[Story] Ziether's 100 Themes

[Ziether]

Hello, everyone. My name, as you can guess from the above, is Ziether. I love to write, create, and explore. I expect what follows to be highly eclectic, spanning various genres and styles. Feel free to comment, but please respect any form of Work In Progress notation. I will endeavor to remember to hyperlink the prompts as each is finished in order to let you know that I am prepared for criticisms.

Some posts will be autobiographical, others seemingly autobiographical, others inspired by true events, but the majority will just be the crazy that spews from my brain.

Thank you for your interest!
Z

 

100 Themes 1. Introduction 2. Love 3. Light 4. Dark 5. Seeking Solace 6. Break Away 7. Heaven 8. Innocence 9. Drive 10. Breathe Again 11. Memory 12. Insanity 13. Misfortune 14. Smile 15. Silence 16. Questioning 17. Blood 18. Rainbow 19. Gray 20. Fortitude 21. Vacation 22. Mother Nature 23. Cat 24. No Time 25. Trouble Lurking 26. Tears 27. Foreign 28. Sorrow 29. Happiness 30. Under the Rain 31. Flowers 32. Night 33. Expectations 34. Stars 35. Hold My Hand 36. Precious Treasure 37. Eyes 38. Abandoned 39. Dreams 40. Rated 41. Teamwork 42. Standing Still 43. Dying 44. Two Roads 45. Illusion 46. Family 47. Creation 48. Childhood 49. Stripes 50. Breaking the Rules 51. Sport 52. Deep in Thought 53. Keeping a Secret 54. Tower 55. Waiting 56. Danger Ahead 57. Sacrifice 58. Kick in the Head 59. No Way Out 60. Rejection 61. Fairy Tale 62. Magic 63. Do Not Disturb 64. Multitasking 65. Horror 66. Traps 67. Playing the Melody 68. Hero 69. Annoyance 70. 67% 71. Obsession 72. Mischief Managed 73. I Can't 74. Are You Challenging Me? 75. Mirror 76. Broken Pieces 77. Test 78. Drink 79. Starvation 80. Words 81. Pen and Paper 82. Can You Hear Me? 83. Heal 84. Out Cold 85. Spiral 86. Seeing Red 87. Food 88. Pain 89. Through the Fire 90. Triangle 91. Drowning 92. All That I Have 93. Give Up 94. Last Hope 95. Advertisement 96. In the Storm 97. Safety First 98. Puzzle 99. Solitude 100. Relaxation

[Ziether]

Topic #7: Heaven

Heaven In order to know a thing, one must explore its opposite, know it intimately, recall every nuance of its form and function. To that end, in order to know heaven, one must know hell. Hell is many things to many people, but I am not many people. I am but who I am, and I know but what I know. Hell is waking up knowing that no matter what happens today, tomorrow will dawn no more than imperceptibly differently. A lifetime of dawns leading to no visible change in status. To struggle each moment for a happier tomorrow, knowing that some circumstance will come along to dash hope into the cliffs of despair, to bring the joys of companionship down around you, casting a pall of anguish and heartbreak over memories that pulsated purity and joy. As children, we are taught to strive for betterment, to work hard, and that anything is possible. This is an utter fallacy, a concoction developed by those in power to convince us of our desires, and to in doing so maintain their status atop the pile of humanity that fights each day to climb amongst them. We are nothing. Insignificant. The chance for one of us to become one of them is infinitesimal. Statistics are a cold, hard science. They don't always predict every event, but they predict enough of them to see that, as the prophet said, everything is vanity. Knowing this may cause a loss of hope, but what good is hope when it doesn't change anything. This hell that we call life could be heaven. We could make it over into a place of lasting joy, of communal happiness. But we won't. We don't care enough about our fellows to stop thinking about ourselves long enough to help them out. We may pay lip service to community service, to brotherhood, to sacrifice, but we are deluding ourselves. A rare few might be able to give of themselves for the betterment of others, but not enough of us. What use is it? The struggle for upward mobility, while largely futile, is still the best hope we have. And when the best hope we have is no hope at all, what hope do we have of heaven? Heaven is a potentiality. Heaven is perfection. Heaven is bliss. But we'll never see it. Not as long as we keep our eyes on the goals we have. Finding an attractive mate, wearing nice clothes, eating delicious food, owning beautiful homes and automobiles, and traveling to exotic places all mean nothing if they crumble to dust some day. I will not advocate abandoning our dreams, as I understand the futility of such an advocacy, but I will speak condemnation on all of us for not abandoning those aspirations. May we rot in hell.

