❖ shadow of the colossus - { dream x yass }

[Osheaga]

• • 
    
    Since an unknown evil ravished their villages, the people dwelling beyond the Forbidden Land were left dazed by the destruction and unsure as to where they should begin picking up the pieces. They were left hindered, vexed and ultimately, broken. Homes lost. Children, mothers, fathers - all dead. There was no food, no shelter from the elements, no happiness. It was then that a brazen scholar suggested they travel southward to the Forbidden Land as they were aware of the hatred in which other clans held towards them. "It has been uninhabited for centuries," he preached, "The empire there has risen and fallen; nothing but ruins and a remnants of a broken civilization is left there. We should take advantage of this land and seize it for our better good!"
    
    Many of the people were skeptic. They were raised being fed rubbish concerning Dormin, the lost deity, and how the Forbidden land was dubbed as such by the god's treacherous ways. Still apprehensive, the indigenous believed it may have been in their best interest to inhabit Dormin's fallen kingdom; they wanted peace and quiet, tranquility; to replenish their numbers and grow as a race. At the scholar's behest a tiny group consisting of 50 people - mostly carpenters, warriors and a handful of farmers - were dispatched to inspect their future home and begin constructing settlements. The trek past the fjord was perilous, with the coming of purging rains that swept the destruction from their villages out into rivers; it was a flood, one that hindered their progression, but did not deter them from their goal.
    
    Amongst the group was a nameless shaman, a woman who's silence was deafening. She guarded the explorers with her immaculate jade eyes, peering over the fjords' peaks and down into the abyssal rivers that spelled death if one were to stumble only lightly. She spoke not a word or uttered once complaint, left dumbfounded by the destruction that befell them not even seven moons ago. "Excuse me, shaman," a man whispered as he careened over his mule, eying the curvaceous woman rather conspicuously, "May I ask why you're here? I haven't any need for a healer, though it would be convenient; you would have been more useful guarding the people back in the village, not here with a group of sex-depraved soldiers and farmers."
    
    At that instant his mule made an unamused grunt, bucking mildly from side to side. It was then that the shaman outstretched her soft, jeweled hand and gently patted the mule on its snout. It was soothed instantly, assuming the pace it had before being so suddenly disturbed. The man riding it - a widower and farmer - was left bewildered as the tan-skinned, mysterious woman continued through the narrow fjord's pass. But a day later the throng of anxious pilgrims arrived within the Forbidden Land, crossing the bridge which led to their new home. It was a tedious trek but, they were all pleased to come to a rest when their destination was in view - a temple.
    
    The fatigued travelers all stopped to congregate at the temple - decidedly for a few days - until they came to a conclusion as to which group which travel in which direction, and how they were to establish communication between each other in such an grand peninsula. As they came to the foot of the temple, which was facing in a southward direction, the pilgrims took note of the setting sun; nightfall, here, was unknown and they realized it would be unwise to travel when there was not even a moon to guide them. A middle-aged man cantered up to the alter within the temple, his armor singing a song of time as he approached it. With his good eye - the other a shade of milky white suggesting he had lost his sight - he gave the alter a once over and reached out to touch it with his scarred, calloused hand.
    
    It was then that the shaman intervened, her voice a passionate utterance amongst the other pilgrims while they chatted and roamed the enormous corridor within the temple, observing the idols that lined each side. Her striking ginger-ale eyes popped out through the dimness within the foyer while her stark, starless mane cascaded around her clothed shoulders and full breasts. "Ah, I forgot," the warrior whispered sullenly, "This place is ... sacred." His tone was mocking; cocky, and it put the shamaness at unease. The man examined the shaman - she was tall, amazonian, with a beautiful coffee complexion and tempest eyes. "You've lead these uneducated fools into this dying land," the shaman preached; the warrior was taken aback by her commanding tone, "That is your doing." The warrior sneered. "Then why would you have part in this "genocide"?" A lapse of silence, and the shaman replied. "Because I was told to watch over the children, lest they burn their stubby hands on a pot of scalding water."
    
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[Yossarian]

(Alright, hopefully this works out!)

Twenty nine years. Three wars. Over forty battles. Life had never been kind to the warrior known as Caim, as for the moment he had picked up a blade he had fought for his life. First against the barbarians to the east, whose ferocity knew no bounds. And then they had dealt with the small Empire to the west, whose lust for fertile lands had driven to invading. Through battle he garnered prestige, the bodies of the enemy acting as stepping stones for the soldier. And through battle, he outgrew such silly things as fear or regret. Or, at least he was led to believe.

