The Temple of Neon

[FallswithBlade]

Lone footsteps echoed down the empty corridors of the most coveted location in all of Neon's reign, the temple of Neon. Only this vast structure and the commanders of the vast hosts that sought to win it for their MediYear survived the wrath of Neon at those who had failed to impress him. Each MediYear, torrents of arcane lightning struck from the cloudless skies, tearing asunder the soldiers who fought for every commander for his or her right to lay claim to the temple.

It was widely rumoured among the common people that those who aided a commander to glory would be well rewarded in the afterlife by Neon, serving Him in all His glory for all eternity. It was an absurdity, the ancient and wizened elf knew, having himself won the glory of Neon's approval. The only rewards were to the commander. They were raised temporarily above all others with a statue of pure gold accented with the blood of their followers, to reside in perpetuity deep within the inner sanctum of the temple, where only victorious MediWarLords were permitted to enter.

It was to here that the steady footsteps went, carrying one of the few survivors since it all began. Many of his comrades from that glorious beginning were dead and gone, only a tiny handful remaining. Some few had resurrected and returned with younger bodies, but even they were far and few between. The sadness emanating from the solitary figure as he gazed around at the statues of those who had won Neon's approval was palpable. So many were gone, and almost all of those who remained simply lived out on the battlefield, leaving the task of conquest to the younger. He himself often spent his time like this, only occasionally returning when his blood began to boil with thoughts of the holy halls of Neon.

In the exterior of the hall, the commanders who had not yet attained the title MediWarLord and even the general masses could gather and hungrily gaze at the statistics that Neon assembled to rate each commander. The Hall of Fame, it was called, and it was there that many warlords compared themselves to others, and those who had come before them.

He had often wondered why new soldiers inevitably gathered to the many commanders. Inevitably and regularly, the end of a MediYear was marked by fierce storms of arcane lightning, striking out from a cloudless sky to tear asunder the gathered armies, destroying every single soldier save the most trusted general of each commander. And yet still they flocked to the cause, MediYear after MediYear. It was madness. However, he supposed, the call of the supposed glory of the afterlife was all most of the people under Neon had to live for, unless they were deemed worthy of raising and commanding an army.

He sighed and shrugged briefly, banishing his pensive thoughts from his head. He had returned to the Capital to contend for the chance of another statue in the temple. He did not have the endurance and stamina that he had had a dozen MediYears past when he had relentlessly crushed all hope of resistance. This race would not be a campaign to honour the greatest MediWarLords of all time, the huge bear and the great hound. There were many competitors on the field, including an old friend from before.

The ancient elf, known as Fallsy to his friends, turned and strode purposefully from the inner sanctum, determined to immediately depart the deserted temple. After all, the temple was deserted due to the various commanders marshaling their armies and preparing for the long MediYear ahead, and there was much work to be done if the ancient elf was to have any hope of competing with the many who would come against him.

[Panacea]

V.Kewl

[Sephiroth]

Very Elequent... good work!