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Rise, and Fight Once More (by RatRay)
YCH from the talented 
ratray, also featuring 
werefox's Cassandra
Defeat stings.
The physical pain. The first he noticed was the burning agony in his shoulder from where the warlock’s spell had struck home. As the vague blurs of light and shapes began to reform into a world that made sense once more, he also felt an excruciating pain piercing his head.
After that came the pain from deeper within. The pain of failure. The wretched anguish of knowing that you had built your entire life upon one strong foundation, and yet you were still not good enough. If you failed at the one thing your life was made for, then what were you made for? What were you?
Finally, he realised he wasn’t alone. He looked up and saw the disapproving glare of the maiden staring down at him. He averted his eyes. Everyone else had trusted him. Put their faith in him. Believed that he would do what he was purported to be able to do. And he failed them. That was the greatest sting of all.
He heard her approach, but he dared not meet her gaze. Not until she was right over him. She knelt down on the soft grass, and in the corner of his eye, he saw her extend a hand towards him.
“Let me ease your pains,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. Slowly, he lifted his face, looking now up at her. No, not a disapproving glare. A worried look, giving way to a warming smile. He was confused. This was not one of those he had fought…failed…to protect. Who was she? A faint glow seemed to emanate from her outstretched hand, though he was unsure if his eyes were still having trouble adjusting to the light as he regained consciousness. She touched his armoured chest, and a warmth spread its way beneath the metal plates, beneath the scarred scales. The pain in his shoulder steadily ebbed away. It was gone, now. But still her hand remained, until there was a sudden flash of brightness.
He was far from the meadow, now. He seemed to float above a temple, where a group of tired and worn refugees sought shelter at the door. He recognised them. The people he had fought for.
“They are safe,” came that soothing voice once more. “By the time you had fallen, they were already far from danger.”
He counted them. They were all there. The monks welcomed them with open arms, gave them food and warmth. One of the refugees was talking with one of the monks. He couldn’t hear their words, but the refugee seemed distressed. The monk comforted her, assured her that whatever her woes were, they would be eased soon.
Another flash of light, and he was once more in the meadow.
“They are safe,” the angel said once again. “They wait. Now rise, and fight once more.”
Steadily, his hand curled around the hilt of his sword.
Defeat stings.
But there was no word for this day, but victory.
ratray, also featuring 
werefox's CassandraDefeat stings.
The physical pain. The first he noticed was the burning agony in his shoulder from where the warlock’s spell had struck home. As the vague blurs of light and shapes began to reform into a world that made sense once more, he also felt an excruciating pain piercing his head.
After that came the pain from deeper within. The pain of failure. The wretched anguish of knowing that you had built your entire life upon one strong foundation, and yet you were still not good enough. If you failed at the one thing your life was made for, then what were you made for? What were you?
Finally, he realised he wasn’t alone. He looked up and saw the disapproving glare of the maiden staring down at him. He averted his eyes. Everyone else had trusted him. Put their faith in him. Believed that he would do what he was purported to be able to do. And he failed them. That was the greatest sting of all.
He heard her approach, but he dared not meet her gaze. Not until she was right over him. She knelt down on the soft grass, and in the corner of his eye, he saw her extend a hand towards him.
“Let me ease your pains,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. Slowly, he lifted his face, looking now up at her. No, not a disapproving glare. A worried look, giving way to a warming smile. He was confused. This was not one of those he had fought…failed…to protect. Who was she? A faint glow seemed to emanate from her outstretched hand, though he was unsure if his eyes were still having trouble adjusting to the light as he regained consciousness. She touched his armoured chest, and a warmth spread its way beneath the metal plates, beneath the scarred scales. The pain in his shoulder steadily ebbed away. It was gone, now. But still her hand remained, until there was a sudden flash of brightness.
He was far from the meadow, now. He seemed to float above a temple, where a group of tired and worn refugees sought shelter at the door. He recognised them. The people he had fought for.
“They are safe,” came that soothing voice once more. “By the time you had fallen, they were already far from danger.”
He counted them. They were all there. The monks welcomed them with open arms, gave them food and warmth. One of the refugees was talking with one of the monks. He couldn’t hear their words, but the refugee seemed distressed. The monk comforted her, assured her that whatever her woes were, they would be eased soon.
Another flash of light, and he was once more in the meadow.
“They are safe,” the angel said once again. “They wait. Now rise, and fight once more.”
Steadily, his hand curled around the hilt of his sword.
Defeat stings.
But there was no word for this day, but victory.
Category All / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 961px
File Size 209.6 kB
Listed in Folders
Sooo epic, in some ways. I can actually see the scene with this as a bg music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5-hglha3Ok
Insta-faved ^^
Insta-faved ^^
Very fitting!
And yeah, there's something very gentle and wholesome about this moment. I've always enjoyed the scene of the gentle healer comforting the injured warrior on the field. I originally tried to write something a bit more poetic for this piece, but eeeeeeh I'm not so much with the poetry.
And yeah, there's something very gentle and wholesome about this moment. I've always enjoyed the scene of the gentle healer comforting the injured warrior on the field. I originally tried to write something a bit more poetic for this piece, but eeeeeeh I'm not so much with the poetry.
It is not defeat. My goal is to keep my wards safe from harm. If that is accomplished, then I cannot call myself defeated.
And yes, my endurance has always been my greatest asset. Never break. If your enemy cannot keep you down, then victory is only a matter of time.
Thank you.
And yes, my endurance has always been my greatest asset. Never break. If your enemy cannot keep you down, then victory is only a matter of time.
Thank you.
I have faced defeat many a time, for me it comes with... hate to admit it, but being small, there I said it I understand my weakness. But failure doesn't mean it's the end, get back up and run towards the goal of victory until not even the shame of defeat can keep up. You only truly lose if you give up within yourself.
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