The F Word

Who are you to be a slave to the past? You who can travel time like the oceans and rewrite history with a single word?
Plisken strode forward, the others taking off to find their battles. The war was raging, battles being fought, howls of anguish and lamentation echoing throughout the area. How many times had he stood at such a place?
“Oh well I’m not gonna like pass if I don’t get moving,” said Jaxx, his naitivty an almost unpleasant tone amongst the cries of pain and the stench of death. Yet there was something brilliant about it- something that made Plisken jealous. Jaxx was but a year old- it didn’t matter he had the appearance of a 20 something, he was ultimately still a child but still possibly the bravest, or foolhardy, man of the group. Fortune favours the brave.
“How about we do some recon first to find the head bad guy first?” Eve sweetingly poured into Jaxx’s ear as she draped her arms around him. Love - the strongest of all bonds, binding two souls together. To find it at such a young age was a blessing - to accept everything that they are, to love and stand by them forever. More than intelligence, we need love.
"To see a World in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour..." Alex recited. The harden man, the embittered man. Years of hardship, years of suffering. Yet still the angel within. Forgiving and honest, true and forthright. He was everything man should be, could be, yet he was less – for without sin, man is not man. However, more than cleverness, we need kindness.
He wasn't sure what the resulting planty expression meant. The girl, trapped behind a veil of plant life, trapped by nature. Unable to express her love in the way she would want, they way she would like. To stand by and watch the man she would want become something else, something better, and be not able to speak, not able to be with- a truly terrible hell. But what are words but a simple expression of how we feel? Love would go deeper than that, and soon words would never be needed. Love never dies.
Who are you to be anonymous? You whose name should be spoken in reverent tones or terrified whispers. Jacky, the child in a world never meant for them, himself warped to fit that of his surroundings- behold the king, its wings of black sheath. But the child inside still, the innocence and goodness. What are we but part of a system that makes men torture?
"Good job!" Cried The Iron Man with zest, giving a double thumbs up as he swooped past on his way to discover the foes he was destined to fight. The lost soul, last of his crew, years without the company of his fellows. Now he is clad behind a suit of iron, his armour making him safe, secure. He lived without them for a lifetime; he had no need of them, no need of protection. Now it is true. But a ship may be safe in harbour, but that is not what ships are for.

Artemis charged into the fray, shrugging off damage and supercharging his teammates as they searched for the final boss. The man of science, the man who wishes to know everything, to prove everything. His brain is central to him, always questioning and always looking. Someday he will have to trust, he will have to believe, and he will know why. One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach.

Plisken watched as his comrades went in search of battles. Plisken did not need to look. Drawing his sword, the blade singing as it was released from the scabbard, Plisken walked into the middle of the battle. The creatures stopped as the saw him, a blinding white light rising from behind him. They parted as Plisken slowly crossed the battlefield. His friends were by now far off, battling what they needed to.
The muddy ground splashed his boots, the white turning to brown. But soon the mud stopped, cobblestones rising out of the ocean of dirt and forming an island in the sea. That path led to a bridge.
“The bridge of Khazad-dûm,” he muttered, his age weighing more heavily on him than ever before. The bridge crossed a large chasm, the depths of which were unknown and the bottom was darkened with impossible shadow. The bridge was wide enough to allow three people to comfortably walk with each other but the sides had no safeguard, the edges simply leading to the fall below. The fissure spanned an enormous length, a great scar of the wasteland. Sheer cliffs would flank it forever, a never forgiving pit. On the other side of the bridge was a castle, whether or not it held the lair of the overlord within was not Plisken’s concern- this was his fight.
Plisken regarded the sight coolly and began to cross the bridge. About halfway across, there stood a man. Dressed in a uniform, medals decorating his chest and rank insignia blazing brightly in the light, he stood with his head bowed. Short hair ruffled lightly in the wind and a short jacket, made of fine leather, blew lazily in the calm breeze. A gaunt, clean shaven face looked up at Plisken, piercing amber jewels flicking out from the darkness of his sunken eyes. All the sounds of the battle faded and became distant, just another part of the world.
“You shall not pass,” the man said, keeping his head lowered.
“I know,” Plisken the White said, “This is where we fall.”
“Forgiveness would allow passage, you know this.”
“You know I cannot do that,” Plisken replied, his grip on his sword loosening.
“What I did, I did without choice -in the name of peace and sanity.”
“When history witnesses a great change, Razgriz reveals itself as a dark demon,” agreed Plisken, tossing the sword over to the man, “But this is where we die, where we free ourselves.”
“You’re a fool to believe that,” The man picked up the sword, running the sharp edge over his thumb, drawing a little blood
“Aren’t we all?”
The man lashed forward, a great shout thundering from his lungs. The blade clanged against Plisken’s staff, the wood protected by magical forces. The man was momentarily stunned by the sudden shock of the blade, giving Plisken enough time to sweep his foot under the man’s leg. The man felt his balance go but grabbed Plisken clothing for balance. A swift punch into the stomach sent the man onto his back, Plisken preparing a spell. A heavy swing nearly caught Plisken, a dull crack booming and a bolt of lightening snapping down from the sky, striking the bridge and sending rubble flying. A glow from the head of the staff became solid, an round object of hard light striking the man in the chest. But the man took the hit, becoming stronger with each attack.
“Why do you insist? Forgive me!” the man cried, a quick slash cutting Plisken’s chest, the white robes staining with blood.
“NEVER!” roared Plisken, his anger building up into a rage. With a thunderous pound, the staff stabbed the floor, the world shaking. A blast of energy erupted from the staff, the energy turning to blades and flying out in all directions.
The man slumped to the floor, small blades piercing his body.
“You call yourself Plisken the White, but there is nothing good about you,” spat the man, a small amount of blood forming at his mouth.
“White and black are abstract ideas, the world is cast in shades of grey, you know this,” the old man said, bending down to get closer to his enemy.
“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” The rasping words cut through the peacful air.
“I must sleep somehow,” replied Plisken, raising his hand to the man's face, "Now, be gone!"

Plisken's eyes began to glow and the bright light from behind him focused into a narrow beam, burning the man. Soon, there was nothing left- the artificial cinders floating off the bridge and into the crevice below.

"I must sleep somehow."

<OOC- That was just how Plisken/me saw the way the characters had changed- doesn't mean that's why it is>