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A Warrior at the Gate

Don.riney

Premium Member
A warrior came to the gate and demanded entry.

His armor gleamed black. The craft of it was a beauty to behold. His blade blazed in St Elmo's Fire.

He said "Behold! I am Strife! Child of Burden. Heir of Despair and of Regret. I am brother to Hate, the Kinsman of Loathing. I am Submission, Subjugation and Defeat. I am "That which Yields" and you will surrender!"

I donned my armor and stood before the gate and said, "I shall not give up."

The warrior roared like a thousand trumpets and declared , "I shall strike off your hands!"

I calmly replied, "My Gauntlets are made of friendship, of hands clasped and promises kept"

He roared like a lion and cried, "Then I shall strike at your legs!"

I remained calm, "My legs are protected by greaves forged of Charity and Caring"

He became hoarse and proclaimed, "Then I shall Strike at your head!"

I Moved not an inch as I replied, "My helm is forged of the love I bear my family and they bear me, it shall not be broken."

Strife did laugh and his voice became deafening, "Thou Fool! I shall strike at your heart! I will take what you love and what you hold dear! I will kill your friends and destroy that which you care about. I shall draw my sword of doubt and in the end you will die. "

I shook my head and spoke. As I did my voice attained the sound of thunder.

"My Breast Plate and Armor are crafted of Courage. It has been tested by the fires of fear. It was hammered on the anvil of challenge and quenched in the bath of experience.

The sword in my scabbard is crafted of Faith. Faith in myself, Faith in my friends, Faith in how I believe. It can not destroy you, but you can not win against it, nor can you destroy me."

The air grew cold, Strife drew his sword. He shouted, He postured, he railed!

I stood, My sword still in it's scabbard and watched Strife walk away in defeat.
 
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