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Final SaluteRoaring cries of war and steel,
thoughts of pity you cannot feel.
Words wrought with sounds of treason,
bound and gag with no rhyme or reason.
Men and beast die in vain,
no one else will know their pain.
Forgotten lore replaces blood,
ghostly shadows of where they stood.
Friend and foe fill the graves,
never to stand and fight again.
Monuments to the brave and free,
or a testament to one mans dynasty?
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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