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05-21-2013, 07:53 PM
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But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride...
Quilyan
...he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.
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| He stumbles through the woodlands blindly, searching for the one that he has lost. His golden-splotched pelt, usually so well-kept, is dusty, though Zarina has not allowed him to give in to filth, and he has agreed thus far to remain clean for her sake. She wouldn't like him dirty, now, would she? The elegant wings that have so often lifted him into the sky are folded along his sides. She doesn't like his wings, they scare her, and he doesn't want her to run from him. He wants - no, he needs to find her alive and well. He has never been driven like this before, never felt this loss. He had fought for the Foothills and lost with the Foothills, all for her. To protect her, to keep her from harm, to gift her with a home that could not be taken from her. He has failed. He has searched for her for far too long now. He had almost found her once, in that wretched marsh to the west, but it must have been an illusion, a vision brought on by the persistent ache in his wing. Zarina has pleaded with him to find a healer, though not in so many words. She is not yet capable of even the slightest bit of mind speech and resorts instead to vibrant images which she shoves forcefully into his mind every now and then. She is a jealous creature, and wants his attention, but these petty feelings are hidden beneath a layer of worry, for she knows what he refuses to admit. His right wing is immobilized now - not forever, no, not if he finds a medic - and from the wound there is the stench of infection. She has begged him to take pause in his search, implored him to go to someone, anyone. But he has ignored her. He stumbles through the brush dejectedly, his head lowered in a position of defeat. The physical misuse that his body has been through is bad enough, but he could handle that - it is losing the one thing in this world that he truly cares for that has driven him mad. Zarina is curled in her customary place at the base of his neck, nestled into the tendrils of his mane that group there. His banner, at least, is free of tangles, for she has found that it comforts him when she runs her paws through the strands. His tail has not fared so well, for it is much more difficult for the pygmy marmoset to reach it all. He hardly notices when he passes into the herdland that he had tried to protect. He follows only the faint scent of Resplendence, though he knows she is long gone. |
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