[Ziether]

Topic #1: Introduction

Introduction To quote the Stones, "please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste." Well, maybe not wealth, and I can put aside taste, but I am most definitely a man. That is the foundation of who I am, a benchmark upon which I was raised, and a cornerstone of my cognitive processes. I was raised fearing God, treating my elders with respect, and valuing learning. Fearing God is a subject I will not dwell on for long, but to say that much of my childhood was shaped by religion and religious activities. My friends were my Sunday School classmates, my social events at the church. I was placed in forced proximity with these persons, and friendships developed, and I never learned another way to make friends to this day. I live here, on the internet, because of this lack of companionship in the wild. I respected my elders, not out of any desire to treat them well, but out of a desire to maintain privileges. I was raised in a strict authoritarian household. Step out of line, and some form of consequence was thrust on you. I quickly learned to stay to myself and read books. I value the latter greatly. I read classics. I read modern fiction. Above all, I READ. Learning words, gleaning etymologies, and finding novel ways to convey information assisted me on my bumpy ride to adulthood. So the other portions of my upbringing taught me to value knowledge. My mind is a steel trap, not quite eidetic, but able to store vast quantities of useless data. I fell in love with Magic: the Gathering. Passionately, torridly in love. Magic introduced me to further fantasy, and from that fantasy into tabletop wargames and roleplaying. Finding these things in common with people thrust me into a whirlwind of character creation, discussion, and camaraderie. My upbringing is a sore subject for me, so I introduce myself with a largely abridged version of it. I give you the bare-bones necessary to lever myself to the platform of Play-by-Post roleplaying, and thus to you. I am not the sum of my parts. I am shaped by them, but each shapes in a different way, and some reshape what has been previously altered. I am Ziether. I am one of you. I belong. Thank you for your companionship, your competition, your criticism, and your support. Thank you for simply existing and sharing something with me that I am generally unable to experience in the world of flesh and blood. I am grateful for each post, each die roll, each comment, I am Ziether. Let's go play a game!

[Ziether]

Topic #82: Can you Hear Me?

Can you Hear Me? Voices clamor as the party gets into full swing, bottles clanking, music blaring, and myriad conversations erupt on any number of subjects. The horror. I don't know ANY of these people! Well, maybe a few, but none of them well. And they're all getting drunk. I have to drive home, and it's thirty miles. Why did I even come to this party? Oh, yeah, I have to come out in public at least once each year. I must prove I still exist, that I still care about people. That's a crock. I don't care about them. I haven't had anything in common with them in years. I'm married with children. I have playdates, and preschool. I have play-by-post roleplaying games. I have responsibilities. Yes, that's the problem. They don't. They have jobs. They have social lives with each other. They just went paintballing last weekend. What should I talk to them about? Maybe a joke. No. That won't work. I'm not that funny. That beer he's drinking? No. I don't even like beer. I know nothing about it. Well, maybe I'll just have a couple drinks. Okay, let's find the liquor... ---------------------------------- Much better, decision making slightly hampered, but I'll still be able to drive, still be able to remember what happened. "Hey, man, what's up!?" Silence. Let's try those girls over there. They were always nice. Never mind, they're joking about their boyfriends, I do NOT want to hear that. Maybe those guys over by the fire? "What's going on, guys?" They don't even look towards me. Oh, they're stoned out of their minds. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Oops, that was a little loud. Everyone has stopped what they were doing and are looking at me. Shoot. I stand there, awkwardly before muttering "Never mind." Let's just leave. This isn't worth it. Let's not come back next year.

