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The Requiem [Déodat ]

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx
#2
12-22-2012, 02:16 PM

Déodat was born with purpose.

He did not choose to become a warrior. No one did. War controlled every aspect of every life, and Déodat proved to be no exception. But perhaps most importantly, Déodat never questioned this destined way of life, never wondered at the worlds lingering beyond the peaks grazing the horizon line. Without a second thought, he accepted his role to play—the role of the General's son, the upcoming young gun of the clan who was always a tad too reckless, a tad too foolhardy. He grew out of that role quickly, of course, crushed beneath the seriousness and looming responsibility of succeeding his father should he ever fail in battle.

But failure was not an option.

Déodat did not have choice in life, and to be be honest, he preferred it that way. And now, after an entire of life of being told what to do, when to do it, and how to do it, he was alone. The last of nobleclan, the last in the line of his father. They were gone—cold and frozen in the stiff ground in a land far to the north where the earth never thaws. Deep in the cold recesses of his heart, he knew that the Déodat he'd once been had died alongside them and still lay in the frozen heights of a slaughtered home.

This wraith of once was had no purpose.

He'd never felt so lost in all his life, even though he knew exactly where he was. Aurora Basin. And where he was, well, he didn't belong. He didn't belong anywhere, now. A shadow of the glory he once was, the General's son wandered through the trees like a ghost. He was a dying ember, threatening to vanquish into nothingness, but he fought it because it was the only thing he knew how to do. He kindled those fading embers with his blinding rage and bitter despair, but most of all, his insatiable thirst for vengeance.

The trees thinned and dispersed until he stood on the edge of a small clearing, staring back at another. Dark, glittering eyes were the first thing he saw. Eyes like flinty obsidian, cool and glazed with marbled midnight. Perhaps the next thing he noticed was her horn, wrapped and tangled in thorns. It reminded him of weapons they once used in the far north—wrapping destructive items around their horns in order to protect against attacks and rip enemies to shreds. She couldn't be much younger or older than he—he recognized a tried, desperate soul when he saw one.

He was one himself, after all.

Her longing gaze following the progress of a flitting bird did not go unnoticed by his keen eyes. At the sight of wings, his lip curled savagely in distaste. He spat the words, as if they were a foul taste in his mouth.

"There is nothing to envy, hornsister."

déodat,

image credits
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA



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Messages In This Thread
The Requiem [Déodat ] - by Chernobyl - 12-19-2012, 08:43 PM
RE: The Requiem [Déodat ] - by Déodat - 12-22-2012, 02:16 PM
RE: The Requiem [Déodat ] - by Chernobyl - 12-27-2012, 12:39 AM

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