Difference between revisions of "Reckoning"

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|date=The run takes place on Midsummer, the Day of the Phoenix in the month of the Phoenix, in the three hundred and fifty-second Year of the Magpie.
 
|date=The run takes place on Midsummer, the Day of the Phoenix in the month of the Phoenix, in the three hundred and fifty-second Year of the Magpie.
 
|location=The run takes place elsewhere.
 
|location=The run takes place elsewhere.
|runlinks=[[The Imperial Job|Previous Run]]
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|runlinks=[[The Imperial Job|Previous Run]] [[Fruit FIght|Next Run]]
 
}}
 
}}
  

Revision as of 16:59, 6 October 2018

"If there is a wave, there must be a wind." The run takes place on Midsummer, the Day of the Phoenix in the month of the Phoenix, in the three hundred and fifty-second Year of the Magpie.

The run takes place elsewhere.

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There is a sense of momentous things happening in the world, or beyond the world, where you cannot quite perceive them. Perhaps this is a metaphor. Or perhaps it is just the wind...

You look down from above a grassy field, slightly yellowing in the sun. The flag of the Dragon Army hangs limply on a pole. There is a vast deep rumbling, and a fault line forms, jaggedly snaking across the field. Dirt crumbles out from under the fault and the land spreads apart violently with an earth-shaking crack. Up from the crevasse flows a great hot wind, and it howls as it passes out from the earth and blows off to the east. The banner of the Dragon Army remains behind, now flapping crisply in the breeze.

A mountain looms above the sea below, dark and silent and desolate. Suddenly, a great wind blows in from the west and slams against the mountainside. At the summit, boulders scatter and the earth is torn, and then a crack appears near the summit. With a mighty roar, the top of the mountain erupts and the gas and flying stone are heated by the wind until they burn. After this violent start, the mountain erupts and blows its own breeze into the sky. The winds mix, and a storm starts to grow, moving towards the mainland.

From high above, moonlight shines down upon the mountain, recently erupted. As the winds blow towards the Empire, some clouds far to the west break, and the moon shines down upon a small inn in the hills. A man steps out into the moonlight and looks up. After a moment, he nods, steps inside briefly to retrieve his sword, and then heads off towards the east.

In the north, the hot winds blow up to the wall, warming the hearts of those soldiers pacing upon it through the night. Below, a guard hound barks in surprise, and the winds descend upon it. The loyal guardian dances about, tail wagging, and fur ruffled by the breeze. The exuberant howls of the dog are met by other howls from beyond the Wall, and lupine forms leap over the wall from the north to warm themselves in the breeze.

In the south, the hot winds blow up to the Wall and warm the hearts of those few soldiers stationed at its base. From beyond the Wall, a stench blows up northwards, but the winds disperse it towards the east. The wind blows eastwards, picking up speed, and a herd of horses runs below it, whinnying triumphantly and shaking their manes in the wind, as it heads to the sea. The wind continues on over the water, while the horses turn aside, and in the east over the ocean, the winds pass slowly over the wreckage of ships in the seas, losing some impetus. Then the winds head back to shore, and blow to the shores of a golden palace by the sea, flowing through the gardens and orchards at its gate as if seeking answers there. The master of that place, resplendent in blue and gold, emerges from his stronghold. The winds blow upon him, but he stands firm. He points off towards the north and shakes his head sadly, and the winds depart to mourn the wreckage in the southern seas.

In the northern seas, the winds curl around a shining harbor, and flow up the silver beach to a green meadow spangled with floating motes of color. The wind curbs its strength to a soft breeze, tossing the butterflies gently through the air. The butterflies meander and loop about, in aimless paths that start to approach meaningful patterns before breaking apart into randomness again. A dewy spiderweb between several blades of grass shreds and tears away in the chaos of beating wings, as the breeze circles the meadow full of butterflies again, and yet thrice, and then curls away again back to the harbor.

The winds return to the shining city in heart of the land, but can not pass through the closed gates.

Finally, the winds fly apart, one heading to the mountains of the west, and one returning to the mountains in the sea.