04-04-2021, 10:03 PM
<style type="text/css">.volos2_container{position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 600px;background: #c9d2d7;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;line-height: 1.25;padding-top: 16px;border: 2px solid #3a2922;box-shadow: 0 0 10px #000;}.volos2_container img {margin-top:-0px;width: 600px;}.volos2_container p{margin: 0;}.volos2_gradient {position: absolute;z-index: 5;bottom: 200px;width: 600px;height: 200px;background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%, rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%); /* FF3.6-15 */
background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#c9d2d7', endColorstr='#007db9e8',GradientType=0 );}.volos2_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;background-color: #c9d2d7;box-shadow: inset 0 0 2px #3a2922;opacity:0.6;text-align: justify;width: 500px;padding: 20px 20px 20px 20px;color: #3a2922;}.volos2_name {position: absolute;bottom: 320px;left:210px;text-align: center;z-index: 50;font: 50px 'Times new roman', serif;letter-spacing: 4px;text-transform: none;color: #c9d2d7;opacity: 0.8;text-shadow: 0 0 5px #000;}.volos2_quote {z-index: 15;font-size: 14px;letter-spacing: 2px;text-transform: uppercase;text-shadow: 0 0 4px #000;color: #3a2922;opacity: 0.6;padding-bottom: 16px;}</style><center><div class="volos2_container"><p class="volos2_quote">this ain't no place for no hero</p><div class="volos2_message">At the end of the path near the glassy river, he finds the others. He finds, too, that he is more breathless than he ought to be for his level of exertion travelling down the road of the dead. It is more than his run that leaves him winded; knowing where he is and why makes his knees shake in ways that are new to him. Normally, he would exchange pleasantries in his blunt but polite way. Now, he merely spares the two males and female a quick smile with tightly pressed lips. Volos knows they are comrades now, in a way. If they survive this, if they all make it out alive, he will know them after. He will know the <i>real</i> them, then.
There is little point to making friends now and less time to prepare for what comes next.
The monsters are here and there and everywhere all at once.
They had made themselves into a distraction and it seems to have worked to perfection. The young stallion thinks they have all been brought here, to this one point beside the river. This one place where he wonders if he will truly die. His gold eyes watch the surge of beasts and creatures closing in on the four of them and he knows he will not survive. But as hope for himself wanes, his last thoughts turn to those he left behind. He is confident only in the fact that they have done it, the four of them, have distracted enough to make a difference. The fairies will find a way now, he is sure. He will die, but his family will no longer suffer the darkness. Beqanna – the land of the sunrise – will see the light of morning once more.
It is all he clings to in the next terrible span of time.
Volos squares himself up and rolls his broad shoulders forward as the first few monsters reach him. He braces against contact but it comes anyway in the form of sharp claws and gnashing teeth. He feels the first blood leave his body as the skin across his chest is ribboned. Violence hits him in waves and he hits back, at first with confidence and then desperation. The weak light reveals little. He doesn’t see the others in the mass of bodies all clamoring for their end. He doesn’t see the many wounds that appear like the constellations that come out at night – a few at first and then too many to count in a lifetime – but he feels every one.
He is lashing out at a three-tongued beast that has already taken a bite of flesh from his haunch when his own memory-words sound in his mind. <i>I’m not afraid of monsters.</i> And is that true now? Is it fear or exhaustion that makes his legs quake? Is he being pushed closer to the river or is he backing away from the threat ahead of him? <i>Mother told us hiding is for cowards.</i> How he wishes she was here now, his mother. Not in a childish way but for the firepower, he tells himself, but isn’t sure that is wholly true. He isn’t afraid of pain, there is plenty of it running up and down his nerves to spare. He is afraid of the unknown, admits it as he falls back again and again. <i>I’m not afraid of monsters,</i> the boy had said before with all the bravado of youth. But he hadn’t known what was to come.
He couldn’t know it would end like this.
Volos splashes into the water as a broken thing. It is almost a comfort, to be swallowed by the water, to be cocooned in its embrace as if he will someday emerge and be made whole again. He closes his eyes, ready for the darkness before it closes on him. He has given the light of his own life in the hope that it will restore it elsewhere. The water feels like home, besides. Home, where his family will once again frolic and fight and flourish under the warm, life-giving sun. Home, where all the others will wake up and see the light, see that they will no longer have to scrounge for food and huddle for warmth. He hopes that he has done this, at least, in his short life. Hopes that it has been worth something.
He opens his eyes not knowing what comes next.
Blackness. All-consuming darkness. And then –
Then there is a smattering of light that grows all around him as he falls. He thinks it must be a part of it, dying, thinks that he’s nearly reached the conclusion. He is happy he will not spend an eternity in the darkness even if he had been prepared to do so. It grows brighter like the hours of an Ischian day the further he goes until he suddenly stops.
