QuirkyMockingjay
New member
I guess this is goodbye, Only. Know that I won't be forgetting about you any time soon.
Change is everywhere. It is good and bad, yet, most of all, it is inevitable. You can't escape change, just like you can't escape fate. It's one of those hidden rules we all know of, yet push to the back of our minds, hoping in vain to escape from. Unfortunately, such things can only be put off for so long...
The city of Gondor stood as it always had, its pale towers and vast buildings overlooking the wide world surrounding it. The city still bore the markings of countless wars in its depths, etched in every surface, lurking there, hidden from eyesight. Yet, though the moon shone, and people walked and prepared to fight just as they always did, something was off tonight.
It wasn't something you could see, yet it was there, a whisper in the wind, a murmur in the streets. Everyone felt it, and everyone acknowledged it, though few realized what it meant. The people who did though, stared at the darkening sky, musing that such a happening was a dream of theirs maybe, or a nightmare. There had to be an explanation.
In another world, another city of Gondor stood, and though it bore resemblance to the other, it was different. The towers were straighter, the buildings more empty. Yet, it was in this place that people felt the drastic pull of change, more so than any other. They didn't look it. They still fought in their everlasting war, they still died and became a new, as they'd done hundreds of times before. It was hard to see the change, to see the effects, yet it was there. You just had to look hard enough.
This Gondor had been molded through memories like the other had been through survival. It had been molded again and again, a little bit at a time. The people had molded it. The owner had. Every person who entered it, entered the sea of sidelong memories that circled every structure, played a part. Whether they were conscious of it or not. This change, it was an omen, an end. All good things must end.
A person had left this strange, blocky version of Gondor. His name was Only_God. How could a single person leaving make such a change? Well, this person was at the soul of this place, of this strange other world where physics didn't work.
He had been there at the beginning, when no building had stood, and all that was there was a world where demons attacked, and people fought and fled for their lives. He had been there when Gondor had been made, when maps were uncertain, battles harder, death cheaper. He had stayed there, and he had created. He had created his own maps, created patches to the quilt of the world. It was he who was there, he who had a place in memories for many of the players. And now, his departure would ring through the blocky world.
People in the other Gondor continued their routine. They moved, experienced their own history, a one much more defined. And yet, for some reason, on that night, candles had been lit, to honor the fallen. The candles were small, fitting in the palm of their hands. Yet, they were bright. They bathed the walls in soft yellows and hues of gold, and the people of that Gondor watched the flames. And, silently, they mourned, just like the inhabitants of another world far, far away.
Of course, the candles would be gone in the morning. People would face many more deaths, and much more pain, and yet, for that one night, both places were aligned, if only for a split second. Only_God was leaving, and yet, his legacy would live on. In his maps, in the mind of the players, in the flickering flame of a mage's fireball. We won't forget you, Only.
Good luck with the future.
Change is everywhere. It is good and bad, yet, most of all, it is inevitable. You can't escape change, just like you can't escape fate. It's one of those hidden rules we all know of, yet push to the back of our minds, hoping in vain to escape from. Unfortunately, such things can only be put off for so long...
The city of Gondor stood as it always had, its pale towers and vast buildings overlooking the wide world surrounding it. The city still bore the markings of countless wars in its depths, etched in every surface, lurking there, hidden from eyesight. Yet, though the moon shone, and people walked and prepared to fight just as they always did, something was off tonight.
It wasn't something you could see, yet it was there, a whisper in the wind, a murmur in the streets. Everyone felt it, and everyone acknowledged it, though few realized what it meant. The people who did though, stared at the darkening sky, musing that such a happening was a dream of theirs maybe, or a nightmare. There had to be an explanation.
In another world, another city of Gondor stood, and though it bore resemblance to the other, it was different. The towers were straighter, the buildings more empty. Yet, it was in this place that people felt the drastic pull of change, more so than any other. They didn't look it. They still fought in their everlasting war, they still died and became a new, as they'd done hundreds of times before. It was hard to see the change, to see the effects, yet it was there. You just had to look hard enough.
This Gondor had been molded through memories like the other had been through survival. It had been molded again and again, a little bit at a time. The people had molded it. The owner had. Every person who entered it, entered the sea of sidelong memories that circled every structure, played a part. Whether they were conscious of it or not. This change, it was an omen, an end. All good things must end.
A person had left this strange, blocky version of Gondor. His name was Only_God. How could a single person leaving make such a change? Well, this person was at the soul of this place, of this strange other world where physics didn't work.
He had been there at the beginning, when no building had stood, and all that was there was a world where demons attacked, and people fought and fled for their lives. He had been there when Gondor had been made, when maps were uncertain, battles harder, death cheaper. He had stayed there, and he had created. He had created his own maps, created patches to the quilt of the world. It was he who was there, he who had a place in memories for many of the players. And now, his departure would ring through the blocky world.
People in the other Gondor continued their routine. They moved, experienced their own history, a one much more defined. And yet, for some reason, on that night, candles had been lit, to honor the fallen. The candles were small, fitting in the palm of their hands. Yet, they were bright. They bathed the walls in soft yellows and hues of gold, and the people of that Gondor watched the flames. And, silently, they mourned, just like the inhabitants of another world far, far away.
Of course, the candles would be gone in the morning. People would face many more deaths, and much more pain, and yet, for that one night, both places were aligned, if only for a split second. Only_God was leaving, and yet, his legacy would live on. In his maps, in the mind of the players, in the flickering flame of a mage's fireball. We won't forget you, Only.
Good luck with the future.
