From the other side of La Lune. posted 8/23/2011 9:35:12 PM | 14 kudos what's this?     report abuse

bardnsage

And from the other side of the town, across the expanse, La Lune turns and the reflected light shines not to illuminate the darkness, but only to deepen the shadows across the deep facial lines and scars on a bent man’s soul. A constant reminder of the nightmares that now live within, which were born on the blood soaked ground between the keeps of two sides long forgotten by history.

The nightmares, pinned to his sleep with the nine swords, occupy his day with the fear of the inevitable slipping into the dream state where the nightmares have free rein. Always hanging over him, he is stuck there on the bridge between the world of dreams, and the world of reality. Each aware of the other, taking full advantage to do as much damage as possible, but unable to complete that final victory. It is a stalemate of despair, misery, and malice that can only lead to isolation, imprisonment, institutionalization, or death by his own hand.

He lurks the night, and the hidden places. Seen but not seen. For in his full view, the terror of his dreams attaches to the souls of the innocent, and leaches the life force from them. And to save those around him from his vile brew, he long ago smashed the 10 cups of the innocent, and now he searches the ground for any shards of pottery left by other wayward souls. With shaking hands, he places them together, twisting them, turning them, and sealing them with dirt and his own blood, hoping to mend the pieces, to make a single cup, a start, a beginning, to wet his perpetual thirst and to start him on a new journey.

Only through his faith in his own abilities, and his calculated inaction, has he survived this long while others have fallen. And he plods forward, oblivious to the dangers of man, and accepting of the dangers within his own heart. He holds a rose,, on his never ending quest,,, this vagabond, this jester, this fool,,, this Bard.

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