The nameless evil that plagued their lands unnerved Caim. The barbarians and soldiers he had fought in the past had posed a threat as well, and like the darkness had showed no prejudice when it came to cutting down both women and children. Yet, unlike them, the beast that now ravaged their country could not be subdued by a something as measly as a sword or arrow. Oh they tried to fend it off, to defend the villages and cities threatened by the evil. Yet it had been to no avail. His men had been slaughtered, and Caim had only barely managed to escape with his life. He had begun to lose hope. It was easy to see that this...evil could not be killed, could not be stopped. It would destroy their civilization, and crush every last one of them. Everything they had earned, everything they had fought for, it would all be for nothing.

But then, when all had seemed lost, a rather curious idea was brought up. Retreat. They would sacrifice the land they had called home for so long in order for a chance to live elsewhere. At first, the idea had seemed insane to Caim. The other clans despised them, and honestly the only reason they hadn't tried to invade their weaken land yet was due to fear of attracting the attention of the nameless evil that already plagued it. But, what if it were an owner-less land? The man who had brought up the idea in the first place spoke of the Forbidden Lands, where a great Empire formerly existed...and now home only to battered and broken ruins. They send a small group to the lands first, to make it ripe for settling. And then, once the foundation was laid, the grand exodus would finally begin.

--

The journey to the Forbidden Lands was rather uneventful, and Caim had to admit that it was for the best. The group was made up of mostly farmers and carpenters, though curiously enough the ones who organized the expedition had seen fit to include a shaman as well. The woman was a quiet one though, fortunately. And though warriors were a part of the group as well, with Caim leading the small force, they were mostly just boys. Those who had experience had all been killed when the darkness had hit. Many of the ones who now accompanied this group knew only the barest essentials, and Caim feared that if they were to be attacked the boys would panic like all the others. In fact, there were only a couple who Caim could trust to keep their heads if they were forced into a fight, those who had fought with him before in wars of the past, but even they were not without issues, Giles especially.

Of them, Giles was the oldest, already pushing fifty. His body consisted of pretty much only scars, and not to mention there was the rather noticeable gash running through his right eye as well. Honestly, he looked as though he could fall apart at any moment. His attitude had been soured by war as well, and it was for that reason he hadn't been put in charge of the soldiers. He was rude, outspoken, and most of all stubborn. If he didn't like his orders, he wouldn't follow them through. It was a small wonder the man was even alive. In fact, the only reason he was even with the group was due to his skill with a blade. He was less of a soldier, and more of a dog on a leash.

"He's going to make all the others turn against us," Muttered a particularly concerned veteran during one morning, a small frown planted upon his face, and Caim could hardly disagree. Giles had been going about, acting as though he were a king. He forced others to give up their own rations, and if they refused he threatened them. Caim tried to scold him each time, though the man always ignored his orders. And it wasn't like he could send him back home either...

"He'll mellow out once we get there," Caim had replied, rubbing his scraggly beard. Honestly...? He wasn't sure how much he believed the statement.

--

The sun had been setting by the time they reached the destination, the dying rays peeking through the clouds. Before them stretched a long, slowly crumbling bridge, and past that...?

Caim could hardly believe his eyes. He had not heard many tales of the Empire who formerly held onto these lands, just that they were mighty and grand. It was easy to see that there was some truth to the tales. A large temple stood at the end of the bridge, and though it was many years old, age had not yet taken its toll on the structure. The building sat high above the land, and the tip eve peaked through the clouds. The soldier had seen quite a few interesting sights during the campaigns he had been on, yet nothing as fantastic...as grand...as this temple. It was hard to believe that human hands had built it.

The group decided to take cover in the temple, at least for the night, and Caim had to agree. Who knew what sort of beasts existed in this new land? Not to mention, his men were hardly fit for fighting in the night. And so, they had made their way into the temple, taking refuge.

The area where they set up camp was a large hallway, surprisingly empty. A set of surprisingly detailed stone idols lined up the walls, and at they end stood an altar, but aside from that...? Nothing.

After organizing his men, and sending a few up to the entrance to keep watch, Caim took a seat near one of the statues. He closed his eyes, raising a gloved hand and running it through his thick brown hair. He was only in his early thirties, and yet he already appeared to be twice that age. Strands of gray had crept into his hair, and deep bags hung beneath his eyes. Perhaps here he would finally get some rest...?

"...huh?" The loud, clanking of armor caught his attention, and with a groan Caim looked up to see one of his men approaching the altar, one of the older ones at that. He had a trace of curiosity in his eyes, and Caim watched through narrowed eyes as the man raised a hand and ran it across the stone. The shaman had apparently taken notice as well, and out of the corner of his eye he watched as she quickly made her way up to meet the men...the two entering a conversation. He could see the sneer on the man's face, and could hear the commanding tone the shaman was taking. This wasn't good.

Quickly pulling himself to his feet, the man approached the altar, clearing his throat as he neared the two in hopes that they would take notice. "Is something the matter?" He inquired, looking between them, before finally allowing his eyes to settle upon the woman. "...if you have an issue with one of my own, shaman, I expect you to come to me first,"