King of Kings

[NikolaNeiju]

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said —  “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

And what remains of what was once great is all but a burning memory which hits the ground with a pathetic thump, with it's weak arms. It attempts to collect these bits and pieces together.

But in the eyes of that memory, is a passion new reawakened.

For it knows that from ruin, aspirations grow.

On it's knees, it stood before said ruins, a statue broken down and exploded into pieces. Dull, faint rays of light piercing through the cracks in the ceiling, exposing it's visage.

Hands clutched. And a weak voice echoed... as it's soul clinged onto fading speck of purpose that united it's existence together.

"They are fools, each one of them... A fool... Til' the very end."

"They still think."
                                         "That Tal was a Person."       
                                                                                         "A mortal."           
                                                                                                                    "A nobody."
                                                                                                                                                  "Whose death will lead to collapse of our plans."

"But what they fail to realize, is that Tal isn't a person, it's an idea. It's a culture... And you can't kill an idea. Only repress it for oh-so long..."

"Until one rises up to the challenge, over and over..."

Although, it's purpose long since served. Tools, smithing hammer and a claudron dust in the hideaway somewhere else.

For there remains nobody it would be usefu for, not anymore.

And... An undead can't live without a tether to their master...

... Or else, they will crumble into dust.

...

Right?