[O] Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [O] Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole (/showthread.php?tid=20412) |
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Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - Zandora - 08-19-2015 Zandora
Yes, dear, I'm smiling Inside I am dying
The air stung exposed flesh, a slow heart beat was all to be heard. Clear liquid streamed from eyes absent of more then pupil, orbs that were absent of purpose, sanity, composure. These voids are filled with pain, loss, and an iciness so numbing that even Zandora, the mare who was once shielded from the demonic traps the world so seemed to be full of, would fall victim to her own weaponry. This was the power of emotion. Emotion was a parasite, and Zandora, was it's host. To which there was no cure. A black arabian frame, thinned by self-neglect galloped with all it's might, all of it's little power, to the side of the only thing she cared about, Ashamin. The agony each flick of her hoof brought her chest and body was flooded and ignored with these thoughts in mind, she may be further injured by her blind desire to see if Ashamin was okay, but Zandora no longer cared about herself. It was her doings that brought the painted friend to his knees and as long as she could still muster the strength to walk to his side, she would again, again, and again. Crimson swirled and stained the background of white, if it had not been blood, one could call it a masterpiece. Zandora's salty tears mixed with the metallic taste of blood, orbs filling with the liquid thats arrival meant sorrow and pain. "Ashamin" She cried out, her voice cracking at the attempt of his name. Her voice was breaming full of guilt, worry, pain. The frozen air bit and gnawed on her scraps and cuts, her breaths shallow and labored. She looked down at the black and white, seeing blood freely flow from his cuts, the way is leg looked swelled and awkward, and pure shame filled her soul. He had to be freezing, he needed warmth. An ebonite dished face looked up, the taunting smell and feel of blood still dripped from her nose and gathered in her throat, but she still felt no inclination to take care of herself, Zandora knew she would pull through, but Ashamin, she did not know. Her desperate eyes found Ashamin's red Sarong, it seemed miles away on her broken body, but she reminded herself, he needed her. With awkward steps and a trail of crimson, Zandora grabbed the silky material with bloodied teeth and ran back to Ashamin's side, the only place that she wanted to be. A cough erupted from her battered body and more blood splattered the white blankets of ice and snow, but Zandora kept going, working quickly to stretch out and cover his black, white, and red frame.She would be fine. Standing over him, her head lowered and eyes closed, she waited. Purple daggers dug into the solid ivory earth, nothing would remove her from her position, nothing. Everyonce in a while a wet cough could be heard, and more crimson could be seen added to the white and red masterpiece of mistakes. She would be fine. Would he? OCC: Um....sorry for so much emotion(Jen will post then Britt(NPC) will post, and then you healers can post :) ) TAGS: @Ashamin @Enna @Lena @NPC INFO: Zandora has suffered many broken ribs, as well as a punctured lung, and her lung is flooding with blood, she has a few cuts on her right side from tree bark, but they are minor. Ashamin has suffered a fracture in his right humerus, as well as many cuts, one major cut that is very wide can be seen on his right(?) shoulder. Both are pretty badly bruised. (Did I get everything?) "Talk?" RE: Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - NPC - 08-19-2015 Your suffering does not go unnoticed. Helovia is full of magic, ancient and mystic though it may be. Overhead, in a blanket of otherwise meaningless stars, there lies a certain pattern. A champion of the just, a hero of legend and triumph, forever staring down upon the inhabitants of Loorien with serpentine head clutched tight in hand, valor seeming to shine through very star. It has a story behind it, one of courage and might. You could take comfort in such a tale, could you not, Zandora? For he has bled and been beaten on battlefields similar to the one you have just walked off, and it is he who instates himself as your protector. Champion of warriors and kind-hearted knights fighting for family rather than fortune. The Demon Star winks back in mockery of its name - of his name. But Medusa may be silent in her sky, for it is her head clutched in the hands of this warrior, and she is eternally written into the galaxies - defeated for all to see. Algol can do no harm to you tonight. Perseus gazes down at you, shining brighter than normal, as if aware he will be looked upon tonight. His tale will be told, a tale that you need to hear. RE: Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - Ashamin - 08-24-2015
@Enna @Lena @Zandora RE: Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - Lena - 09-08-2015
RE: Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - Zandora - 09-21-2015 Zandora
Yes, dear, I'm smiling Inside I am dying She almost didn't realize he called out to her, his voice so tender, so loving, it had been strange to hear in the smothering ruins of their battle. If she were to look, she'd see charred soil burned by her own doings. Smoke arose with an eerie translucence around her, a cloud of slate shame. How was it that one who was once so polished, once so put together, could fall apart so easily? Was this the power of emotion; to have the ability to cut through the strongest of glues with blades sharper then diamonds? The cold bit fresh pain into her thoughts, her purple locks drifting with the howls of the wind. Teeth begun to chatter, her body being unable to keep up with all the demands. Zandora pinched her eyes closed, trying hard with what little might she had left to keep standing, keep prevailing. The only warmth was the continuous stream of crimson liquid, dripping and oozing from coal lips. Her head started to spin as the chilled wind beat once more upon her bruised hide, it was in this moment that she was no longer sure if she could keep going. Zandora wanted to prove to Ashamin that she still loved him dearly, that they would be alright, and even in the darkness of this