Volos blinks a few times despite the gradual change in light. He almost can’t believe what he is seeing. The fairy that had led them to their doom stands before him, still speaking as if they could yet do more for the world, as if they hadn’t already died. He feels that same hope building within his tattered chest again. He knows he has come too far to give anything less than his all. Even if he cannot come back from whatever still lies ahead, he knows it will be worth it. The fae asks for help and he responds with a set jaw. <b>“Of course. There is nothing I wouldn’t give.”</b></div><p class="volos2_name">v o l o s</p><div class="volos2_gradient"></div><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/9FHhPGWM/volos-beach.jpg"></div><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/IraMdOH78NE" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="padding-top:10px;">Photo by Austin Neill at Unsplash</a></center>
background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(201,210,215,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#c9d2d7', endColorstr='#007db9e8',GradientType=0 );}.volos2_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;background-color: #c9d2d7;box-shadow: inset 0 0 2px #3a2922;opacity:0.6;text-align: justify;width: 500px;padding: 20px 20px 20px 20px;color: #3a2922;}.volos2_name {position: absolute;bottom: 320px;left:210px;text-align: center;z-index: 50;font: 50px 'Times new roman', serif;letter-spacing: 4px;text-transform: none;color: #c9d2d7;opacity: 0.8;text-shadow: 0 0 5px #000;}.volos2_quote {z-index: 15;font-size: 14px;letter-spacing: 2px;text-transform: uppercase;text-shadow: 0 0 4px #000;color: #3a2922;opacity: 0.6;padding-bottom: 16px;}</style><center><div class="volos2_container"><p class="volos2_quote">this ain't no place for no hero</p><div class="volos2_message">At the end of the path near the glassy river, he finds the others. He finds, too, that he is more breathless than he ought to be for his level of exertion travelling down the road of the dead. It is more than his run that leaves him winded; knowing where he is and why makes his knees shake in ways that are new to him. Normally, he would exchange pleasantries in his blunt but polite way. Now, he merely spares the two males and female a quick smile with tightly pressed lips. Volos knows they are comrades now, in a way. If they survive this, if they all make it out alive, he will know them after. He will know the <i>real</i> them, then.There is little point to making friends now and less time to prepare for what comes next.
The monsters are here and there and everywhere all at once.
They had made themselves into a distraction and it seems to have worked to perfection. The young stallion thinks they have all been brought here, to this one point beside the river. This one place where he wonders if he will truly die. His gold eyes watch the surge of beasts and creatures closing in on the four of them and he knows he will not survive. But as hope for himself wanes, his last thoughts turn to those he left behind. He is confident only in the fact that they have done it, the four of them, have distracted enough to make a difference. The fairies will find a way now, he is sure. He will die, but his family will no longer suffer the darkness. Beqanna – the land of the sunrise – will see the light of morning once more.
It is all he clings to in the next terrible span of time.
Volos squares himself up and rolls his broad shoulders forward as the first few monsters reach him. He braces against contact but it comes anyway in the form of sharp claws and gnashing teeth. He feels the first blood leave his body as the skin across his chest is ribboned. Violence hits him in waves and he hits back, at first with confidence and then desperation. The weak light reveals little. He doesn’t see the others in the mass of bodies all clamoring for their end. He doesn’t see the many wounds that appear like the constellations that come out at night – a few at first and then too many to count in a lifetime – but he feels every one.
He is lashing out at a three-tongued beast that has already taken a bite of flesh from his haunch when his own memory-words sound in his mind. <i>I’m not afraid of monsters.</i> And is that true now? Is it fear or exhaustion that makes his legs quake? Is he being pushed closer to the river or is he backing away from the threat ahead of him? <i>Mother told us hiding is for cowards.</i> How he wishes she was here now, his mother. Not in a childish way but for the firepower, he tells himself, but isn’t sure that is wholly true. He isn’t afraid of pain, there is plenty of it running up and down his nerves to spare. He is afraid of the unknown, admits it as he falls back again and again. <i>I’m not afraid of monsters,</i> the boy had said before with all the bravado of youth. But he hadn’t known what was to come.
He couldn’t know it would end like this.
Volos splashes into the water as a broken thing. It is almost a comfort, to be swallowed by the water, to be cocooned in its embrace as if he will someday emerge and be made whole again. He closes his eyes, ready for the darkness before it closes on him. He has given the light of his own life in the hope that it will restore it elsewhere. The water feels like home, besides. Home, where his family will once again frolic and fight and flourish under the warm, life-giving sun. Home, where all the others will wake up and see the light, see that they will no longer have to scrounge for food and huddle for warmth. He hopes that he has done this, at least, in his short life. Hopes that it has been worth something.
He opens his eyes not knowing what comes next.
Blackness. All-consuming darkness. And then –
Then there is a smattering of light that grows all around him as he falls. He thinks it must be a part of it, dying, thinks that he’s nearly reached the conclusion. He is happy he will not spend an eternity in the darkness even if he had been prepared to do so. It grows brighter like the hours of an Ischian day the further he goes until he suddenly stops.
Volos blinks a few times despite the gradual change in light. He almost can’t believe what he is seeing. The fairy that had led them to their doom stands before him, still speaking as if they could yet do more for the world, as if they hadn’t already died. He feels that same hope building within his tattered chest again. He knows he has come too far to give anything less than his all. Even if he cannot come back from whatever still lies ahead, he knows it will be worth it. The fae asks for help and he responds with a set jaw. <b>“Of course. There is nothing I wouldn’t give.”</b></div><p class="volos2_name">v o l o s</p><div class="volos2_gradient"></div><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/9FHhPGWM/volos-beach.jpg"></div><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/IraMdOH78NE" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="padding-top:10px;">Photo by Austin Neill at Unsplash</a></center>