Istvaan Warsinger Artist: Anton Savoderov
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Istvaan Warsinger Artist: Anton Savoderov

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[STTT] 》 Warsinger, 2013
Where life goes — so, too, should you
In dreams.
I found myself in a forest clearing, greeted by the wet heat and chirping cadence of the Maguuma Jungle. I'd been here before, though never in my dreams, but everything lined up. As I sat — facing west with hands stretched out on the dirt beside me — I spotted the shell of an oakheart to my right, head bowed as though in slumber. Nearby was a small mound of dirt, decaying as though tainted by some evil. A ring of flowers surrounded the taint, holding it in place.
My breathe caught in my throat when I felt someone join me — when I felt another person sitting like I was, their back resting against mine as they faced the dawn. I exhaled, trying to free the lump in my throat.
“I was once told by a wise mentor,” Tindorin of the Dawn said in a light voice, “that dawn is like standing beneath a gentle waterfall. It washes away the dirt and grime from yesterday, and lets you start anew.”
Reflection
The deafening beat of a chopper and the rumbling of an engine sent Janto inward.
In meditation he found a calming darkness, a soothing stillness. And then he found the sea again.
Roiling beneath him, the sea had waves of red, blue and yellow, orange, black and white. Emotion, each with its place. Recently, over the surface, a shimmering combination of azure and emerald formed a blanket across the sea, a calming influence that kept the waves from climbing too high. Deep below the surface, a golden, burning gem sank deeper and deeper, its light slowly, mournfully fading.
Today there was something new. A little flash of pink and purple, fluttering around just above the waves. There were words shouted at him under the shade and roar of chopper blades. He had to be the one to go? “Because you can keep them safe.”
“Whether you like it or not, you’re someone that some look up to, for guidance or protection, or just... yeah.”
Why?
“Lets just get those we can mobilized out of here now, and then... we can figure out the rest? Stay safe for me, OK?”
Why?
That single word choked him like a knot caught in his throat. Why?
Others before had said similar things. Fearless leader. Captain. No.
He was just a soldier. A damn idiot more often than not. He had no wisdom. He was no leader. He was just a man with his sword, a man with a body forged into a weapon.
why
Janto’s adventures in science. Whose idea was it to leave him alone in this place!?

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The coin, 1
The coin was my constant companion now.
I sat alone on the couch of a living room in a well furnished safehouse. At first glance, it was pretty comfy, but with those harsh looking stone walls and floors, it didn't quite feel like a little home.
I sighed, and watched the crackling flames of the wide hearth. With my charge asleep in the other room, and the front door locked down, I found myself easily swayed by thoughts of sleep. At this point, I was just real beat up. Sure, a recent wound in Gendarran Fields was fresh, but it was only the reason I was on "light duty." The real hurt was years and years of wounds added up, one on top of the other.
You can only get the shit beat out of you so many times, I guess.
I could shift around, take the pain off my hip, but then I just felt it in my shoulder.
But it was just pain, right?
... How long until it slowed me down and got me hurt? Or killed?
... I felt the fresh wound on my side. Maybe it already had.
As I felt myself slip in and out once more, I grunted in frustration, and pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger. It didn't help much, light as the sting was compared to the other aches. You'd think at least one benefit of hurting was that it would keep you awake when you wanted. They sure as hell kept me up when I wanted to sleep.
I fished into my pocket and found the coin. Well, it was really just a little disk with a funny rune scribed into it, but it flipped up into the air as well as a coin. So that's what I did. Again and again, I flicked the coin into the air and caught it.
100.
200.
300.
400.
I hardly felt the coin slap against my skin at that point.
410.
420.
435.
It landed in my hand again and I stared at it. I just had to give it a small squeeze to make it work.
440.
450.
460.
My shift ended at about 2 bells in the early morning. Exemplar Kahan took over, fresh and chipper with a grin on his face. He was always grinning. I held my glower until I left, out alone into the cool night.
DR-SAL-11-12
The following is a report filed by the Shining Blade and submitted to the Ministry Guard, as the subject is within its jurisdiction. A few flags on the file indicate one exemplar tried twice to have the file instead handed over to the Seraph, but the reasons listed are in other files.
For Thomas Cyril
This is the night, this is the night For every night and all Song and warmth and candlelight destroyed, one 'n all Wind, rain and blackened clouds Cry 'n the plains of Ashford But if you e'er held sword or spear be steady with them now This is the night, this is the night So long as Kryta stands Hymns and Prayers and sacred rites destroyed, one 'n all Wind, rain and blackened clouds Cry 'n Diessa Plateau But for the man here who's fallen we wear a patch of red This is the night, this is the night long as Balthazar wars march and charge and forward strike destroyed, one 'n all Wind, rain and blackened clouds Cry over Regent Valley But here you stand, yet still alive there's a call to answer This is the night, this is the night until justice is served. Villains, brigands and man's blights destroyed, one 'n all
Inspired by the Lyke-Wake Dirge