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04-18-2015, 06:29 PM
A broken man, unsure. He had never felt this way before, barely ever felt at all. Now, a vibrantly colored mare with silver eyes had shaken his world upside down, poured the salt from his soul and into his wounds, and he wandered. Ulrik had never allowed himself the luxury of these strange sensations before, and now he remembered why. Childhood torment was a piss poor excuse to shut off from the world, but he had done just that, finding comfort in the world and his machines. The subtle whir of component parts and a gentle whine of electronics had been enough until he had seen Torleik again, the beginnings of a feeling stirring in his chest at having family again. Bolverik, one of his tormentors, had followed, stirring even more feelings.
Now? He just wanted them all to go away again, crawl back into that dark pit where they could fight and give his mind peace. Ulrik did not want to care whether or not Essetia hated him or blamed him for Midas’ death, but the ultimate problem was that he did. Swallowing back his pride had revealed a smaller side of Ulrik, something so fragile and easily damaged, and he was struggling to hide it once again. The frown on his black, velvet lips was a deep chasm, an expression leading straight into his chest, and the depth in his eyes were an abyss, swallowing any who looked at his troubled features, drowning. Those normally vibrant and amused bronze eyes were plagued, shadowed, and the ghosts of his past sang their taunts in his ears.
Why wouldn’t they just be quiet? A big, hitching breath shook his ribs, and he wandered deeper into the snow, feeling the cold bite at his lower legs. He didn’t’ care. A little pain made him feel alive. The ache brought him back to reality, and he needed to be grounded. Funny how he was constantly worried about grounding the charges generated by his machines, and now he was that same live wire, his current lost and ready so strike whoever came too close. The mechanical wolf he had fixed earlier clunked at his side, followed by Kirchoff who whined in his wake, upset by his bonded’s sudden and drastic shift in mood. The hellhound had never experienced this side of Ulrik before, and honestly, he was worried Ulrik would walk straight off of a cliff just to keep from feeling again.
He may not have been far from the truth.
The bulk of his muscular body felt like dead weight on his bones, pulling him relentlessly to the ground, and he stared at a storm pooling overhead. The dark shadows thundered, icy rain drops falling one by one onto his hide. A harsh wind billowed through his thick, black hair and beard, and he lifted his corded neck, looking over at the looming mountains in the distance as a white breath smoked through his lips. Home. Should he even go back? He would miss his sentinels and Torleik, but else was left there for him now? Illynx was gone. Rikyn…. His son… Just the thought alone made him want to fall to his knees in despair, but he stood firm, frozen.
What had he done with his life? If lightning struck him down tomorrow, would he feel complete with his life? A lost lover? A possibly dead son? A failed father? His legacy would be two, massive machines, and perhaps, only his cousin, would mourn for his loss. He would not be missed.
[[ @[Roskuld] because smithers said she wanted an Ulrik moment - but no rush!
Otherwise open]]
(Please tag me in every post)
