Dark Sun: The Price of Freedom

The Chronicler's Dreams

Hope flourishes

The Chronicler yawned himself awake to the rising sun. He slept the whole night, but it was fitful and tense. It was about the desert world again, but this time he saw faces and souls. Prominently, he felt sorrow for these people (which was a loosely used term in this case).

Dipping his quill into the ink, he entered another journal log. The heroes…he crossed out that word. Heroes didn’t feel appropriate. Survivors. That was the right word to describe this group. Survivors driven by revenge and instinct.

The survivors were in an arena, fighting in games of death. The Chronicler had heard of pit fighting, but this was far more grandiose. It was part of a whole festival, in the city of Tyr (the Chronicler imagined a teardrop when he wrote this name) where freedom is a madman’s dream. Hope was more precious than water in this world.

They fought, and they survived, but was was important was the event that day. A king fell. The Chronicler tried to imagine a man on a throne with vassals, fat on his wealth, but this king was a tyrant of destruction. Most talk of tyrants sowing death, but that description was not a metaphor, but a reality for this king. His magic killed. It wasn’t in the way a sword kills or fire. It was in the way starvation and dehydration kills. The Chronicler didn’t much understand this alien power the king had, but he rarely understood his dreams even with proper stories.

The king was felled by a man (half-dwarf, which the Chronicler-as far as he knew-didn’t think existed) with an artifact teeming with verdance. The power of it to provide life was unmatched by the king’s power to take it. A great tree grew in the place where he was struck, bloomed and withered, as if a lifetime passed in moments. He saw hope blossom with death of this tree. It was only in a few souls, but their hope was a shining beacon that could outshine a thousand Dark Suns.

The chronicler found his last statement odd, but gave it just a passing thought. the sun had been awake for an hour, and he supposed that was all there was to his dream, for now.

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Castlemaster

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