Isolate and Medicate

the Rift

[PRIVATE] Isolate and Medicate

Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354

Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT

Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod

12-18-2014, 06:49 PM

Torleik

Bring me to the fire; throw me in the flame

His ears snapped forward, focusing on her words. No innate fear of anything? Nothing at all? What it must be like to feel impervious. The sounds of her voice still sliding over the pits grooves of his brain, Torleik felt a sensation like bitter water in the back of his throat. No fear, and she felt herself on a pedestal to judge his? Black, velvety audits slowly swiveled back to pin against his skull, the Bloodskald wondering if this woman would ever find anything in him that she wouldn't judge.

That was a foolish and fleeting notion, he knew, and her apology by way of telling him that his fear was not wrong was accepted - if done so silently. How could fear ever be wrong? How could any emotion be inherently wrong? A motivation could be moral or immoral, good or bad. A desire could be upstanding or base. But a feeling - how could a feeling be judged? Torleik was silent as Ophelia's words ebbed for the moment, looking down at Irelyn who was huddled on the ground trying to hide in her own plumage.

And suddenly he was so tired. Brows wrinkled over eyes glazed with weariness and deep sorrow, Torleik slowly sank to his knees, then to his belly. Prostrating himself could not bring him low enough to beg forgiveness for the pain he knew he'd caused this little one who would forever be a part of his soul. "I love you so much, ástin mín," he rumbled, reaching out his muzzle towards her slowly, cautiously - not for fear of being hurt, but with the trepidation of her rejection. Children were the cruelest beings in the world, sometimes, ruled as they were by their basest passions and whims.

His heart stilled when her feathered head butted up between his nares and rubbed, and he exhaled with relief. 'You love...?' she queried, uncertain.

'Always and forever, Irelyn. I swear on my life.'

A pause accompanied his given word, and then she rubbed against his muzzle again. 'I love.'

Inwardly, he laughed once to himself. Children were also the most loving creatures in the world, ready and willing to forgive at a moment's notice. Ophelia's voice slid over his ears like silk once more and the prostrate general raised his gaze to her regal form, considering what she claimed. Does the wielder make a difference? Could he see fire as a wild element, dictated by who controlled it, or would he forever be confined to his crippling fear?

How could a strong man hold such a fear inside and call himself strong? But was not strong; who was he fooling? Ever since he'd come to this place, he'd been a damaged, broken man and he had yet to find a reason to pick up all the shards of himself he'd left littered all over the place and shove them back into the proper mold. When would he find the motivation? What would it take? Irelyn wasn't enough?

Torleik's gaze laid heavy on the pale princess in front of him and let the slow, methodical progress of his mind and soul move forward without resistance. Like a mountain troll thundering onward with each step, the pieces of the logic fell into place with heavy, echoing crashes in his head.

He was a father to this tiny owl-griffin, her caretaker, the purest love he or she would ever know.

He was the general of the Basin's ragtag group of soldiers.

He loved this woman, for all the pain or joy it might bring him.

He had a life to raise, a purpose to fulfill, and a woman to pursue. A true Viking needed only a few things more for his life to be truly complete: battles to fight, mead to drink and songs to sing. Why, then, was he crawling on the ground like a worm, bemoaning his life and his pain and his failings?

No true man acted this way.

Sinewy threads of muscle tensing and rippling beneath his glossy black rabicano coat, the Bloodskald picked himself up from the ground and met Ophelia's dual gaze with a newfound steadiness. "The wielder always makes a difference," Torleik finally replied. "But fear is a strong motivator. As is anger." He glanced away, then back, and took a step closer, reaching out to touch his muzzle to her neck. The gesture was purposefully intimate, though brief. "In my anger, I left you when I should have stayed. I'm sorry," he murmured. "I failed you once. I will not fail you again."

"talk talk talk"

@[Ophelia]

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA