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11-29-2015, 08:27 AM
Continuation from this thread.
Defeat was an abhorrent hue. It wove together with shame, tied around his eyes, his heart, his mind, in a tethered string of black and red, guiding him to a deeper throng of understanding, regret, and rancor. Vicious, vile, and disturbing, they blinded his notions to only cursed thoughts, to poignant claws, to ripping snares, to all the wiles he’d ever consumed, to the weaknesses driven deep into his soul, flayed open and laid there for all the world to see. The pieces, the fragments, the shards, were nettled and thorned, grinding and unwinding, unfurling and distorting, drowning him in the wake of loss – he’d felt it before when he couldn’t save Arwen, when he couldn’t get enough power, when he’d accidentally burned Asch, when nothing he did ever truly seemed to matter. He’d wept then, felt hot, angry tears trail down his cheeks and settle a path of mourning down through his bones; but today he only had his own flaws and defects to lament for – and instead of falling apart at the seams, instead of curling up on the ground, he ground his teeth, he clenched his jaw, and he hated himself. Frustrated, the defiencies haunted the edges of his skull with hardened, emboldened contempt – because how could he ever think to beat down the Colossus when he couldn’t drive away a smaller opponent, how could ever hope to gain influence, power, and supremacy if he couldn’t win? Just when he thought he’d had it all: a blessing from the Sun God, information about his enemy, a shadowy corridor to travel on his wicked, winding road to hell, he’d tripped, stumbled, and fumbled. It would not be the last taste of failure, but the acrid mouthful clawed its way down his throat with such a strong, abominable conviction, that all he could do while the storm receded, while the thunder and lightning waned, was hang his head in remorse.
Not only had he lost, but he'd attempted to destroy their own Haruspex.
What a fool, he murmured to himself, lost in the dregs of pain and misery. What an idiot, he hissed, inaudibly striking across the last few droplets of rain. He was too ashamed, too sore to raise his cranium and stare at the painted stallion, staring at the ground instead, gaze settling on the rippling contortions of puddles and dampened soil. The first apology cluttered and curled along his vocals, distant and waning, and he ceased it altogether until he could drum something better, drenching it with less sighs and more sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Ashamin….” Even that seemed ineffective, but the Haruspex must have required more, so much more, than such a simple declaration, and his breath loosened, tried to give, to offer, what the world required of him now, no matter how much contempt coiled through his stomach. “I thought you were a monster,” the boy’s eyes scanned the terrain for the mask, haunting and aloof and decrepit in the dark, allowing for a child’s mind to become tormented by demons, fiends, and cretins (if he hadn’t been one himself). Only then did he lift his head, and become suddenly swallowed by a horribly, dizzying void, like he was swimming in a ferocious current, battling his way through the tides and the waves (no longer ruling those either?). His stare fought to find the others’, searching for a perilous amount of moments while he swayed drunkenly on his feet, the wounds, the battle, the aches and pains finally taking their toll on his frame. “Did I hurt you badly?” Listless and languid, as if part of someone else’s ridiculous dream, he tried to step forward, and his shoulder refused to recite the same lines; and the scion crumpled right before the anointed creature, waiting for his punishment.
OOC ::
"speech"
@Ashamin @Enna
