Introduction:
Elated with joy, radiant with energy but famishing for company...the Nirion stumbles from the Caverns, leaving the Dwarves at their endless tasks, and mounts the Tricorn, setting his path towards Niobilatika, the greatest of cities...
Squivering shivering the taste of return, approach the greatest of cities from the West, over the Astonisher "do always come from the West my friends, 'tis where the angels are born"
I stood and watched its splendeur gazing back at me, the dawn over Niobilatika, a return to the roots of glory...
On the threshold to illumination, unnamable its grand appeal...
The Nirion descends from the Astonisher cliff...
And commences his stroll towards the city walls, and around him he sees others doing the same thing, peasants, merchants, all in search of anything Niobilatika offers them to fulfill their wants...
Entering the city, the Nirion soon flood with the flow of people who enter the city...But whilst most of the travelers pass in anonimity...the white tricorn with the warrior upon it soon attracts the attention of many...very soon the murmur has altered to a loud wriggle of voices...as some plunge into their knowledge of legend to recognize the sheathed sword and the lightlusting Tricorn, and upon it the caped man, although bodily not a warrior at first sight, a man with the gaze of a warrior and the glow of victory. Soon a crowd of thousands follows the eerie horseman...and the road clears ahead of him, leaving his direction empty.
And then a young lad doesn't clear the way, and stays in the Nirion's path...the young man, shyly but firmly:
"What is thy name, mighty he who wields both the ancient sword and the newborn tricorn? Word spreads swift within the walls of the City of Golden Ice and Silversworded Heroes, and the tongues speak of a Return expected and hoped for but declined by the Unbelievers too many times. The many tongues speak of the darklightborne...
We are in need of him, if thou art who he is, relieve us from the sweet sufferance of expectation."
"Well said, young man, in the well spoken word do we recognize the forger of diplomacy and in the firmly spoken word must we catch a glimpse of the strong at heart. I used to be the One you expect, who I am now is for all of you to judge."
"Then come, mighty One, the City Council await you..."
Elated with joy, radiant with energy but famishing for company...the Nirion stumbles from the Caverns, leaving the Dwarves at their endless tasks, and mounts the Tricorn, setting his path towards Niobilatika, the greatest of cities...
Squivering shivering the taste of return, approach the greatest of cities from the West, over the Astonisher "do always come from the West my friends, 'tis where the angels are born"
I stood and watched its splendeur gazing back at me, the dawn over Niobilatika, a return to the roots of glory...
On the threshold to illumination, unnamable its grand appeal...
The Nirion descends from the Astonisher cliff...
And commences his stroll towards the city walls, and around him he sees others doing the same thing, peasants, merchants, all in search of anything Niobilatika offers them to fulfill their wants...
Entering the city, the Nirion soon flood with the flow of people who enter the city...But whilst most of the travelers pass in anonimity...the white tricorn with the warrior upon it soon attracts the attention of many...very soon the murmur has altered to a loud wriggle of voices...as some plunge into their knowledge of legend to recognize the sheathed sword and the lightlusting Tricorn, and upon it the caped man, although bodily not a warrior at first sight, a man with the gaze of a warrior and the glow of victory. Soon a crowd of thousands follows the eerie horseman...and the road clears ahead of him, leaving his direction empty.
And then a young lad doesn't clear the way, and stays in the Nirion's path...the young man, shyly but firmly:
"What is thy name, mighty he who wields both the ancient sword and the newborn tricorn? Word spreads swift within the walls of the City of Golden Ice and Silversworded Heroes, and the tongues speak of a Return expected and hoped for but declined by the Unbelievers too many times. The many tongues speak of the darklightborne...
We are in need of him, if thou art who he is, relieve us from the sweet sufferance of expectation."
"Well said, young man, in the well spoken word do we recognize the forger of diplomacy and in the firmly spoken word must we catch a glimpse of the strong at heart. I used to be the One you expect, who I am now is for all of you to judge."
"Then come, mighty One, the City Council await you..."