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12-22-2016, 07:11 PM
The General was determined. It was a fairly common trait woven between the snippets of his bloodline, those grasping, resolute, voracious veins that bled ice and fire, that knotted transgressions and upheavals until they blended into menace and domination. There was no surprise when the characteristic gnarled and gnashed its way through his skull, became an enticing filament beguiling him from any other task (the usual associations with his rank and childish endeavors: hunting, fighting, or looking for the next greatest adventure). It poured through him in various ways, channeled, funneled, stuck and held fast to his schemes and machinations, overcoming the heathen rites and bonds, scraping past the diligent, Machiavellian pursuits, and delved beyond the voracious, unrelenting web of avarice, because he knew, he knew they were worth more than the languid, jaded hole they’d all fallen into. He was determined they would overcome the listlessness, the tired, worn, desolate features of their castle. He was determined to protect the ramparts, the fortifications, the icy sheen and summit of the Aurora Basin. He was determined to put effort into something beyond himself, but to also, steadfastly, valorously, not screw up.
The prince understood there would be onslaughts, backlash, and tyranny stretched his way – it was a pattern in the Basin to be bitter about something. Perhaps he was too young for the role. Perhaps he’d been groomed for the part, hoisted by favoritism and blood ties. Perhaps he thought himself far too clever, or he was too inexperienced, or the weight of the role would send him crashing into the ground and they’d be left to find someone else in a fortnight. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d surprise them all.
At first glance, he may not even have looked like a soldier, like a warrior, like a heathen rushing headlong into audacity or bloodshed. He grinned. He held compassion. He stuck his neck out for his friends time and time again, even when they forgot who he was, even when they never bothered to speak to him seasons later. He embraced convictions and promises when they suited him. He employed mischief whenever he thought it was suitable, humorous, a necessary art to diversion and subterfuge. He loved and cherished because he’d been taught to believe in everyone and everything from a tender age. He was selfish and selfless all at once and the world didn’t know what to do with a cretin like him, who stuck his foot into shadow and light. Then, maybe, when others glanced closer, when strangers peered across the layers of his skin, they’d see the scars from when he charged into battle, from when he’d stumbled and fallen and lost, from when he’d carved pathways to Gods and helped them fall, perish beside his brethren, from when he’d conquered and triumphed and dared to do it again.
So Erebos stood along a taller knoll, regal, the fortitude and might of a noble scion, and called to the few guards kept in their walls – remembered their faces but not their names from the meeting, called them his brothers and sisters in arms because he pledged to die for them, reaching out to see if they could start mending the gaping, bleeding wound that had become the Aurora Basin. “Fellow warriors, come to me!” He shouted across the breeze, along the ice, sliding into the rime – wondered if it sounded like a command or a dream, if he’d sunk too deep into his own cavernous hole and they’d consume him whole (but he’d give them a fight before he was swallowed, before he was consigned to oblivion). Orsino smirked nearby, watching, waiting, and pondering if they’d even listen to the tones of a boy who smiled instead of frowned.
He didn’t know them and they didn’t know him, and somehow, they’d mold together to become the shields, the swords, and the munitions for a herd who’d forgotten what it was like to simply live.
[Warriors’ meeting! Let’s discuss how to whip everyone into shape! ;D Even if you don't have a soldierly rank, feel free to come in if your character is interested. ^_^]
The prince understood there would be onslaughts, backlash, and tyranny stretched his way – it was a pattern in the Basin to be bitter about something. Perhaps he was too young for the role. Perhaps he’d been groomed for the part, hoisted by favoritism and blood ties. Perhaps he thought himself far too clever, or he was too inexperienced, or the weight of the role would send him crashing into the ground and they’d be left to find someone else in a fortnight. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d surprise them all.
At first glance, he may not even have looked like a soldier, like a warrior, like a heathen rushing headlong into audacity or bloodshed. He grinned. He held compassion. He stuck his neck out for his friends time and time again, even when they forgot who he was, even when they never bothered to speak to him seasons later. He embraced convictions and promises when they suited him. He employed mischief whenever he thought it was suitable, humorous, a necessary art to diversion and subterfuge. He loved and cherished because he’d been taught to believe in everyone and everything from a tender age. He was selfish and selfless all at once and the world didn’t know what to do with a cretin like him, who stuck his foot into shadow and light. Then, maybe, when others glanced closer, when strangers peered across the layers of his skin, they’d see the scars from when he charged into battle, from when he’d stumbled and fallen and lost, from when he’d carved pathways to Gods and helped them fall, perish beside his brethren, from when he’d conquered and triumphed and dared to do it again.
So Erebos stood along a taller knoll, regal, the fortitude and might of a noble scion, and called to the few guards kept in their walls – remembered their faces but not their names from the meeting, called them his brothers and sisters in arms because he pledged to die for them, reaching out to see if they could start mending the gaping, bleeding wound that had become the Aurora Basin. “Fellow warriors, come to me!” He shouted across the breeze, along the ice, sliding into the rime – wondered if it sounded like a command or a dream, if he’d sunk too deep into his own cavernous hole and they’d consume him whole (but he’d give them a fight before he was swallowed, before he was consigned to oblivion). Orsino smirked nearby, watching, waiting, and pondering if they’d even listen to the tones of a boy who smiled instead of frowned.
He didn’t know them and they didn’t know him, and somehow, they’d mold together to become the shields, the swords, and the munitions for a herd who’d forgotten what it was like to simply live.
[Warriors’ meeting! Let’s discuss how to whip everyone into shape! ;D Even if you don't have a soldierly rank, feel free to come in if your character is interested. ^_^]
Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in
@Arion @Beloved
