Lightning On The Horizon

Chapter III: Ouroboros

Everything comes full circle in time. The flowing currents of lukewarm waters will inevitably return to the mighty oceans. Blooming flowers will expunge their spores into the winds, finding soft earthen beds to create new ones. Dying things decompose and give back to the life they walked among.

A pack of great wolfhounds paraded throughout the brush of a nearby forest clearing, the grey fur being illuminated by the onset of a scarlet sun. Like the patterns of waves in the ocean, they hopped over one another as the fluid motion of the beasts was observed by a nearby stranger, cloaked in full black padded armor. From a faceless abyss within the figure's hood, the man's eyes followed the giant hounds from atop a nearby ridge, watching them chase off a band of starving bapnyr.

Like skeletal dogs, they howled as the wolfhounds' barks echoed throughout the mahogany trees, bearing witness to the rules of beasthood. The hulking canine leader, a white wolfhound aged above his pack mates, bared his teeth in a guttural growl of dominance. The half-dead bapnyr scurried away and whimpered in a retreat, as they were more hungry than desperate for territory.

The cloaked man stood as the pack leader turned its head upward, staring into his eyes deep inside of the hood. The man could feel the animosity stirring within the great canine. Keeping his distance, he respected the beast and walked away, hearing the powerful howl sound out against the flowing of the nearby waterfall. As he made his way off to the side, he could smell the thick, hot air that carried a charcoal burning with it. It stung his eyes to some degree, and as the man approached the edge of the now rock flooring of the waterfall, he could see various black columns of smoke billowing in the distance. He was careful not to slip on the wet rocks as the roar of the water plunged downward.

Taking his time to climb down the natural structure that gushed water into other streams, he could silently admire its beauty. The man dropped down alongside the rushing water, landing upon the forest floor and crushing leaves in his wake. He found plentiful shade underneath the oaks and sighed as he observed the power of the water crashing into itself at the base of the waterfall. Taking a short break from his traveling to warm up in the damp weather, he reached into the satchel on his side, pulling out a journal and pencil.

Opening it to the newest page, he began to sketch his surroundings, adjacent to a page where he had drawn a bed of flowers being grazed upon by a doe. He enjoyed drawing frequently, finding solace in recording his thoughts and surroundings upon thin parchment. Drawing is a humble pastime, for it reveals one's true creativity and sophistication. In a bleak world full of violence, corruption, and bloodshed, it is never too late to begin a passionate pursuit; these were the philosophies of the young artist that rested beneath the tree.

Having sailed across many oceans unknown to the Autumn Isles, the man was a wellspring of cultural influences, philosophical knowledge, and combat styles. He has been to the forgotten settlements of old, lost to the ever-vagabond Humanity in the earliest of dynasties and reigns. But alas, here this stranger was in a strange land that Fate has abandoned, whose inhabitants chose a different and waning Path.

The man continued to copy the serene waterfall onto his paper, until he noticed a figure standing atop its ridge, wielding a strange tool. From what he could make out, it was an older man caped over in dark green light armor. As he lowered his journal, he stiffened up as his eyes noticed more figures in obscure positions; men and women in similar armor crouching in bushes, some hanging in the treetops that reached above the rocky ridge's line.

A rather genial welcome came from the figure, echoing around the rushing water.

"Quite a surprise this is! Villagers often steer clear of these parts!" the jovial man's voice rang out. The shaded man could only stare silently.