Dining Alone

He sits alone on the steps to the great hall, his mug in his hand, staring down, wondering when someone will come dine with him again. The impressive hall behind him used to be loud and filled with people enjoying the never ending, abundant, steady stream of food and drink. The food and drink is still here, but the place is quiet now, apart from the occasional mouse scurrying across the floor searching for scraps, there is no sound to be heard. There is no longer anyone here but himself and a few of the others. It seems to him as though eons have passed with nothing but the company of the others to entertain him, nothing but their same old stories. He has long ago grown weary of all of them, they are all the same, nothing has changed in centuries. Now he longs for someone or something, anything, new.

Long ago mortal men would worship him and the others like him. Not that any of the others are truly as great as he. He likes to flatter himself that they worshiped him the most, he is the most powerful so he was surely worshipped far more than any of the others, he is the father of them all after all, a god almighty, or so he used to be. He remembers how the mortals would pray for his blessings, how they made sacrifices to him before they rode into battle, how they would do just about anything to fall into his good graces, anything for the chance to dine at his table. Now there are no more sacrifices, there is not even the hint of a prayer addressed to him anymore. The mortals have all forsaken him for the sake of peace. Peace, whatever happened to the survival of the fittest. Peace, what a tedious, unnatural concept it is to him, a concept that renders him completely useless. There is no need for a God of war in times of peace. So here he sits, this forsaken god that since peace conquered the world has been reduced from a mighty god to a puny myth. Here he sits alone on the steps to the great hall, his mug in his hand, staring down, wondering if someone will ever come dine with him again.