THE ORDER WAS FRAMED.
Four words that no one ever thought to string together. And yet it was the crux of the matter. A century since the war ended, tensions were still high between mortal and magic, and this new truth could be the spark that ignites...
In the light of the early hours of the morning every aspect of the woods was alight in a dazzling display; patterns of different shapes that originated from the rays of the sun were preserved by winters gift. The sun was redirected in every direction by the translucent tears of the heavens, and as the wind took control, each reflection melded with many others until the lone shapes formed creatures from every age of the earth, old and new. Lions chased gazelles through endless fields under the shadow of eagles who caught trout within their talons and soared in endless skies upon ancient currents of air. Giants walked and cats hid from their view, and dragons performed rituals lost in time. Wars were fought, blood was shed, but still the world sought to evolve. Each generation held a hand to the next, each giving a gift to the world. Over the centuries the world had changed, some were good and some were bad; but it was change. Hundreds upon hundreds of creatures formed, each connected with the creatures who came before and after.In the early hours of the morning, the world remembered everything that once was, and everything that could be. As the sun climbed out from under the horizon, the figures dissipated into the wind, leaving naught but a cold remnant in their wake.
THE CRIES OF THE WIND BROKE THE SPELL, TEARING HIS EYES AWAY FROM THE WELL WORN PAGES OF THE LEATHER BOUND JOURNAL. HIS BREATH PUFFED IN TINY CLOUDS AS IT WAS RELEASED INTO THE ATMOSPHERE, ORBS OF CRYSTAL WATCHING AS THE WIND CARRIED IT AWAY. THE SUN SLICED THROUGH THE BRITTLE AIR, WASHING THE FRESH POWDER IN A GOLDEN GLOW. THE TREES CREAKED IN THE STILLNESS OF THE AIR, HEAVING UNDER WINTERS KISS.
IT WAS BEAUTIFUL, IN A SENSE.
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HE GLANCED DOWN AT THE JOURNAL, SIGHING AS HE REALIZED THAT HE WAS NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO REFOCUS ON HIS TASK. HE LEANED HIS HEAD BACK TO REST AGAINST THE CALLOUSED BARK OF THE TREE HE CURRENTLY RESIDED UNDER, TRACING THE DESIGN ETCHED INTO THE TREE WITH HIS EYES UNTIL DISTANCE BLURRED HIS VISION. CUTLASS SHARDS CLUNG TO THE BRANCHES PRECARIOUSLY, WAITING FOR THE RIGHT MOMENT TO STRIKE.
HE RELISHED MOMENTS AKIN TO THIS ONE; TROLLMARKET IS OVERPOPULATED AND MORE OFTEN THEN NOT TENDS TO BE A HOTSPOT FOR HAVOC, LEAVING HIM LITTLE TIME TO BREATHE. TO THIS DAY, HE STILL COULD NOT GRASP THE CONCEPT THAT SUCH PEACE COULD BE FOUND BY SIMPLY OPENING HIS EYES.
WITH PRACTICED EASE HE STORED THE LEATHER BOUND JOURNAL WITHIN THE FOLDS OF HIS CLOAK, OUT OF REACH OF THE BITING COLD. THE SNOW CRUNCHED AS HE SHIFTED HIS WEIGHT TO HIS LEGS, SHAKING ANY EXCESS REMAINS OFF HIS ATTIRE AS HE STOOD. WITH A LONGING BREATH IN, HE EXHALED ANY TENSION THAT BUILT FROM HIS LOWER BACK AND SHOULDERS.
