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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY
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Story post 2. Because creative titling is not my forte.


Grimmlocke

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Still working through the story saved in my hard drive, but this should be the last of it. Expect no more lengthy additions. I'm serious, guys. Really. No, really.

 

 

The sun continued to sink further towards the earth as the old man climbed the long flight of stairs.  His pace was constant, the same speed as it had been when he first started to climb the white marble that the steps had been carved from.  His gaze remained fixed on the top, and he seemed to know every step, where one had been chipped, where one had become loose from the weight of the passing of so many feet.  The people that had followed him had long since given up trying to keep up.  One by one, they had been forced to sit down on the steps in order to rest themselves while he had moved onwards.

 

He finally crested the top of the hill, stepping up onto the platform.  The old man stopped, resting on his staff in a fair imitation of the fatigue the people who had followed him had displayed.  With a widening grin, he walked along the platform to look at the three arches.  The arches stood in a perfect triangle, each one facing another.  They had been carved from the same white marble as the stairs.  As the old man grew closer to the arches he noticed that two of the arches had been carved with elaborate designs and images.  The remaining arch stood unadorned save for what appeared to be a series of strange equations involving equally strange runes.  Taking the changes in, the old man ended his walk under the mostly untouched arch, resting his hand on the inside of the structure. At his touch, the arch began to glow, the light spreading from one arch to the other.

 

A woman stepped through the arch to the old man's right. She was dressed in white, much like half of the crowd that had followed the man to the hill. However, where their clothing had been tight, even restricting, hers was loose. Where their robes had been thick, hers whirled about her, thin enough to almost be called diaphanous. Her skin was almost as pale as the silks she wore, and her black hair fell about her shoulders in perfect waves. Her generous mouth was curved down in a disapproving frown, and dark black eyes glared out at him from beneath delicately arched brows. The old man nodded to her, his own expression more one of tolerance.

 

Another man stepped through the other lit arch, his hulking form brushing the edges of the arch he was standing in. A shining breastplate worked with rampant lions and flames seemed to strain over a massive barrel-like torso. A mail shirt covered the thickly muscled arms that hung from the man's equally large shoulders. A neck as thick as the trunk of a young tree supported a head covered by a smooth, open-faced helmet that shone as brightly as the burnished steel of the breastplate. Beneath the upper rim of the helmet, the man stared out at the other two, his small, piggish eyes darting between them. Unlike the other two, he was not content to remain silent.

 

“Whu-what?” His brutish face contorted in confusion. “You would dare summon me, Ruem? You have nothing! I could reach out my hand, and my armies would destroy every living creature that breathes your name.” The giant looked at the woman across from him and sneered. “And you, Phaega, what do you have to say about this? Did he interrupt your mirror gazing?”

 

The woman gave a throaty chuckle as she glared daggers at the overdeveloped man in front of her. “There's no need to posture, Kesh. We both know that there is no way you will ever gain dominance over me.” Her words were delivered in a tone as soft as silk, yet as hard as unsheathed steel.

 

As the giant, Kesh, began to open his wide mouth reply, the old man finally broke his silence. “Children, please. You are both what you are. You will never age, and you will never die. Be at peace, and let us speak of the nature of things.”

 

“Of course we will not die, Ruem. We are Gods.” Kesh said, his voice filled with enough contempt to cause the older man to tighten his grip on his staff for a moment. He looked over at the woman, Phaega, and nodded. “We are Gods, at least.”

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