Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
LACE
Who, in his mind,
has not probed the dark water?
What defines a man? A wise person once said that it is our actions that define who we are, that words and intent fade to nothing in the face of actual deeds. What becomes then of the one who always fail in his endeavors, who despite vows and vouches constantly found himself on the run, on the road, alone and without a hope of salvation? When pretty words crumble, when your best is not enough and everything you love fade into darkness... What is left to fight for?
Somewhere on a windswept northern field, a horse fall to his knees and stay down, unsure of whether he wants to get up again or not. He is tired, always so tired. Hunger gnaw at his entrails; it is a deep hunger, voracious and all consuming - yet he doesn't give in to it. If he did the beast would resurface again, arise in all its dark, greedy, destructive menace and he would be forced back into the shadows, reduced to nothing more than a thought at the back of a mind consumed by hunger and wrath.
It was cold. The wind wasn't blowing as hard now as it did before, the storm has settled for the time being but still the white expanse was adrift with migrating snow, constantly blowing back and forth as the wind changes direction. It piled up against his side, a blanket of pristine death that sucks the warmth right out of him. He wasn't built for this climate. Not this body, with its reptilian skin and thin limbs, hairless and emaciated. By rights he should be dead. How many times had he thrown himself into fire and water, tumbled beneath raging waves or leaped from the edges of cliffs with madness raging through the mind - only to awaken on a shore, on a rocky slope or a burned out glade, alive and in one piece? He wondered if it was part of the curse; to crave feed and flesh and devour it endlessly yet starve to death without dying, condemned to a life in solitude for the sake of those he had sworn to protect.
He was alone. A deep breath, half sob and so hollow it scorched the throat, wrecked the body. He was empty. So cold, so numb... so alone. Where was she, the light in the dark, the flame in the night, his hope and salvation? Where had she gone, as shadows rose to claim their home? The bond felt numb, distant and frozen and thin. No emotion seeped through the tendrils of connection, no argent thought demanding sanity and reason with crisp clarity echoed through the cavity of his self. She was gone, yet not dead. He didn't think she was, at least; something told him that he would know if her flame had been extinguished, and that alone was his sole comfort. She was alive - he had not failed her. Yet.
Ah, it was so cold. A mere thought would be all it took to drive away the cold, summon a diminutive relative of the sun to melt away the snow, stave off the night and keep the forces of nature at bay. Somewhere in the midst of madness and chaos the fire within had become familiar, friendly, an element not to fear but to respect and control. Once he might have celebrated, might have shown the steadily burning orb to a white dragon with pride and delight and let it hover over a gold-dusted whithers as they roamed a wintry forest, in search of a black mare and a golden dragon.
Now the thought only brought a grimace to cracked and chafing lips, pain reflecting from eerily glowing yellow eyes.
He didn't deserve the comforts of warmth and light. He who had failed one time too many deserved nothing, and the goddess of moon and darkness and wind had made sure to let him know that. Why else would she sweep her lands in darkness as soon as he stepped up to claim the throne, why else wouldn't she allow him to perish and be forgotten, just another carcass to rot and feed the earth and its creatures.
With a deep sigh the horse rolled over to the side and stretched out into the snow, long legs stretching out for a moment before sinking into relaxation. For some time the tainted creature stared up at the midnight sky, returning the blank stare of the stars while thinking of nothing, feeling everything... then he closed the eyes with a whisper and allowed himself to drift off, hoping that maybe this time it would not only be sleep that took him away.
"Fajira..."
ooc: open to anyone. He is a Wraith! so you might get infected. :3
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♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
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