Fragments Gallery
The Gorge
The wretched bridge swayed in the wind before him as he stared upon it with unease. The red pennant at the other side danced enticingly as it beckoned him across, but he dared not set foot upon that bridge. The ropes rocked back and forth as yet another gust of wind caught hold of it. The planks shuddered and creaked as the iron bound rope swung. When the ropes had almost settled back into stillness the wind once more caught hold and the bridge shifted.
The bridge was clearly old; the seasoned rope had begun to fray at points and the old rope scarred boards were splintered and obviously weathered. Even the posts at either side that held the whole structure in place seemed half rotted through.
If this was his last test then it was a test he was doomed to fail.
Yarick paced across the cold stone of the cliff as he stared at that expanse before him. He had come so far, faced so many trials and sacrificed so much to be standing here now. This was his chance to prove himself. This was the turning point in his life which he had long anticipated. But now this new barrier stood in his way.
As he watched a splintered plank rocked free of its anchors and plummeted into the gorge below. There was no way the bridge would allow for an easy crossing. It was doubtful that many of those boards could even hold his weight. Yet he had to cross the gorge in order to pass this test.
Or....
He turned to stare back into the forest that lay at his back. He could always return the way he came.
In defeat he could always go back down that trail and return to the base of the mountain. The mere thought of giving up brought to mind the scorn in the voices of those who would talk to him. He could already see the disappointment in the eyes of his friends and family. He, the man who had showed so much promise and had gone so far, had failed. It would then be time for the people to find a new champion.
The thought of that disappointment made him cringe; he had no desire to go through that. Returning in shame was not an option. Instead he must find a way to press forwards. For them he would continue on. Yarick Tomanas was the chosen one. Of that he was sure.
He glanced up at the stormy grey clouds to steel himself before stepping closer to the bridge. Ropes creaked as he set a hand upon the post holding the guide rope aloft. Fear made his heart flutter as he glared at the far off pennant. Beyond that pennant was a trail that led further up the mountain.
That trail led to hope; it led to salvation. If he could make it to the top then the gods would have deemed him worthy and he could take up the great power that slept there. Sure, it would change him; it would morph him into who he was meant to be. It would grant him the power to save his people from a reign of terror that had lasted for centuries.
He could do this. For them.
It would also grant me great power, said a small part of his mind, with this power I could rule the land.
He closed his eyes then pushed all thoughts, fears and worries aside. The first plank creaked as he set foot on the bridge but the old wood held firm. Yarick set his eyes upon that high up trail as he stepped onto the next plank. Again it held his weight. He smiled and his pose relaxed. This wasn’t so bad. He’d be across soon.
He would find his true destiny.