The mountains looked like something from a dream. The layers of stone and multi-colored minerals had been compressed for thousands of years, creating rock formations that were breathtaking in their beauty. Beneath the sun they glowed vivid colors of red and orange, green and blue. It was an artist's palette of color, a marvelous feast for the eyes.
Despite the beauty, Mason saw the landscape for what it was, harsh in nature. He sensed danger and death, as the unprepared and foolhardy could quickly expire from thirst or hunger. Vultures circled overhead, Ready to rip apart the bodies of those who were left behind with their hooked beaks. The sand was rich with sun bleached bones of the dead. With each step Mason took toward the mountains peak, the louder the cries from the lost souls would call out.
Mason was determined, stories of a hidden blade awaited him at the top. A blade which was once owned by a great and powerful wizard. This blade would be his salvation, no longer would he have to hide behind his siblings, no longer would he have to fear the hordes of orc who has caused so much pain and suffering to his people. Mason unlike before, had a fierce look within his eyes, a look that would have nothing sway him from his path. The blade would be his, and his alone.
As Mason reached the peak, the air became still. The sand beneath his feet laid undisturbed. The cries became silent, the only noise that remained was the heavy breathing of the exhausting climb Mason had just experienced. It was there, upon the highest peak of the mountain the blade stood floating mid-air.
Mason reached out his hand, stepping toward the blade. The closer he got, the colder he felt. The warmth of his body left him with each passing breath. His fingers ached in pain as the frigid air began to consume him. The blade was close yet further away than ever before. Mason's heart felt as if it was being pierced by shards of ice. Perhaps it was arrogance or just pure determination, but he would not allow his body to collapse.
Between the shadows a figure emerged, wreathed in a churning cloud of dust.
It called to him, "Take ... It."
Mason's eyes became heavy, heavier than ever before.
Mason grasped the hilt of the blade, pulling it from its resting place.
Again, the figure called out to him, "it is yours now to bear."
The figure sprinted toward Mason, leaving swirling cloud of dust forming behind it like smoke.
A voice shouted, unlike before, "RUN!"
Mason awoke, his heart pounding like twenty drums. Sweat dripped from his brow. The room was empty, but a small flame which flickered from a candle as it poorly lit the stone walls that surrounded him. He was alone.
...to be continued
Mason Caine,
The Covian Guard
Despite the beauty, Mason saw the landscape for what it was, harsh in nature. He sensed danger and death, as the unprepared and foolhardy could quickly expire from thirst or hunger. Vultures circled overhead, Ready to rip apart the bodies of those who were left behind with their hooked beaks. The sand was rich with sun bleached bones of the dead. With each step Mason took toward the mountains peak, the louder the cries from the lost souls would call out.
Mason was determined, stories of a hidden blade awaited him at the top. A blade which was once owned by a great and powerful wizard. This blade would be his salvation, no longer would he have to hide behind his siblings, no longer would he have to fear the hordes of orc who has caused so much pain and suffering to his people. Mason unlike before, had a fierce look within his eyes, a look that would have nothing sway him from his path. The blade would be his, and his alone.
As Mason reached the peak, the air became still. The sand beneath his feet laid undisturbed. The cries became silent, the only noise that remained was the heavy breathing of the exhausting climb Mason had just experienced. It was there, upon the highest peak of the mountain the blade stood floating mid-air.
Mason reached out his hand, stepping toward the blade. The closer he got, the colder he felt. The warmth of his body left him with each passing breath. His fingers ached in pain as the frigid air began to consume him. The blade was close yet further away than ever before. Mason's heart felt as if it was being pierced by shards of ice. Perhaps it was arrogance or just pure determination, but he would not allow his body to collapse.
Between the shadows a figure emerged, wreathed in a churning cloud of dust.
It called to him, "Take ... It."
Mason's eyes became heavy, heavier than ever before.
Mason grasped the hilt of the blade, pulling it from its resting place.
Again, the figure called out to him, "it is yours now to bear."
The figure sprinted toward Mason, leaving swirling cloud of dust forming behind it like smoke.
A voice shouted, unlike before, "RUN!"
Mason awoke, his heart pounding like twenty drums. Sweat dripped from his brow. The room was empty, but a small flame which flickered from a candle as it poorly lit the stone walls that surrounded him. He was alone.
...to be continued
Mason Caine,
The Covian Guard