I thought i might throw my hat in the ring here as i often drop in and read through bits and pieces that catch my interest, this is a first attempt and i would appreciate any pointers that anyone wants to offer...
... so here we go.
The power that smell holds over ones memory baffles me at times. I stand here on the battle field surrounded by the blood and ash of the fallen and all it takes is the slightest hint of Marigold on the breeze and I am taken back to a time with out care, a time when I was youngling only a handful of seasons old kneeling in elder Turan’s tent watching his gnarled hands work the mortar and pestle.
“It is all about balance Verdus that is my point…”
He stops mid sentence and studies the contents of the bowl with a discerning eye, after a moment he adds a pinch of dried herbs I don’t recognise then sets to it with the pestle again.
“You must distance your self from ideals such as good and evil boy, they are merely constructs of idle minds! pretty words given the illusion of true meaning.”
At this he sets the Mortar down before him and adds more kindle to the small work fire that occupies the middle of the tent.
“Good and evil are nought but words, powerful words true but words none the less. Many have and will take up the banner of these ideals and shed blood and die for them but when the sun sets they are little more then a cup that will hold no water, useless and empty.”
The Elder snorts quietly in concentration as he sets his mixture to heat in a cobalt pot atop the flame.
“You are to be a watcher, it lurks in your eyes like the waiting hunter boy and you must lift yourself above such trivialities and perceive the entire picture.”
His hands wave to encompass the entire tent
“Life requires opposition, it thrives on it! It drives us onwards where otherwise we may fall pray idleness, it breeds strength and determination.”
The steam that rises from the simmering mixture lays thick in the air and fogs my mind, I notice the elder is lost in a thought far away from here as he absentmindedly pokes at the fire with a willow stick.
“We must watch for the absence, the nothingness that is ever lurking on the edge of perception. It is foul creatures with out name that want nothing more then an end.”
With these words the old Minotaur seems lost in the dancing flames of the fire, his battle scared features relax for a moment and it as tho the years slide from his face like water of the side of a tent. The moment of quiet stretches painfully long and I am forced to prompt him for fear of losing an end to his tale.
“an end to what master?”
I watch as his eye sharpen and the years return.
“An end to everything.”
Although I did not realise it at the time with those four words my future was set.