The softening...
Waerjak had that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The one authors of bad prose describe as butterflies flying in synchronisation to a badly played Rachmoninoff. He was planning his next course of action. He had been planning it for the last five minutes, without moving a muscle. A bird passed overhead as he stood staring into the distance. A fly buzzed noisily around his head, before taking a well deserved break on the top of his shoulder. Waerjak blinked.
As Waerjak gazed at the silent trees, dreaming up possible enemies under the menacing glades, a single drop of sweat eased its way out of the pores of Waerjak's skin on his forehead. It trickled like a melting glacier down to his eyebrows where it met other intrepid droplets just like it. They were all apparently going on a picnic along the same direction. The drop of sweat decided to commandeer them all and make off with them down its adventurous journey. Steering this way and that, the drop began to sing at the top of its voice, an octave higher than the others could touch:
O, the land is full of trees, boy,
And the sea is full of peas.
Men are full of knees, boy,
And the sky is filled with geese.
O, but I am going alone, boy,
To come down this mountain side;
To venture alone is slow, boy,
And so...
And so I must abide... I must slide... until the fountain died, bride
Waerjak stood oblivious to the merry song of his perspiration. It was all he could do to think in the burning heat. He was thinking of the battle tactics of the gnolls - not as happy as hyenas under a full moon, but they came close.
Waerjak's hands twitched. He longed to get away from here, but he had his duty to perform, duty that grew heavier and heavier as he brought more of the barbarian tribes into his fold. Once again, as in all times of pain, Waerjak remembered Tarnum. "Pain is only an indicator to the body and mind, Waerjak. It signals that you are hurt, that you are ill or tired. However, there are times when you must release the thoughts holding you to the present or the mundane. Focus. Remember your duty - duty that his heavier than a mountain, Waerjak. Death is only a release from that duty - death is for the faint hearted. To be able to live and risk all you hold dear for your cause requires far greater courage, far greater Will. And remember, Will is Everything!"
Waerjak's legs felt like butter, the last hour of the five hour wait was the most stressful yet. The waiting... he didn't like waiting, though he was taught how to do so many a time by Tarnum. "The way of nature is to wait, my boy. Even when things rush at the pace of a cataract, nature is holding her breath. The world is contantly breathing sighs of relief after months, minutes, seconds of waiting and then gearing itself up in anticipation again. That is the way of all things. Hence, wait for the moment. The deer will come and you will have your hunt. That is the nature of traps as well."
Waerjak barely had time to shake himself from his reverie when the gnolls attacked, leaping out of the trees, howling their battle cries as a sacrifice to the god of Silence. Waerjak turned to face his first foe, but his leg was trapped in the quicksand he had mired himself in. Waerjak had that sinking feeling all over again. The gnoll raised its axe to deal a death blow, when the first arrow came whistling out of the trees. Before the gnolls knew what was happening, they found themselves bristling with arrows and skewered by throwing spears. The barbarians leaped down from the branches of the surrounding trees to attack the remaining gnolls while Waerjak looked around grimly at the battle scene. He would do what it takes to ensure that the Barbarian nation survived.
As Waerjak gazed at the silent trees, dreaming up possible enemies under the menacing glades, a single drop of sweat eased its way out of the pores of Waerjak's skin on his forehead. It trickled like a melting glacier down to his eyebrows where it met other intrepid droplets just like it. They were all apparently going on a picnic along the same direction. The drop of sweat decided to commandeer them all and make off with them down its adventurous journey. Steering this way and that, the drop began to sing at the top of its voice, an octave higher than the others could touch:
O, the land is full of trees, boy,
And the sea is full of peas.
Men are full of knees, boy,
And the sky is filled with geese.
O, but I am going alone, boy,
To come down this mountain side;
To venture alone is slow, boy,
And so...
And so I must abide... I must slide... until the fountain died, bride
Waerjak stood oblivious to the merry song of his perspiration. It was all he could do to think in the burning heat. He was thinking of the battle tactics of the gnolls - not as happy as hyenas under a full moon, but they came close.
Waerjak's hands twitched. He longed to get away from here, but he had his duty to perform, duty that grew heavier and heavier as he brought more of the barbarian tribes into his fold. Once again, as in all times of pain, Waerjak remembered Tarnum. "Pain is only an indicator to the body and mind, Waerjak. It signals that you are hurt, that you are ill or tired. However, there are times when you must release the thoughts holding you to the present or the mundane. Focus. Remember your duty - duty that his heavier than a mountain, Waerjak. Death is only a release from that duty - death is for the faint hearted. To be able to live and risk all you hold dear for your cause requires far greater courage, far greater Will. And remember, Will is Everything!"
Waerjak's legs felt like butter, the last hour of the five hour wait was the most stressful yet. The waiting... he didn't like waiting, though he was taught how to do so many a time by Tarnum. "The way of nature is to wait, my boy. Even when things rush at the pace of a cataract, nature is holding her breath. The world is contantly breathing sighs of relief after months, minutes, seconds of waiting and then gearing itself up in anticipation again. That is the way of all things. Hence, wait for the moment. The deer will come and you will have your hunt. That is the nature of traps as well."
Waerjak barely had time to shake himself from his reverie when the gnolls attacked, leaping out of the trees, howling their battle cries as a sacrifice to the god of Silence. Waerjak turned to face his first foe, but his leg was trapped in the quicksand he had mired himself in. Waerjak had that sinking feeling all over again. The gnoll raised its axe to deal a death blow, when the first arrow came whistling out of the trees. Before the gnolls knew what was happening, they found themselves bristling with arrows and skewered by throwing spears. The barbarians leaped down from the branches of the surrounding trees to attack the remaining gnolls while Waerjak looked around grimly at the battle scene. He would do what it takes to ensure that the Barbarian nation survived.
"...And the tortoise looked up at the sun and said, 'Rein in your chariot, O Lord, and shower us with light' and the sun replied, 'Wait for your turn, little one, as I fly against the night, for duty holds the elements as fast as it does mortal beings. Awake and build homes, fly and kill, but rush not while nature turns the ancient wheel.' The tortoise looked down at the earth and waited."
-Tarnum
posted by TenG at 9:40 AM
