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Oblivion; Soon to end...
Topic Started: Dec 5 2011, 12:46 AM (246 Views)
Iron Duke
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Sparkles
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Oblivion. He had just been in his estate, laying in bed. He could remember reading a letter from the Queen just moments before, wishing that the Duke’s health improve soon, and then... this, nothing. There was no light, everything was dark, pitch black. A great black void, filled with nothing. He tried to reach out, to touch something in the dark. But upon trying, he realised he had no arm, no body. It was his consciousness, set adrift in oblivion. ’Am I dead?’ He tried to ask, but no words came. Just the question lingering in his thoughts. He had lost all perception of time. He could not tell if he had been in this place for a few minutes, or two hundred years...

This couldn’t be the end. He had been a god among men, hailed as a hero by his people, and those of allied nations. The greatest soldier to have lived, the man who defeated the French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, and saved the known world and the ideals of Monarchy from the tyranny of France, and her dreaded republicanism. He had been dubbed the Iron Duke for his unwavering loyalty and strength of arms. He had become Prime Minister, making him the most powerful man in Britain’s vast empire, and consequently, the most powerful man in the world. This emptiness, this void could not be the Duke of Wellington’s fate, to wander aimlessly cross time, with no start and no end. This couldn’t be the destiny that received him.

Then something reached out to him, and touched his mind. It was strange; he could perceive nothing except for the presence felt in his mind. It was like it existed, but didn’t exist, free from the constraints of linear time and space, a non-corporeal entity. It had no mass, and yet if filled everything, and branched deep into his consciousness, leaning of his abilities, and desires. It whispered of promises, contracts, battles, wars and a chance to live once more. Was this the god he had been taught to worship throughout his life? No. He refused to believe that this nothingness was heaven and that this thing which whispered of things that could be was not the merciful and powerful god the world he once knew worshipped.

As it continued to whisper of things that could be, he realised; he was right. This is not heaven, but neither is it hell. It is purgatory, the eternal plain where one was judged, and perhaps this presence was the test by which one may continue either through the gates of St. Peter, or maybe, back to earth, to continue one’s greatness in life. Without realising it, he entered an agreement and the whispering stopped, and the oblivion around him began to slowly brighten, as though the sun was rising to cast away the darkness. He could feel something, something he had not felt for a long time, or perhaps it was just moments ago? No matter how long it truly was, he knew the feeling well. Life was returning. His mind began to fill with information. Information about rules, abilities, even magic and... the holy grail, and the war that would soon begin in its name. How fitting that a chance for anything he wished, would come down to the best soldier, something he had perfected during his life, or perhaps best said as past life.

He waited in this Oblivion which began to fade away around him, waited for the calling he had been told to expect, the ritual which would bring his consciousness back to the world of the living to fight, for a master, as his servant. ‘Not long now...’ His mind whispered back to the void.
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"Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won."
-Arthur Wellsley, the Duke of Wellington - Profile Archer Class
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