The Last Words.

  • Lamenting on Rugbark

    _I have not forgotten…Though time swirls and churns like the open sea, and in its icy clutches have I been carried hither and abound like a ragdoll subjected to gales of wind only a howling tornado can bring to bear, my memory will not allow me to flee my time spent here. It seems that the golden autumns spent in the folds of blissful play here have served for more than mere passing pleasure or temporary enjoyment. Rather, those blissful remembrances have kept me tethered, and as the weathering winds of this mortal coil conspired and schemed to hasten my removal from their stream, Rugbark sought to keep my sane.

    In my youth I was a misguided, ungrateful beast of little merit. It seemed that the salty air that came with the territory of my piratical endeavors had done little more than poison my mind. I took this place for granted. I made the acute error of assuming that this veritable paradise on earth was, and would so remain, a separate entity from this wicked torrential gust that is the greatest enemy to any beast who strides on the path of death as I did. I thought Rugbark was eternal, that it would remain embedded within this worn earth and as lively as these vibrant young saplings now growing from within the abandoned dwellings. To my endless regret and penitence, I was sorely mistaken.

    Thus, I, Fallomous Staggertail, Swordsferret renowned, have returned to the place of my origins. Of all the distant realms my crew and I have visited, none have given me the warmth and comfort of this diminutive township. Even now my weary heart is aflutter with joy as I gaze at every nook and cranny I once roamed, and a sense of familiarity threatens to overwhelm me. Its current state of dereliction, the many friends that I will no longer be seeing, the somber sentiments that their final goodbyes must have borne moves me to tears, and coupled with these nostalgic feelings and a moroseness blooming within my belly are nearly enough to send me to my knees.

    From the moment my boots touched the sagging planks of the old dock as I evacuated my hole-ridden dingy, to rediscovering the old town square beneath the undergrowth of countless seasons without maintenance, I knew that this is where I was destined to spend my last days. So here I stand, at the threshold of my old bungalow, writing with a worn burnt stick on the last scrap of parchment my paws could procure, hoping that perhaps one day this place can be returned to its former glory.  Like the roses wilt in the winter months and return to display their crimson beauty, so too shall this place be revitalized. Though I doubt I will have the fortune to see it carried out.

    The sun dips below the tree line now, but I will try and defy this orange sphere by jotting down these last few memories I have, before I am embraced by the dreary night to come.

    The laughter of vermin and gentle beast alike wafting up from the bustling square, carried by the teasing sea breeze.

    Healthy commerce being carried out between dibbuns as they chat merrily.

    A stone-faced squirrel with a heart of gold I once called my friend.

    The clash of steel against steel ringing with unrivalled clarity as a pair duel in a field of bowing wheat.

    The scent of freshly baked pies, mingling with that of the dry, fruity aroma of elderberry wine.

    A jaunty dance between a lovely otter maiden and I.

    My departure, in the dead of night did I steal away whilst my comrades were in slumber.

    It is the tempest of life’s burdens that brought me here for release, and it is death’s calling that compelled me to return once more._

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