[Ziether]

Topic #70: 67%

67% In the Dome of the Conclave, the Council of One Hundred gathered as proscribed in the charter of the Five Free Worlds. Each world represented proportionally to its population, each twenty million sending a Councillor to Starhaven to cast a ballot on their behalf. The four hundred twenty-seventh Council convened its membership for the first time, on the day of perihelion, at the break of dawn. The doors to the chamber opened slowly on their hinges, parting on automated tracks to allow the Councillors of myriad species to descend the rows of benches to populate the bottom of the chamber. As they filed in, the President of the Council ceremonially descended from the roof of the Dome on an anti-grav disk, alighting at the lectern, raising his hands in benevolent greeting. "To the august Council of One Hundred, I formally welcome you to this, the four hundred twenty-seventh iteration of this honored body. I bid you take comfortable positions, and let the business of statecraft be undertaken!" the president's voice, amplified by unseen mechanism, echoed throughout the chamber, loud enough for all assembled to clearly hear without being uncomfortable. The Councillors sat, reclined, or otherwise relaxed themselves to prepare for the work ahead. Hundreds of spectators then made their way into the upper reaches of the chamber to oversee the proceedings. A bright projector lit up the center of the chamber, revealing the intricately carved synthetic wood ceiling of the chamber. A view of an unremarkable planet swam into focus, colors muted by the holofield. A pair of rocky moons removed themselves from their proportional orbits to enter the visible volume of the projector, spinning slowly to reveal their features to the assembled. The President spoke softly before moving aside to take a seat "Today's business is the status of GX-42, which recently submitted its formal application for association with the Free Worlds. I will step aside to allow Ambassador Forshaw to discuss the relevant data." A thickset man of cerulean skin and ochre hair, the ambassador took the podium, formal robes of office perfectly pressed as his lower mouth produced a series of buzzing drones. The room's translation matrix kicked in, turning the unintelligible noises into Standard Havenspeak. "GX-42, or, as the locals call it, Chedrax, is a resource-rich world, technologically inferior to our own civilization, but by only a small order. Their people are intelligent, and have already mastered our speech. Their government has drafted articles of confederation, willing to give up their sovereignty to join the Free Worlds, abolish their military, and subject themselves to common law." The ambassador paused, looking through his notes. "There is nothing seemingly out of order, and the potential usefulness of the Chedraxians is quite high. Their moons are rich with metals, perfect to replace the dwindling supplies on the current member worlds. As Ambassador of the Free Worlds, I give my professional opinion that their request be granted." The President returned to the lectern, watching the ambassador retreat through the door toward the bowels of the structure. "Councillors, this is a most serious matter. Deliberations may now commence. And remember, this is a matter of greatest importance, and is this not subject to a simple majority. Acceptance requires a majority of sixty-seven percent..."

[Ziether]

Topic #26: Tears

Tears Sitting up late at night, can't sleep, emotions heavy on the heart. Life crashes down all around, a weight pressing inexorably on the heart, straining it to bursting. But the tears won't come. Bittersweet memories, a sad song, beautifully played in a minor key, beckoning to the very soul, enticing it, calling "Come, let down your walls, release your pent-up sorrows." But the tears won't come. The realization hits. A cold, hard suit of armor, encasing the core of emotion, protecting it from the release, guarding against the breakdown of composure has taken up residence. When it arrived is beyond knowledge, but it is present nonetheless. The tears aren't going to come. What value did the tears hold? Why try so hard to allow them freedom? The flow of moisture doesn't change anything. The release only gives a moment of relief, a temporary stay of ultimate heartbreak. An unending cycle of pain and weeping. The tears AREN'T going to come. It's getting late, everyone else is wrapped up in their beds. The couch is cold and lonely, the cushions uncomfortable. Bed calls, but with repose comes the promise of dreams. Dreams of a life that never can be, at least not for me. Allowing the tears to come would give false hope. Hope is a disease, a blight on my soul. Life doesn't change, not in any meaningful way. Breaking the dam holding back the tears will only weaken the resolve built up over years of pain. Resolve keeps the days coming, keeps one foot in front of the other in perpetuity. Allowing the tears to come would give false hope. Reaching the peaks of emotion only leads to the intense agony of the dropoff of a cliff of despair, plunging into brokenness. Without hope, there are no such drops, only the reliable progression of existence, a reassuring ache. Aches hurt less than the release. There will be no tears tonight.

