My Scribbles

Sometimes I go back
To what I've said
And to what I've wrote
I read and ponder

And in them I find about
How I looked at things
I now despise
Or at things that I now love

For there's change in life,
In me and in you
And what has been
May not yet hold

But in two lines
Of what I wrote
Or in two words
Lies a sea of vivid memories

For every moment captured
And every word I uttered
Lie dormant here now,
In all these things I've scribbled.

There's sadness here,
And words of solitude
Of darkness there's written, with
A tattered sense of perception

Yet there is also hope
And compassion and wonder
Of colours and light is written
A character in awe is living

For then I wrote and now I write
To have some self-indulgence
And to myself and memories
I owe, respect and growing gratitude.

El'Duran: A Dream and a Memory

"I am a paladin of Tyr. A follower of the light, of what is good and just. I serve my people and my church; The Hand of Tyr. My brothers and I have taken an ought to defend the poor and fight for what is good in this world. We fight to cleanse the lands from the un-living and preach to abolish all evil. This is what I, El' Duran, live for. By the glory of Tyr and the power that he bestowed upon my brothers, I shall help you in your quest. In their name I shall serve and lead you, so that we will walk in the light as the world around us crumbles into shadow and chaos."

By El' Duran - Letter of acceptance to his excellency Joaquim The Golden Hand of Tyr, for taking on the task of travelling the world with a group of mercenaries, in the aim of assessing the chaotic status of the world, while spreading the light upon blighted lands.


A Dream and a Memory

I saw her face. Silver gleaming eyes and a stern look. She placed one foot forward as her battered sword came crushing down on the inanimate bones that walked relentlessly towards her. I was there, behind her, my back supporting hers. The sullen look I had contrasted with the fierce stupor she held. Her sword swung forth again. With each blow dealt I could see her fade deeper into this hatred that now clearly surrounded her.

"Do not fear death El'Duran! Conquer it!", she yelled at me. I could see a blazing fortitude in her eyes that was now changing into rage and fury. Blood-soaked locks of hair that once glistened bronze in the light of the sun now lay on her shoulders as she turned to face another undead. They came by the hundred, bold and unforgiving. This seemed to be a tragic setting of which I could not recall the memory. Did this actually really happen?

"El'Duran, my beloved!", she warned, "Look out!". A claw slashed at my metal shoulder-guard, and slipped downwards with force. The monstrosity before me moved clumsily but with a force unreckoned. It fell to the ground as its heavy hand carried its own weight to the earth. Roscelyn span around my body and lay bare the rotten guts of this walking corpse with one blow of her trembling hand. She was getting tired, and so was I, and we both knew it.

"The Hand of Tyr has abandoned us El. They are cowards.", she said with resentment.
"Do not lose hope. We must fight for the good of this land. For our people!"
This was what I truly believed and held dear for these past years. This is what I was here for, to purge the not-living and I was doing so with the only person I really trusted. A person I loved.
And yet, my last efforts to instil hope in her proved futile.

"You are a fool El!", she cried in anger. Her swings never seized as she tried to make sense of all of this.
"We were sent here to die. They will never come. The Hand of Tyr has made us her sheep!"
I feared of what was to come, of what was to become of my beloved Roscelyn.

"Fight for good Ros!", I cried. A dozen other corpses swayed in the west, as they marched against the wind towards us.

"Fight for our lives, my beloved!", she replied.
A rotten hand came crushing sideways into my gut. The world turned black and I fell to the ground. Through the darkness I could hear the yells of rage and desperation as Roscelyn witnessed my fall and fought around me with renewed strength. However, I could also hear the footsteps of the dead. Alas, a creeping march, a dragging of feet and bone close by and far way, as far as I could sense. This was surely to be the end of us.

Then, some trickles of light managed to enter my eyes, and I looked to the horizon. Just then, as the undead took over Roscelyn and trampled her down, from between the rotten bones, I saw seven horsemen bathed in light, marching towards us.

This was it. The Hand of Tyr had finally come.

An Unfinished Life

I'm not afraid to die, to watch the candle lights fade away, to see my life being sapped, my fragile bones shaking with ache. I'm not afraid to go to heaven or to hell, or to dim to darkness and never return. But I fear a nightmare, that with my death, I have left none of an effect upon this Earth, that my life was a futile existence. I'm afraid that I will be forgotten, that the daughters of my third generation will have not but a single clue of who I was. That their sons will walk upon lands where my ashes lay, and know none of their brethren's unfinished life. 

I'm not afraid to die, yet I am afraid for other people dying without understanding the beauty of life. They die expecting heaven or hell, or a place in the void never to return, yet they do not realize what they are - a miracle of existence. I'd rather live in awe at the things around me than in turmoil of thoughts in trying to achieve a place in the heavens, for the joy of inner peace - enlightenment - of realizing what is and what is not lingers in eternity, beyond death.