I apologize for any choppiness, I simply wrote what came to mind.
Hope it does something for you...
He is one of all.
The only of his kind.
Of rare fortitude.
Of deep misfortune.
...But he bargained for it fairly.
Even though he knows not what to expect,
he is sure it will come.
This is
The Wanderer's Plight...
He knows not how many hours or days have passed, for here there is no night.
He knows not exactly how many beasts of stone and might and black blood he has slain, only that he must go on.
He knows not what drives them, what makes them resist, gives them life; only that he is the the harbringer of their death.
He knows not what to make of the forces guiding him, instructing him...maybe even controlling him.
At times he wonders if he'll ever return to the land from whence he came. Such thoughts are unavoidable, surrounded by such desolation.
By a fury so encompassing it pervades every crack and crevice, through every secluded tunnel, over endlessly vast mountaintops, silent as the still clouds above the horizon, chaotic as the raging winds when provoked.
All of this comes rushing back the moment he wakes, making every return from reprieve a painful one. And regaining consciousness face-down on a cold temple floor after every bittersweet victory only serves to disorient.
But as the skillful warrior will soon learn, every awakening from this point on will deliver more than a share of cuts and bruises, and that a few of those "consequences" which the voice in the sky spoke of, may be faced sooner,
rather than later...
xx
Wander got to his feet.
The unmistakeable feeling of essences and spirits gathering around him faded once again, as objects nearby blurred into focus. The familiar ones named themselves off in his head. Birds. Doves, to be precise. Idols.
Remains. The altar.
Her.
Mono.
His gaze turned up slowly, as listening for the Dormin had already become second nature. He had learned that it would be his aid, and his guide; not untrustworthy, but certainly not a fast friend. Or an ally, even. It was simply a being with the power he needed, and that was enough, no matter the cost.
It began it's speech :
"Thy next foe is... an altar overlooks the lake...
a guardian set loose...
...It keeps the flames alive."
Wander took the usual crypticness with a grain of salt, knowing that after all, his sword would help lead the way to the next of the colossi.
He wasn't looking forward to it, but since forward was the only direction he had left, he made no argument. Calling softly to his steed Agro, a faithful friend and helper along this insane quest, Agro was there to calm him when he needed calming. To spur him when action was needed. To remind him of sanity in a world gone mad.
Reaching up with one arm to stroke Agro's mane, he suddenly realized that what he had been feeling inside, was beginning to show on the outside. And he saw it first on one arm.
The veins were discolored, showing a darker blue than before. The skin itself was starting to look very pale, moreso than Mono's.
He could tell from a distance.
Pulling a strand of hair, he saw that which once was red, now turning an odd shade of purple and blue. Whatever was happening, it was taking him over. And it must have been in stages, he figured. One colossus at a time.
He turned to the rows of idols behind him. Only a handful remaining.
6 more to go...
It seemed like a countdown to a death sentence. And with that, he wondered as he rode off into the blinding white light, just when would his time stop, and Mono's begin?
xx
He needs a moment to breathe, to rest, but none is presented to him. Staggering to his feet, he clumsily scales the stairs before him, reaching a platform high above the water below. At the end of it, he is witness to a sight that no other called human may attest to: the final Colossus.
However, his focus is not entirely on it right now. He is too busy remembering the events of moments past, of choices made by him, and for him. Collapsing to his knees out of fatigue and sorrow, Wander feels the tears well up in his eyes over the death of his only friend.
Agro.
Memories come flying at him, of times with Agro, surviving, fighting, dying. Of times before the madness, before sense stopped making sense. In rapid succession, the visions and the tears blend together until everything becomes a whirlwind inside him. For a moment, he has forgotten why he came here.
His limbs have no feeling, save for the burning at his fingertips. He has fast become a mere shadow of himself; of what was once human, living, rather than dead. Now, the line between the two is gone.
Clinging to the emotions he has kept at bay this entire time, he lets out an anguished cry like none other, full of grief, cut short by his sobs. It cuts through the coming storm like a sword through flesh.
So consumed by his own struggles, he has failed to notice the stirring of the wind around him, the crashing of thunder and lightning above him. The sky has darkened for the first time since his arrival, and yet he is oblivious to all around him.
He looks up again.
As the wild sky swallows the world around him, the great beacons of light to his back, always reminders of his deeds- he notices the beast ahead of him. Realizing more upon second observation, he is stunned, as its sheer size easily trumps the wealth of Colossi that came before it. Seeing more closely, he notes that it is the least animalistic of all, taking on a more human shape in appearance.
He feels the empty quiver on his back, the bow at his side. He tosses them away without so much as a glance to see where they land. They are not needed anymore.
He feels the sword in its sheath, the handle bringing a sort of relief to his senses. It must be wielded one more time.
He understands that his journey is coming to a close. His composure returns, and his mind prepares itself for what is to come.
He remembers why he is here.
It stirs.
He charges forward.
x
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