moment, that Zandora always had his back. Ashamin called out to her again, it was no use though, on swaying limbs she continued to stand. "Worry not my Haurspex, I will be alright." She spoke with strained soft tones, as if she was hiding the true agony that was but a deep look away. Each second was drawn out, as if time himself played tricks with her. Another pained cough erupted from her chest, ugly and wet with the vile liquid. Her body suddenly felt weighed down, her lungs burning and screaming with each breath, was she going to be alright? Would anything be alright? Ashamin spoke again, his words no longer about the battle of blood, but of the constellations that loomed lookingly above them. She didn't know anything about stars, where she was from stars were rarely seen. His words haunted her, what did he mean? Did these sparkling orbs suggest something that correlated with her? Shaking her head she tried to phantom a response, the connotation of Ashamin's chords distracting her. "I-I...are you talking about my father?" She asked, hoping that he had some sort of answer although she knew that he couldn't be expected to know what this meant for her, that it was for Zandora's justification, she still hoped. No one knew her history, not one soul on this god forsaken realm had heard her horrors that meant her story. No one should know either, she kept it hidden for the reason of her sanity and for the sake of others. What did he mean? She kept asking, pondering, until even the thought of words became too tiresome for her body. Her eyes blinked with pained drowsiness as she absent-mindely watched flurries of snow dance and play with the breath of frost. She tried to concentrate on his breathing, her soldier of chiffon and charcoal had fallen by her hand. She did not dare venture to the what ifs, for Zandora knew that she wouldn't be able to return from those lands, the guilt would surely be her bane. Somehow Ashamin had managed to speak an apology, his words slicing through the structure of her heart, the very strings that kept her breathing were severed. Her mouth drooped open, this love, so deep and strong rattled her body. It was strange, to be loved, before she had met Ashamin she had no idea what love was. What they shared was no beautiful story of the what love is like, no Ashamin and Zandora shared something special. Their love was the type that could pull shattered pieces together, that two souls desperate and broken could become whole. Ashamin had seen her at her state of utter rawness, when tears streamed her face and her armor had cracked. He hadn't run from her, he didn't see her as a burden, but rather he endured the pain with her. Ashamin saw her in plain sight when she was invisible to others, and the amount of respect she had for him now that she realized this was more then any subject could give to their deity. "Ashamin you do not need to be sorrowful. You have given me more then I could ever wish for. You have showed me things that I never thought was possible for a daughter of hell to learn, I cannot express my gratitude. So please, know that you are in no need of expressing your apologies. If anything it is me, I have put you through too much and I will forever be in your debt." She hadn't looked at him until now, she turned her head to look at her soldier, laying in the ground with lids heavy with exhaustion. Was is fate that they met? Or was it written in her destiny? Knees dared to bend, but as the call of another filled her thoughts she stood strong. The slow moments that had passed between them suddenly felt as if no time had passed at all. Zandora's black and crimson faced turned to see a mare, bay of color and horned, as well as Lochan. The mare's voice was beautiful, enchanting, it seeped into her exhaustion and replaced it with awe. Zandora then recognized her as Lena, although they had never personally met, she knew of the songbird and her qualities. As her voice penetrated deep within her core, Zandora's ears perked forward, a wave of renewal washing about her. The raw taste of old blood was all that haunted her senses now, the sickening minutes of warm liquid gathering in her mouth was no more. Lena had stitched her together, like the broken doll Zandora had become. Still fearful of pain, she slowly inhaled air expecting the sharpness that her damages had produced, but when it was but a dull ache she sighed with a sudden contentless. Although she knew it wouldn't last long, she savored it. Lena might have healed her scars, but only time could heal her soul, even time himself might not be enough. Zandora had mined through bedrock, and somehow managed to reach an abyss lower then the cold, hard, rock bottom. Glancing down she saw Ashamin, she felt regret, had she broken him? Just like she had broke herself? Where would their friendship stand? Would he be okay? Her eyes looked troubled, scared not of pain, but in fear of losing Ashamin. She wanted to reach out and touch him in their awkward special way, but she felt as if she had dug a ditch between them and he was too far for her grasp. Tearing her eyes away from him, she tried to hold herself together to show her gratitude underneath all the layers of agony. "Thank you for answering our call, I cannot express my gratefulness enough." She bobbed her head, attempting to show her respect for the mare who had answered with no obligation. The equines of Helovia continued to show Zandora the values of life, values she never knew of before she entered the walls of this realm. Sure she might have had a moral compass, but these inhabitants were so rich of knowledge, so willingly to help, so inspirational, that she was always surrounded by this idea of how to be a better Z. Perhaps this was where her faith to keep going rooted from. She didn't know much anymore, expect for the fact that Helovia wasn't going to let her fade away easily, she wouldn't be allowed amongst the colors of art and beauty, to simply cease to exist; she would thrive. (whether she wanted to or not) OCC: My first 900+ post (1330 words o.o) I'm sorry if this is a bit emotional and all over the place, I've been working on this for quite a few days and life influences my writing. so yeah here's this post TAGS: @Ashamin @Lena "Talk?" RE: Mend My Scars, Make Me Whole - Ashamin - 10-16-2015
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