Síol (update 1)
Centered in a circle of standing stones, a green army formed in the settled dusts of time. With blades raised towards the looming blue sky, pointed to a deity from which they owed their existence, some thousand doomed scions gathered hopelessly midst the scattered husks and dried corpses of those who had shown such pride once again. They had grown, in the final merciful rays of autumn light, to test the tension of fate which had only now showed signs of an arc, hiding from the wisest of them what they had seen clearly before.
The battlefield, a rounded hilltop outlined against a fading grey dusk, was broken only by the silhouettes of the great carved stones which had stood since before memory. A hilltop curled around their earthen footings, bracing them as they stood defiantly against winds that had smoothed them to a dull gleam. They seemed familiar to the gathered army as they stood waiting, a foreboding echo of past deeds and future loss that had yet to fully realize itself darkened the rippled surface of the rock as it floated and formed into a swirling mist that had started to mount it’s way from the darkest parts of the distant hills towards the host by the stones. It began at a far off crest and crawled slowly, matching the pace of the setting sun, down towards a growing darkness found in several deep valleys below them. From this pool of muted shadows would dark tendrils begin their hunt in the failing light.
Here fear was born in the faces of the brave. A sturdy grasp of chilled wind began to tug and pull them down towards the pools of mist crawling below, as if to taunt them into losing themselves in the deepening mire ever growing even now as they shrunk towards it. The Sun began to bow under the thin black line marking the edge of the emerald world and ruby sky as day turned to night. The fading light had begun to dull the gleam of their blades that had a moment before shimmered so fiercely with the hope of their intentions: to cheat death.
The graying knoll underneath them bled into a muddled mess of melding hues and began to take on a new form under a darkening sky. The smooth rolling grass that gathered at the base of the tallest mound had now been submerged in grey matching the dreary rolling plains edged by stark, craggy, mountains to the North and a slender black snake of a river far to the south. Only after frantically trying to trace the edges of the encroaching mist through the drowning light did sudden waves of realization, foreboding in nature, begin to break upon the stones and those gathered beneath them; rooted deep within the veins of the force arrayed a fear was born in the darkness. Born from a womb of dusk, the fading light merged with a nagging feeling of dread and began to drain the color from them all. Shadows seeped in their hearts, mirroring those in the physical world that now reached for their blades. Now they began to remember: for while they lived so blissfully in the sunshine, they had not recalled the fear of death needed to recognize the signs of their own demise, echoed through time, for this arc in their fate had hidden from them the fact that this had happened to them before.