and I must obey.
-To Be Continued
-Jondular 3/98
I am but a tired, roadweary warrior. My armor is rusted and dented
and weighs upon me like a yoke. My sword is dull, its blade chipped and worn
from my many battles, and many have I fought against the Dragon and both won
and lost in my lifetime. But in my rising years, at this time when the
cold wind whistles down the mountain and pierces its way through my cover to
spread its frigid breath across my bones, I no longer hear the same trumpets
of my youth. The thrill of battle no longer sends me on a quest, searching out foe or a cause to give my life in battle against. There is no strength left
in my arm, even, to lift my dutiful sword, or voice left in my throat to
sound a battle cry. My shoulders are slumped and fatigue has become my
companion.
Yet in my nightly ventures among the dark, unknown passages of
unconsciousness there comes to me a vision so heartwrenching in clarity that
even in my sleep my breath is, with a sharp suddenness, captured within my
chest. A vision, that in all my wildest daydreams I could not ever imagine
the likeness of, has penetrated my dreams and fills me with such wonder
I know not what to think or do.
Every man has, within the catacombs of his mind, an image of the perfect
woman, the soft soul that, beyond any other person of the fairer gender
releases him from his own disciplined but barbaric nature. And so it seems,
she has at last come to me. From where I know not, if only from my minds
eye, I care not. It is enough for me to feel her presence, to taste her scent
and to relish my new found release that she has given to me. The strangness
of her is many fold, multi-faceted in nature, for I recognize not her garb
or her mannerisms. It is as if this creature is of another world, a place
unknown by mortal man, yet everything about her is so familiar to me, as if
I have known her for all of my life. Her beauty is generated not from the
simple, superficiality of perfect skin, high cheek bones, and long, flowing
hair, though these attributes are well within her persona, but more from a
mystic, elusive aura that surrounds her and sends my senses reeling in my
sleep, an uncontrollable cascade of emotion.
I cannot place any bonds or chains upon my dreams. They travel
in my mind as they will, fleeting and independant of my own choice, and I
would not stop them now for payment of gold. If she is real then I must find
her but if she is only a figment of my imagination then I must go to her in
my dreams, seek her out in the mists of that abstract world and unite with
her. My choice is made and my mind will not be altered from its course. I
must, if the Gods be willing, take charge of my steed and locate the entrance
to that fantastic land wherein she abides. I shall seek her and the promise
that I know is whispered by her lips and by my own oath, I will once again
take up the sword and shield, face whatever Dragon I must in my quest and I
will slay the filthy beast. This I must do for her strangeness calls to me,
pulling me to her... and I must obey.
-To Be Continued
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