war

The man sat upon a stone, pipe between his lips that loosed wispy clouds of cherry tobacco. Softly humming as he flipped the sizzling bacon on the skillet, looking over to his companion. A bear of a man, hair a dulled silver but yet his face hadn't seen more than thirty winters. Several markings decorated his face, most notably a band of blue runes reaching from cheek bone to cheek bone, bridging over his nose.

His body felt broken, his mouth tasted of sand and blood, still salty from the rivers water. He struggled to maintain conciousness and tried to push himself up from the cold shore. 

Red really does look simple.

   It's late, but I decided to write my thoughts down for a moment. 

   I remember a long time ago, before I had ever seen war. Times were better then. Love was easier to find, because your heart hadn't grown into a hunk of iron yet. You let war consume you. You let it seep into the rock that is your flesh. It was you, Azkas, who forgot how to show compassion.

It is dark. Not because it is a night time - it is always dark around this place. But it also happens to be a night. Only a few earth crystals are shedding their dim light through the window, barely enough to draw out the contours of a dwarf lying on his back in the bed. He is not asleep, he is thinking.

"Stones shall be shattered! Shape will emerge. Thus the fire of art is born.

Foes shall be shattered! Glory will emerge. Thus the art of combat is born.