Walking, falling and crawling the drunk man tried to get back to the place he called home.
Drinking because his world had ended, crumbled before his very eyes, his wife his son his friends and hisâ€¦ halberd. Will he ever see all of it again?
His only comfort was the booze he drank day in day out. Forgetting seemed better then trying to get his live back up again.
Every moment he was sober he could see his wife going up in flames.
The great ball of fire burning everything that was under it.
His scars and burnings could prove that he tried to fight it. but he couldn't, he was to far away, fighting for his live. Friends dying, city's burning, all the pictures still burned in his eyes.
The drunk man had arrived at his home. The filthy hole, that he carved with a stone, into the back of the city walls. A ruined tent stood at the entrance, the rain sun and shit that had fell over it made it look almost magical. But the gloom and damp that came off it wasn't magic, It was disgusting.
On his hands and knees he crawled to his bed that was made out of leaves and old clothes. He was home.
Hours passed and passed. Still the man was on his bed. on his bed in all his misery.
Seeing the fading memories of his past. Tears ran down drunken face. A small sound departed from his lips: "Dri'mysâ€¦".
The history writer and high mage looked out of his window. Thinking about his next story the next verse his next song about history. True history, not the hero story's, the wise king story's. No!! He wanted the true ones, the ones about death, love and bad endings. Just like real live. Soldiers and hero's don't die glory deaths they simply die. And dying is everything but glory. He wanted to write about the blood, the treason. Greed, power and the ripping might of magic breaking body's in too.
Je'neul opened his link with magic and let it flow through his veins.
His aspect being Healing and giving comfort he mainly concentrated his might to attacking spells and psychic healing. Instead of the mostly used physical healing traits of his magic.
With hands and knees on the ground he began to speak. The old language of the Loisan "people of the light" left his lips like it was a song.
Light and gold dust arose from his body circling around his torso then to his feats then his head. When he was all covert he tried to stand up.
His first try was useless. He had used to much of his power.
The second didn't work to. The third, the forth.
Then he got to the fifth, the holy number, he could walk again.
He walked to the door of the room and opened it.
Still a ball of light fire he cut the darkness in half. Some women's screamed but he knew nobody would attack him. For he was a well known man and his magic was even better known.
Using his unleashed power to probe the city for crying and miserable lives he got hit back by an grief to great, a grief, a story so sad, that he could feel the pain.
He had to talk to this man. He could feel the man's presents, the man's very mind, stronger then anything Je'neul had ever felt before the history writer was lured to the tears of the old man.
hope you like it. im not much of a writer but i needed to do something in my first week on vacation.
if you like it ill do some more i think.