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!b0vpMZLBb6 10/16/11(Sun)03:32 No.16640416((I can't write music. It's a knack seperate from storytelling. However, you want him to sing...))
>>16640356
((Setting this aside.))
You clear your throat - even though you don't have one.
>>Axes flash, broadsword swing,
>>Shining armour's piercing ring
>>Horses run with polished shield,
<<Oh for god's sake. You sound terrible!>>
>>Oh really. I'd like to see you do better?
<<Certainly.>>
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AKP7I0Ul18
Her voice reminds you of times before.
A man with wild eyes and untamed hair, half a suit of armor and even less caution. His hand wraps around your hilt, stong and solid. You remember.
You remember the wielder who held you in the past, the second most recent one. His name is like silver letting in your mind.
Guylumph The Mad.
The war had been started over a simple thing. The Kingdom of Rust's production lines and mining stained and poisoned the river that ran through the capital of the Magic kingdom, Cydonia. It was a stupid war - but for Guy, it was personal. His wife had died to that horrid water, during the birthing of their only son.
He told you these things after battles. You aren't sure why.
He was fast, so fast. He was given magical nonsentient armor, and he ended up discarding half of it, preferring a range of movement it did not offer. Wild and thirsty for blood, he ran howling through battle, like a beast, zipping past men and opening wounds as he went, your blade biting shallow - but enough.
You snap from your reverie, telling tales of the man, yet finding it impossible to mention his name. You tell of the times when men still held you, before time in the Annex warped your magics into a snarl. And the images evoked by Margo's song only help matters.
>EMPATHY INCREASED< |
