The rolling valleys of the moors were deafening to his ears, and blinding to his eyes; a true, unrefined beauty that no man ever deserved to behold. It defeated him. Returned the man to his original state as he entered into this world. A helpless babe at the mercy of its caretaker; unbeknownst to its own fragility. It was humbling to know the reality of it all; they were all beholden to their makers - never truly knowing sovereignty over their own minds and bodies.
Yet, he often wondered if any semblance of god had abandoned this world; leaving his children at war and having to pick up the pieces of the world that remained.
Octavius couldn’t remember a life where he never grew hungry or where children didn’t take to the streets to beg for scraps at the capital. Was this what they had intended for us? A question he so often asked, but never heard answered. Perhaps there was some greater scheme at play; so large and great that it couldn’t be comprehended by the simple minds of men.
With the question plaguing his mind, Octavius often took the kings road, keeping the southern territories as his destination in mind. It used to be a place where he could get lost; the rolling hills offering solace from the bustling life of the city. But now, he noticed parties of traveling soldiers far too often. Patrolling territories with orders from the King of Yaurith, no doubt.
They were far too distinguishable from the nomadic tribes that laid claim to the southern lands; with their unblemished leathers and exotic pelts at their backs. The nomads were far too simple to upkeep appearances, preferring efficiency of their wears more so than any slight imperfection. He often wondered if they had any mission at stake or if they merely traveled to the moors for sake of appearances; as if to remind everyone the lengths of the kings hold on the continent.
Octavius tried to keep his distance from them as much as possible. He wasn’t looking for trouble and only sought out to learn from the tribes people. They knew the lands and the benefits of different plants and minerals that he could take back with him to the marketplace. With the seasons changing, Octavius needed to replenish his goods. Like with all things, summer was nearing its end.
Yet, he often wondered if any semblance of god had abandoned this world; leaving his children at war and having to pick up the pieces of the world that remained.
Octavius couldn’t remember a life where he never grew hungry or where children didn’t take to the streets to beg for scraps at the capital. Was this what they had intended for us? A question he so often asked, but never heard answered. Perhaps there was some greater scheme at play; so large and great that it couldn’t be comprehended by the simple minds of men.
With the question plaguing his mind, Octavius often took the kings road, keeping the southern territories as his destination in mind. It used to be a place where he could get lost; the rolling hills offering solace from the bustling life of the city. But now, he noticed parties of traveling soldiers far too often. Patrolling territories with orders from the King of Yaurith, no doubt.
They were far too distinguishable from the nomadic tribes that laid claim to the southern lands; with their unblemished leathers and exotic pelts at their backs. The nomads were far too simple to upkeep appearances, preferring efficiency of their wears more so than any slight imperfection. He often wondered if they had any mission at stake or if they merely traveled to the moors for sake of appearances; as if to remind everyone the lengths of the kings hold on the continent.
Octavius tried to keep his distance from them as much as possible. He wasn’t looking for trouble and only sought out to learn from the tribes people. They knew the lands and the benefits of different plants and minerals that he could take back with him to the marketplace. With the seasons changing, Octavius needed to replenish his goods. Like with all things, summer was nearing its end.