Post by walkerwillis on Jun 7, 2017 4:52:16 GMT
As walker transverses the familure landscape, something wells up inside him. A mix of sorrow and dread. Walker looks at the sun as it works its way acrost the summer sky. He remembers his walk through this valley all those years ago. His memorys are so vivid, so real, that he can just about see the smoke in the distance and feel its burn as he imhailes.
Memories of his childhood thet ley buried deep inside start to claw their way to the surface. Good memories. He smiles as he remembers his life here, his friends, his mother, his fathe... he feels unimaginable fear and sorrow as he remembers his father. Not of how he lived, because he was a good man, a noble of a household, respected with the love of a good wife and a son. No, it was not his life that he remembers, but his death.
Walker pulls the reins on the horse, halting its slow walk and takes a feep breath to steady himself. He always remembered what happened. He never let himself forget. He even came to terms with the one that caused it all, and to this day continues to adventure with him. But it was the good memories he burried, the ones that were attached to the pain, sorrow, fear, hopelessness. With only the memories of the incident, he could channel that rage, that pain, the anger, into something useful. But the other memories, the good ones... they are crippeling.
Out here in the woods, somewhere between lockling and shallowford, but closer to shallowford, with no one to see him, he weeps. No man can keep this bottled up for so long and expect to keep his cool when it is reopened..
After a moment to gather his wits, and a quicmk glance around to make sure he isnt some goblin prey, he continues over the hillside. He has made this attempt several times over the years. He has atempted to reclaim the land of his father several times, but he has never gotten any further than right here.
He stops the horse on top of the hill and looks upon the location where his fathers manor and small village was.
Memories of his childhood thet ley buried deep inside start to claw their way to the surface. Good memories. He smiles as he remembers his life here, his friends, his mother, his fathe... he feels unimaginable fear and sorrow as he remembers his father. Not of how he lived, because he was a good man, a noble of a household, respected with the love of a good wife and a son. No, it was not his life that he remembers, but his death.
Walker pulls the reins on the horse, halting its slow walk and takes a feep breath to steady himself. He always remembered what happened. He never let himself forget. He even came to terms with the one that caused it all, and to this day continues to adventure with him. But it was the good memories he burried, the ones that were attached to the pain, sorrow, fear, hopelessness. With only the memories of the incident, he could channel that rage, that pain, the anger, into something useful. But the other memories, the good ones... they are crippeling.
Out here in the woods, somewhere between lockling and shallowford, but closer to shallowford, with no one to see him, he weeps. No man can keep this bottled up for so long and expect to keep his cool when it is reopened..
After a moment to gather his wits, and a quicmk glance around to make sure he isnt some goblin prey, he continues over the hillside. He has made this attempt several times over the years. He has atempted to reclaim the land of his father several times, but he has never gotten any further than right here.
He stops the horse on top of the hill and looks upon the location where his fathers manor and small village was.