Dust (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mithrarin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
10000netherworlds2018-04-11 11:55 am
mithrarin) wrote in 10000netherworlds2018-04-11 11:55 am
(no subject)
The war would never end.
Neither side recognized that fact, of course. Was it deliberate political will, or just naive blindness? Or perhaps some of both... But yet from ruler to peasant to soldier to merchant, everyone hailed victories as decisive and setbacks as trivial. Take today's clash, for example: he'd lost, and she'd won. Two weeks ago, he'd won and she'd lost. The lines had shifted all a few miles, then shifted straight back. Maybe they'd have shifted more had either of the armies been willing to engage, but why should they? They had the Summoned Champions to battle for them.
In a bar far away from the front lines, the Summoned Champion of the Sword nursed a mug of ale as he replayed the battle in his head. His wounds had faded along with the magic that empowered him to fight in a Battle of Champions, so all that hurt was his pride -- and that not every much. By now, his losses had numbered as many as his wins, and fighting an opponent who always offered a worthy challenge was a distinct pleasure when his life wasn't on the line.
But by the gods, it was a boring existence otherwise. He just hoped she'd manage to get free of the festivities and make her way here.
Neither side recognized that fact, of course. Was it deliberate political will, or just naive blindness? Or perhaps some of both... But yet from ruler to peasant to soldier to merchant, everyone hailed victories as decisive and setbacks as trivial. Take today's clash, for example: he'd lost, and she'd won. Two weeks ago, he'd won and she'd lost. The lines had shifted all a few miles, then shifted straight back. Maybe they'd have shifted more had either of the armies been willing to engage, but why should they? They had the Summoned Champions to battle for them.
In a bar far away from the front lines, the Summoned Champion of the Sword nursed a mug of ale as he replayed the battle in his head. His wounds had faded along with the magic that empowered him to fight in a Battle of Champions, so all that hurt was his pride -- and that not every much. By now, his losses had numbered as many as his wins, and fighting an opponent who always offered a worthy challenge was a distinct pleasure when his life wasn't on the line.
But by the gods, it was a boring existence otherwise. He just hoped she'd manage to get free of the festivities and make her way here.