[Ziether]

Topic #9: Drive

Drive Running footsteps pound the cobblestones of the narrow alley, propelling a slight figure along, the jangle of metal as the pouches and scabbards along his belt threaten to further betray his direction of flight. Seeing an intersection up ahead, he leaps to the left, darting southward, heading for the further gate. Nobody will expect me to go for the East Gate. An open door along the alleyway promises respite from pursuit. Whew, at least I can catch my breath. Pausing for a moment, he espies an empty barrel. Quickly divesting himself of his crossbows and his cloak, he steps back out into the alleyway, walking calmly further south. A scant twenty yards later, a squadron of guards rounds the corner in front of him. "There he is, get the scum!" Swords clearing their scabbards, crossbows leveled in his direction, he leaps upwards, planting his feet against the wall. Pushing off HARD, he makes his way skyward, caroming off each wall, bolts piercing the air where a scant moment before his rapidly beating heart took residence. Reaching the level roof to the east, he dashed in that direction, vaulting the gaps between roofs with practiced ease, driven forward by the desire for survival, the need to collect on his mark. Drive kept him alive, kept his feet churning the shingles. Four blocks later, with no obstacles in sight before the East Gate and freedom, a lance of agony interrupted the reverie of escape. A lucky shot. A barbed crossbow bolt now protruded from his left thigh. Stumbling with the change of gait, he pitched forward onto the roof, shingles scattering and falling to shatter on the pavement below.THIS might be an issue. More projectiles whizzed by his head, passing close enough to briefly enjoy the cool breeze of their passing while still instilling mortal terror in him. Too many guards! Time to get moving. Flipping up to his feet, the injured figure dashed southward once more, perpendicular to his previous trajectory. Maybe this will throw them off for just a moment. More crossbow bolts forced the fleeing form to drop from the rooftop, tumbling through the air to land hard on his feet, left leg collapsing with the pain. Can't...give...up... Banishing the pain, realizing its ephemeral nature, he took off for the final stretch to the gate, squeezing into another back passage, staying out of sight. At the city wall, he bounded up a ramp, vaulted the guardsman on duty at the gate's mechanism, planting his hands on the bewildered man's shoulders to turn a handspring over his head, landing hard astride a waiting gelding. Freedom! The nimble horse burst into a trot, making for the edge of the woods. The guards were still on his tail, but he now had the lead he needed to make it. Collapsing atop the creature's back, he let the perseverance driving him flag, trusting to his mount to remember the way. It is over.

[Ziether]

Topic #17: Blood

Blood The commander paced up and down in front of you and your squad "The enemy is before the gates, and they will break through in short order. Our gates are not designed to withstand siege, only to buy time for men and women like you to prepare for the coming onslaught. Now is the time. Trust your squadmates, trust your shield, and trust your sword. Move out!" As one, you saluted the commander, calling out an incomprehensible war cry. Turning to face right, your squad, along with countless other similar units marched in lockstep toward the East Gate. The sun, casting its warming rays on the city walls, rose above the horizon, revealing the glinting armor of the approaching army of Hardoun. Ten thousand foot and seven hundred horse, poised to swarm through the streets of Caernas, putting all to the sword, burning homes and businesses. As the light of dawn struck the tops of the walls, the guardsmen at the gate swung the heavy wooden structures inward, barring them with several trunks of pine. The thatched roofs of town lit up in the cold morning, and then the dread truly set in. They were coming. Nothing would stop them except the Duke's surrender, and the Duke was not a man to surrender his pride. BOOM! The enormous pillar of stone, suspended from a huge apparatus made contact with the outside of the gate. BOOM! BOOM! The battering ram continued to ponderously beat out its terrifying rhythm, cheers echoing from the surrounding troops at each successive BOOM! The gate began to crack, just a little weakness in the grain of the mighty right door, just enough to strike more fear into you and your fellows. Two thousand torches arc up over the battlements, falling amongst the streets, stalls, and homes near the east wall. BOOM! Dry thatch caught fire, smoke rising in the early morning sky as a few small squads of civilians with buckets of water dashed about, casting their cargoes about to quench the blazes. BOOM! A larger crack opened up in the right door, not enough to allow passage, but enough to allow a view of the great siege engine pounding the gate apart. Four hundred civilians armed with crossbows took up positions in front of your squad. BOOM! The hinges of the door were wrenched off the stone of the wall, and the gates crashed to the flagstones. The civilians loosed their bolts in a hail of death, finding joints in the enemy's armor. But it was not enough. Onwards they came, the crossbowmen fleeing to the flanks of your formation. It was the moment of truth, time to stand your ground. Your left arm instinctively took the fore, locking up with your mates as the massed enemy swarmed your position. And then the contact. A large man with a heavy spear crashed into you, bearing you down to the ground, your neighbors striking him in fury, swords piercing his flanks, blood gushing from his wounds down over your prone form. Blood. Lots of it. You'd seen blood before, plenty of times. It's part of training, part of life. But never like this. Never copiously draining from a living creature onto your very skin, slicking the ground, calling for every last iota of your attention. Slipping on the pool of gore, your face is planted firmly in the puddle, all you can see is the life's essence of a man. A man who was alive but seconds before. A man you and your squad had killed. Warm vomit courses up your throat and out of your mouth, commingling with the blood, turning it a rotten orange color. Your gorge rises again, and more sickly fluid escapes your lips. Another form slams into your spine from behind and your face slams into the cobblestones, forehead striking awkwardly. Consciousness leaves you. All is blackness.

