The sky was was painted with the orange hues and swash of purple, the colors of a perpetual sun set or sun rise. Clouds masked the sun only allowing a few rays of light to shine through the heavenly blanket of clouds. The sky was beautiful but a heavy sorrow hung in the air which was accompanied by a dirge of a symphonic silence. The soil was ashen, the dirt charred black as if the ground was razed by hell fire. Not a single blade of grass, the land was devoid of life. Yet the hopeless landscape was decorated with countless blades impaled into the ground. As far as the eye can see the land an assortment of rusting and decaying weapons had the points of their blades in the grounds and their handles pointed to the sky. The rows of forgotten weapons eerily resembled rows of tombstones of a mass grave dedicated to fallen soldiers. Each blade was unique in its make, each blade had its own story, but each blade was tossed away and forgotten. The grave of swords that expanded into the seemingly endless horizon.
A lone figure stood surrounded by the mass of discarded weapons. Ash and dust blew in the breeze that passed through the grave of blades like a phantom. A man in red stared at the cloudy sky, he watched as large gears slowly broke through the clouds revealing a large mechanism in the sky. The gears rotated ominously as the inner mechanisms in the sky rhythmically ticked like the beating heart of a clock tower. The gears turned constantly almost as if they were rotating for countless life times, turning constantly but never leaving their prison in the sky. The man stared at awe at the mysterious machine and its gears as it blotted out the sun.
“W-where am I?” The man asked hoping to hear a voice, a response to his lonesome voice lost in the grave of blades.Yet there was no answer. The loneliness was unbearable with its crushing weight. The man began to walk deeper into the rows of discarded blades, his steps increasing in its pace until he found himself in a full on sprint. His eyes desperate to find another soul, yet all he could see was rows of rusted weapons.
“Hello is there anyone there?!” The man yelled, his ruby red eyes wide and desperate to find another person. His efforts were in vain, as he soon found himself on top of a hill decorated with nameless weapons. He gazed at the mass grave that stretched for miles as far as the eye can see.
A voice rang behind him. “They won’t remember you… you’ll be forgotten just like the rest of these blades” The man turned but before he could see who spoke his vision shifted.
Ivan took a gasp as he sat up quickly. He looked around and found himself in the back of a rocking cart drawn by a horse. The man driving the cart turned to greet Ivan.
“Are you good son?” the elder man inquired, Ivan nodded in response as not to worry the kind man that had offered him a ride to the city.
Ivan couldn’t help but shake the feeling of foreboding, this wasn’t the first time he had this odd dream. He simply sighed and shrugged it off. The cart eventually came to a stop, Ivan thanked the man and tried to give him some jewels, but the kind old man politely declined and made his way.
Ivan soon found himself at the doors of Sabertooth. He didn’t know why but he felt like this was the place where he needed to be. Something drew him there.
“Hello?” Ivan inquired as his hand subconsciously moved and touched the hilt of his rusted and worn blade at his hip.
___________
640 words
A lone figure stood surrounded by the mass of discarded weapons. Ash and dust blew in the breeze that passed through the grave of blades like a phantom. A man in red stared at the cloudy sky, he watched as large gears slowly broke through the clouds revealing a large mechanism in the sky. The gears rotated ominously as the inner mechanisms in the sky rhythmically ticked like the beating heart of a clock tower. The gears turned constantly almost as if they were rotating for countless life times, turning constantly but never leaving their prison in the sky. The man stared at awe at the mysterious machine and its gears as it blotted out the sun.
“W-where am I?” The man asked hoping to hear a voice, a response to his lonesome voice lost in the grave of blades.Yet there was no answer. The loneliness was unbearable with its crushing weight. The man began to walk deeper into the rows of discarded blades, his steps increasing in its pace until he found himself in a full on sprint. His eyes desperate to find another soul, yet all he could see was rows of rusted weapons.
“Hello is there anyone there?!” The man yelled, his ruby red eyes wide and desperate to find another person. His efforts were in vain, as he soon found himself on top of a hill decorated with nameless weapons. He gazed at the mass grave that stretched for miles as far as the eye can see.
A voice rang behind him. “They won’t remember you… you’ll be forgotten just like the rest of these blades” The man turned but before he could see who spoke his vision shifted.
Ivan took a gasp as he sat up quickly. He looked around and found himself in the back of a rocking cart drawn by a horse. The man driving the cart turned to greet Ivan.
“Are you good son?” the elder man inquired, Ivan nodded in response as not to worry the kind man that had offered him a ride to the city.
Ivan couldn’t help but shake the feeling of foreboding, this wasn’t the first time he had this odd dream. He simply sighed and shrugged it off. The cart eventually came to a stop, Ivan thanked the man and tried to give him some jewels, but the kind old man politely declined and made his way.
Ivan soon found himself at the doors of Sabertooth. He didn’t know why but he felt like this was the place where he needed to be. Something drew him there.
“Hello?” Ivan inquired as his hand subconsciously moved and touched the hilt of his rusted and worn blade at his hip.
___________
640 words
Last edited by Ivan Dragunov on 19th October 2021, 6:31 am; edited 1 time in total