of recoil and grace

the Rift

[OPEN] of recoil and grace

Erebos Posts: 474

Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE

Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather

#24

02-24-2017, 08:01 PM

The silence was deafening, a roar in his ears, as he stared upon the unmoving masses, as his gaze settled on the individuals within the crowd. For a few moments, it felt like no one dared to move forward, no one yearned to join him, to carry the King who’d done so many things for them, and lord, how he’d wanted to spark and splinter and scream at each and every one of them. How dare they just be pieces of canvas, shards of nothingness, all blurred together, all hazy and pigmented; incapable of doing anything but standing in the rain, listening to a prince beg. He burned, he trembled, he stood there, shoulder leaning, trying to lift his father towards the mountains, while the rest stood – wondering how they’d all become this way, how they’d all been so weak, so feckless, so god damn inept and still (and there was a promise twisting inside him, to never behave in such a way again, to never tarnish the great weight of the man he now carried).

Then Ode advanced, parted from the inert beasts and the silent disciples, and he wanted to cry all over again, bow his head, pay homage to his black cousin, then Lena, the little Songbird, Enna, the painted medic breaking away from the flock; all he could do, all he could think, beyond the inferno, beyond the anguish, was offer his gratitude and acknowledgment. “Thank you,” he whispered again, choking back the tears clawing at his throat, pushing down their heinous wake, their tangible grief, twisting back so they could somehow hoist and heft the Reaper to his final resting grounds

He maintained only a glimmer of strength; someone must’ve been blessing and consecrating his muscles, his core, his soul, because while he felt like falling to the ground in agony and defeat, he remained upright, dignified, jaw clenched, taking small, slow, careful steps towards Orsino, shuffling and shifting with the rest.

The sable kitsune wisely said naught as they approached, only indicating the spot he’d chosen along the unwinding trail: a beautiful, minute section of an open cavern, not too big, not too small, right in the heart of the mountainside, where Deimos could be surrounded by the inhabitants of his beloved empire. The prince sniffled only once, holding tightly to his control as they lowered and pushed him within the dark, cold aperture, as he found a nearby rock, as he and Orsino shoved it in front of the opening and suddenly his father was gone, gone, gone – forever entombed. The tears flowed again after that, shifted down his cheeks as he took out several charms, one belonging to his father (and how it glowed, a little acorn meant to pierce the darkness), and one of his own, a blue raindrop charm that had reminded him of his mother. He placed them intricately on an overhanging branch, together, and then didn’t know what else to do, what else to say, incapable of saying goodbye.

[buh. Thank you everyone. ;_;]