[Ziether]

Topic #99: Solitude

Solitude Sitting alone on the bed, no one else is home Nobody to question, nothing to interrupt Time races by for you, no tedium to wrench your attention This is perfection, no rules but those you desire A book open on its spine, reclining on a soft pillow Eyes caressing the pages, not a sound to be heard You laugh loudly, but nobody is disturbed The pleasure is yours, and nobody is there to take it away A key in the lock, the sound of metal on metal The pop of the door, paint and wood separating "Hello? I'm home!", Couldn't she have been longer? Close the book wistfully, longing for the next time "I'm up here", you hear your own voice betray you Curse you, traitor!, you tell yourself sharply You trudge down the stairs, resigned to interaction But still there is hope, for solitude will come again.

[Ziether]

Topic #60: Rejection

Rejection She is BEAUTIFUL! my brain was completely out of the picture. Hormones had taken over, and stupid was likely to come out to play. I didn't even know her name, and what kind of foundation is beauty? Beauty is only skin deep. What if she's a dolt? What if she hates gamers? What if she has no sense of humor? None of that matters. A pretty face, some attractive curves, and some well-positioned teeth flashing in the perfectly angled sunlight is all it takes to dash reason on the ground, to propel lust to the fore, and to open my fool mouth. "Hey, gorgeous! Wanna go grab a drink?" DAMN!Hormones are still in control, but the mind is slightly more noticeable now. I just up and said that. i look at myself in my mind's eye, quickly taking catalog of what I thought would be the right thing to wear out of the house today. Raggedy jeans, check. AC/HP nerd t-shirt, check. Hair left messy, but too long to look right, check. This wasn't going to end well, there was nothing I could do to change that. "Nice shirt. Your Charisma score is pretty decent." Wait, what? "I've really gotta run, but here's my number." she pulls out her phone, large digits clearly visible on the screen, exactly the right number of them. And they look legit. "Why don't you send me a text in a bit, and we'll find something better to do." Duhhhhhh, what was that? She's supposed to reject me. I'm supposed to be just another nerdy guy, awestruck by a pretty girl. Well, that was the oddest rejection. She didn't reject me, she rejected the norm. Huh.

[Ziether]

Topic #39: Dreams

Dreams Climbing between silky sheets A pillow, lightly caressing your head The evening breeze flowing through a window Somnus calling your name in a persistent voice. The breeze flutters the drapes Moonlight streams against the wall Your eyelids grow heavy, and you can't resist them Slumber takes hold, pulls you under, holds you fast. For this sleep is a prison Shackles and chains holding you down A barred cell of torturous visions, of evil incarnate You strain at your bonds valorously, but to no avail. A joyful memory of bliss Your lover, sitting across a beautiful table The glint of candlelight on a faceted goblet goes out And a creature of horror steps into the room, calling your name. Slavering, it approaches you Pieces of meat stuck in its fangs The scent is overwhelming, rooting you to the chair The beast slams the table, food and debris flying. A claw reaches for you Darting out, fast as a snake It comes intimately close, brushing against your chest And is gone. Your hands sheen with sweat, alone in your bed.

