[WP] Write a day in the life of an inanimate object.

...

Long ago, a great wizard brought me to life with a purpose in mind.

It was a not true life, for I had no eyes, nor ears or mouth. When I came first into existence, as well as any time since that dubious instant of recognition, speech has never been something that I've found myself capable. But regardless of the trivial details which a being might argue rule me out of being truly alive, I am well-assured that I might find some semblance to the concept being replicated.

I think, therefore, I am.

Strange as it may be for a pillar of stone to gain life and conscience, I have given a great quantity of time to ponder the subject at length, and found instead that the oddest thing about the circumstances lay with the great Mage who first so happened to bring all this about. I'm utterly convinced he didn't know, doesn't know- and to this day, I don't believe the possibility that I have a mind and life of my own has ever even crossed his mind.

Perhaps his lack of thought on the topic can be considered insight as to his intentions, the likes of which I knew little to start- and have only made moderate progress in deciphering since. All I know with certainty is that my presence and entity had been formed for one purely minded goal. A purpose in which nothing else held weight or relevance. To hold in magics, and contain them: Like a well or a massive barrel might hold water, to be called upon for use in the far off future.

What that use would be intended for, though, I can only guess.

Born to a lush and green forest, immaculate and polished I did rise up over thick canopies to lay my sight upon the horizon. How I could see was always a puzzle, but should my urge to reach out beyond my great stone expanse- I felt the knowledge come. Lush green leaves, drops of dew and vines which wrapped tightly along branches and trunks with wild abandon.

The people of this land worshiped me, prayed to me, left me offerings at my base with chants and songs. For a time, now all but forgotten in distant memories: My strange and unintended existence was good.

The seasons rolled onward though, and though time meant little to me, the landscape changed beneath its slow rolling progress. The peoples who inhabited my forests fled, and their screams did reach me as wars and troubles struck down their cities and villages before my horrified sight. Dark and ruthless beast began to roam the land, claws and axes thrashing and cutting at the green foliage that insulated me from the unknowns on the distant horizon.

The Forest faded, dwindled, then died. The grassland fields in its place were burned, then burned again.

Every so often, that great wizard who created me would visit. A man, I came to realize, who seemed more than curiously indifferent to the passage of time. It stood obvious he was far older than I, perhaps only rivaled by the earth that made those great many parts of my sum.

As the days and nights spun ever onward, he might add to my capacity. With hardly a moment to pause when he arrived at my great base of black stone, the greatness of reality and world did swirl about his presence. Odd spirits flew in wisps like smoke and wind, clinging to his trailing wake with odd attractions and ethereal attachment, and waves of his staff passed sudden change: Judgement and command to the ground beneath him. A mumble of some unfamiliar language, a glowing symbol upon the air, and then he might leave again. Content to let his changes find themselves settled deep into my body of stone, to grow into what they may, on their own time.

In time I felt as though, much like the forest I remembered, I had been given roots: A creeping grip deeper into the land, farther out from my base of humble granite.

With these roots, I drank deeply and only a few hundreds of years had passed until nothing but blackened soil remained. No trees, no grass, not even moss upon barren stone for as far as my sight might reach.

I waited for my life's purpose.

Mortals did as they will do, and I watched as wars came, and wars went. The dust bowl of the world around me settled into a quiet grave, further time quickly passed in relative solitude to my earliest memories. It was only on occasion that I find my quiet reflections interrupted by ragged armies of foolish men. Humans that always hailed from the east, always failing to defeat the Orcish hordes which followed after them.

Still, they came, over and over again between the centuries. My sight did gaze upon countless slaughters, and my roots did drink as their lives fell deeper into the soil. I felt little pity for them. You see, each time it was men who came to destroy me, and each time it was men who failed.

Their weapons were too small, and their magics did nothing but feed me: add to my insatiable hunger and thirst as I drank in their spells and casts. Through this routine, I began to welcome such visits; the inevitable outcome which might follow even more so. Let them try, I would relish their failed attempts- a break from the monotony of my everlasting solitude.

But now it grows, nestled in with slow but creeping pressure as I feel something I have never felt before. For the past week the shadowed vines of uncertainty have begun to bind their coils deep within my essence. A sensation that follows down along my roots, across my perfect frame and into the runic blessing of immortalized stonework.

There have been many men at the base of my mighty structure. Humans with ropes, with horses, with grunting and pulling strain. No longer do they use magics- perhaps aware of my powers, and instead attempt to bring me down by my own weight- cursing and damning my existence to the blackest of hells all the way.

If I could laugh at them, I might: for I am strong. The great wizard built me with great intentions. To last against any challenge was set deep into my foundations, but it's that very same which concerns me.

Where is the great wizard?

Where are his terrible armies, his orcs and their axes?

How long must I wait here for their inevitable arrival?

Today the humans have finally stepped back, perhaps giving up their foolish effort. Ropes? Horses and men? Such as those can never hope to topple me, those fools must realize this. Mankind's greatest asset has always been their magics, and without those, they are nothing but tiny little ants without the barest flickers of true strength: Fodder for my roots to drink.

A single ant approaches, and I watch with humor.

This one is different from the rest, peculiar. As I feel their steps, I can taste a weak flavor of magics unfamiliar, and I can see trailing spirits following after. Rare traits, but not a threat. I await the coming storm of magics, almost gleeful for the rush of mana I might swallow up upon the effort.

Instead they set down a cart of wood, boards of distant and long dead trees shaped to purpose by tiny little hands. Then single human walks back the way in which they came, pacing back up along the hillsides which surround my base.

An... offering?

I wondered at the oddity of it all. All this time trying to destroy me, to cross the blacklands from their far off kingdoms and bring ruin, yet they left offerings?

Atop the ridge, I could hear far-off songs. Stomping feet and chants not unlike those of my distant memories. Those ancient peoples of the long dead forest of lush green and vine. How long had it been since I had heard such things?

A single fire lit, set upon a bow, launched far off into the sky above even my own peak. As it reached the final heights of its ascencion, it looked like a bird. A diving beast of flame and heat, growing in power and determination as it plunged ever-downward, faster and faster towards the offering-

BOOM

The battlemage dusted his hands, turning away from now crumbling pillar of stone as plumes of magic and heat erupted from its fragments in spits of lightning and dissonance. Men in heavy armor stared at him, each with their own personal mix of horror and awe set deep upon their faces.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, but a bet's a bet."

With a with a wide smile and a rough one fingered salute, the battlemage passed a regally dressed man on horseback. The recognized expression of astonishment stood plainly on the pale man seated atop the stallion, face watching the continued eruptions of mana and flame skyward.

"How does it feel to owe me gold for a change, Congrad?" The mage chuckled as he sauntered off.