Maddening.

[TheIchorDruid 1986]

 

((I was being asked what happened to my home in the Dominion, rather than giving a dull explanation. I’d rather give a good ol’ read.))  

 

Darkness loomed through the room of the young elven woman’s home, each of the oddly shaped silhouettes danced like taunting puppets around the mere glow of an almost burnt out candle. The atmosphere was thick and almost constricting, so much so one could swear they could slice it, but Quillian did not notice. Her mind was very much elsewhere, fragmented into a thousand different thoughts all that scream for her attention. Over the months the elfess had kept herself locked away in the darkness  of her home, the elfess had grown malnourished and scrawny. Simply soothed by intoxication and slumber, and sadly rather content with such.

 

But what Quillian failed to bare in mind was when her intake was too much, though beneath the pool of guilt and grief that had rattled her stature. It was the least of her worries. Slowly her slender digits wrapped around the neck of yet another bottle of whatever alcohol she could find, she was far past preference. Anything suited her, as long as it forced her mind from the dreariness in which it was, when sober.

 

But like a viper drinking its own poison, her mind simply grew worse. The alcohol as much use as pouring a glass of water upon a forest fire. A static like air soon lingered outside, the clouds swelling and blistering, offering the promise of a storm ahead. But through the torn draped curtains of the abode, Quillian remained oblivious. A trembling hand hastily rose to her mouth for what seemed the hundredth time, teeth gritted the edges of her worn fingernails, nibbling for what was either a form of comfort or nerve but not even Quill could find the true reason for doing so. Her eyes absently stared at the wall, set before her, the brick worn and crumbling. It was an inanimate objects such as these that she strangely related to more than she could to people, the grayness of the bricks resembled the grittiness of her thoughts; dark and despondent. Though due to the past trauma her eyes had been subject to - all she saw nowadays was darkness, a rather ironic thought.

 

“Forgive me…” The words uttered from her maw like a phantom, barely placed but just scraping audibility. The woman’s tone was hoarse, brittle. Almost if she had spent the early waking hours screaming from the top of her lungs.

 

Though what was the first thing she should be forgiven for? This was the question in the current limelight, one that had a permanent placement in her mind - following her like a shadow. But there was so much that Quillian had done, some worse than others but all that scarred her just as much.

 

The current month had been filled with death, her two sons believed to be dead. Bastion and Elias. Her third, missing. The news, each a separate arrow that punctured her chest and behind left an agonizing emptiness.

 

Had she failed as a mother?

Perhaps.

 

Was there more that she could have done, perhaps to prevent her children’s death?

 

Yes.

 

“My sons, please forgive me…” Her mind had now waltzed into a unstable standing, each breath growing quicker than the last. Quillian swore she had heard a voice, maybe two. Her sons’?

 

She span briskly, desperately trying to place them - but there was nothing. But the stale silence she had once been subdued in, of course aside from the crackling strikes of lightning and the rumbling of the thunder.

 

“N-No please… come back to me.”

 

Silence.

 

Quillian’s eyes began to glisten a deep crimson hue, sickly so to match the temperament of the woman. Wisps of an even darker magnitude flexed and curled around her digits, the flora hissed and snarled in turn to the maddening druii’s communion. For this is the state she was taught to enhance, to fuel herself from - her emotions. But such teachings left the elfess, unstable, aggrieved. Her druidism, moreso wild than what it once was. This is what began to occur around her.

 

With the aid of an incision against her palm, roots snagged uncontrollably against her house - breaking anything and everything in which dared remain in its path. Though even if the woman wished to even attempt to control the state, her mind had been defeated by the tapped resentment of the flora about her. One that could not be silenced or tamed, her blood continued to mar the wood beneath her bare feet. The natural state claiming the man made structure that stood around her, four walls soon became overthrown by branches, vines and flowers alike.

 

The Azalea had been lost to the voices, though in a sick way. The screams of the angered melody brought her comfort, and ease.

 

Her pale flesh, soon turned sanguine - beads of it rolling down her forearms as the hue of her eyes only deepened. Her veins began to darken somewhat, a clear sign that she had began to exhaust herself but the rage that drove her on had nowhere near met its end. Through her maddening outbursts, faces flashed through her blinded eyes…

 

Taeral… The last thing she recalled, his body against the earth, but was that her intention? To see his fall… no, it was not.

 

Ewan… The surface of his blade glinting against the sun as it pressed against his throat.

 

Elias… Promising his mother for a safe return.. Only for that return to never come.

 

Toren… It was as if his hand was reaching through the roof of her home, beckoning Quillian onward from where he rested in the skies… Her own hand moved to grasp it, to finally be able to draw her last breath… Though as her pursuit crept onward. She was forced against the floor, falling into unconsciousness.

 

[_Sug 2809]

Taeral sighs from some far off land healthy as he watched his son play in the flowers outside his cottage, a pipe in his right hand and staff in the other as he moved back and forth in his rocking chair. A few Druii around him chucking as they look over a drawing of the house.

[BigMacMoMo 214]

Bastion stares down from the afterlife at his haelun. “I am sorry, haelun. If I only could talk to you one more time.”

[Ixli 1472]

Carven Ithelanen sits in his abode, his mind still very present on Quillian after exiting her torn apart home.

[Guest]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.