[Ziether]

Topic #45: Illusion

Illusion Five days ago you left the outpost of Salamander's Rest behind, the dust of your horse's hooves obscuring the settlement in a matter of minutes. The trackless desert swallowed you whole, the moaning of the scorching wind and the unceasing battering of the summer sun your only companions by day, and the howls of the wolves at night. According to the old hermit, it would be seven score leagues from Salamander's Rest to the border of the Kalarine Kingdom, and another forty leagues to the city of Gaelesh. If you could get there in one piece, that was. Your gold had run out in Salamander's Rest, enough to put some black powder in your flask, a few days worth of food for yourself, and meager feed for your scrawny mount. The feed ran out yesterday. The food the day before that. No signs of the border had made themselves evident thus far. Up ahead a jackrabbit dashed from behind a scrub bush. Your pistol was out in a flash, instinctively aimed, arm tracking the motion fluidly. The sound of the hammer striking the pan was deafening in the near-silence of the wasteland, the bullet flying through the air in seemingly slow motion. Backspinning ponderously, the ball of lead flew straight and true, intersecting with the small form, puffing into the dirt. A mirage... There had been no rabbit. A hungry stomach, the sunlight on a few droplets of water, and the changing angle of the moving sun deceiving your all-too-willing mind. Grumbling to yourself, you repack the pistol, hammering the round home in the barrel. Another round wasted. Down to five. In a time of danger, five bullets might not be enough, the illusion of possible food costing you your life if attacked. Speaking of attacks...a small pack of draconic shapes had just crested a nearby hill and had heard your shot. As one, they charged towards you, spears held at the ready. Sunlight flecked off their golden scales, their light, brown, shapeless garments flowing in the wind of their passage. A moment of bravado, your pistol returns to eye level, sighting down the barrel at the head of the lead kobold. The flash of the spark insignificant in the blazing daylight, and another roar of igniting powder set the ball barreling toward the target, striking true. The brightly scaled creature dropped to the dust, twitching in the throes of mortality. Perfect! Blowing a sharp breath across the mouth of your pistol, you swiftly replace the charge, selecting a new victim and pulling the trigger once more. With divine precision, the deadly projectile found the upper chest of the second kobold. That was when your luck ran out. The other three arrived within range, launching spears in your general direction and drawing crude swords from their sides. One spear flew past, narrowly missing your left forearm. A second fell short, piercing the dry ground to stand up at an obtuse angle. The last missed you as well. Unfortunately, it didn't miss your horse. The lean gelding took the point in the throat, severing its jugular. Throwing its head back in pain and terror, it flung you from the saddle, landing hard on your back. The maddened beast thrashed about for a few seconds before crashing to the ground, scattering the oncoming kobolds in its wake. Ha! Enough time to reload! Your hands moved or their own accord while your eyes scanned the remaining enemies for a weakness. Pulling your left hand away as you finished the packing, the weapon came up again with a slight flourish. You were showing off. In a moment of deadly peril, you were worried about showmanship. Well, you were already dead. Why not have some fun with it? The furthest creature looked the strongest, and his fellows weren't protecting him. The nearer pair were circling around to flank you from north and south, while the last bellowed a challenge from the east. No time to think. You are one with your gun. A puff of smoke and a squeal of pain later, the big guy clutches at his left knee. It is ruined utterly, destroyed by the momentum of the bullet. The other two charged, coming at you from opposite sides. Your pistol tumbled from your fingers, daggers flashing from your belt to your hands before the gun hit the dirt. Clutching the knives by the tip, you cocked one back and hurled for the further kobold. Without looking to see the result, you slid the remaining dagger fully into your left hand and thrust behind you, catching the last assailant in the gut. It doubled over in distress, enough time for you to withdraw the gory weapon and slice its throat. Retrieving your pistol, you calmly load one last bullet, walk up to the leader and put the barrel to his forehead, squeezing the trigger without remorse. The last foe, bleeding out from an apparent wound to the right thigh, crawls around aimlessly. Ten minutes later, weighed down with a large sack full of supplies scavenged from the dead dragon-men, and your very last bullet loaded in your trusty pistol, you cock your hat down over your eyes and return to your previous course. No more horse for you, one last bullet, but you're still alive, for now. If you die, it's all because of that damned illusion.

[Ziether]

The Tower Proud and tall the stones stand stacked Stalwart strength against the gale All is well while it's intact Shift one piece and all will fail Vigilant the guards remain Warding off all threats they find Though they destroy and restrain Of the worst fiend they are blind While the battle rages fierce Soldiers' swords flash swift and true One hand strikes that needs not pierce When errant steps their feats undo Careless swings in time of haste Strike against a crucial stone Guardians collapse, disgraced For their sin they must atone