Silence

[Vindicant 642]

Spoiler

 

 

Silence.

 

It was never the loud cacophony of violence that scared him. It was the lull in between. The time between strikes where no sound rung out, where you had to think about what you were doing.

 

Where you had to come to terms with what you’ve done, and what you’ll do.

 

These things plagued the mind of a wandering man, a hood over his head and his breath stinking of alcohol. His fingers were calloused, where they were once soft. His eyes were stained orange, where they were once blue. His soul was torn in half, where it was once whole. And he never stopped feeling it. The constant burn, the ever-present reminder of the betrayal dealt against him. But the burn wasn’t the worst part.

 

It was the emptiness.

 

The complete feeling of loneliness dealt unto him. Once, a champion who was rallied behind. A flagbearer, a symbol of hope against the tides of those who would harm the innocent. The Exemplar. He was no perfect man-- he had made mistakes in his life, and he knew that. But he owed up to it. Perhaps one time too many.

 

His hand rested against the side of a brick-built tavern as he vomited up last night’s offal. An offence, where once he dined upon scrumptious deer and glorious hams, he now had to steal and dig through trash merely to continue existing. Many times he glanced down to the dulled blade at his side, the one that did not belong to him. The one that did not hold him in thrall. Where it was-- he did not know. He hoped it was where he left it, but he knew better.

 

The less he thought on the past, the easier it was to think. Not that he ever could. He brushes the gray smock across his lips to wipe away the stains that laced his mouth. But it didn’t make him feel whole. No amount of alcohol could. No amount of solace found amoungst unsavoury patrons could.

 

Nothing could ease what rested in Karyssmov Faroe’s soul. What was left of it, anyhow. With practiced motions the only thing driving him forward, he purposelessly steps back onto the cobble-hewn roads of the abandoned settlements that surrounded him. He could not return. Could not show his face. He knew better.

 

 

 

 

He had left them. Left them all. “But it was THEIR fault.” he tells himself as he wobbles down the road, the words hissed through grated teeth. Whether or not it was true mattered little-- if he blamed himself for anything more, he’d find himself with his own blade in his belly.

 

His eyes drag up the roads and sink onto a figure he remembers all too well. He briefly reaches for the blade at his side, before realizing there was little point to fight. Why would he? No tenets bound him. Nothing he was beholden to now, save for his own conscious. He looks to her, and is silent.

 

She smiles, a smile that could devour the world and every soul in it, though found itself satisfied with forcing wrinkles upon a green linen of skin. With lies on the same lips that spoke the sweetest of words, with a hand in every game of Chess that bastardized the planes that the broken man trudged upon. A smile housing a voice clogged by phlegm and battered by recent warcries. An eye bore into him, though now, with delight rather than with scorn.

 

She smiles.

And she is silent.

 

[Archipelego 2188]

A tree halfling drifts upon a boat back into the lands of Atlas.

[ThatWeirdGirl 432]

An old ghost wandered the roads. They were empty at night, the denizens of Atlas avoding them in fear of what might go bump in the night. Bandits, beasts, the dead. She wandered a lot when she was confused.

 

Somewhere in her mind she could remember baby blue eyes and hair as dark as the sky above her head. A smile that she couldn't help but smile back, even if the rest of the bearer's face had slipped from her like sand through her fingers. Everything slipped away eventually.

 

Why couldn't she remember his name?

[Greekbro33 105]

*An Olden Cleric watches his old friend, daftly stealing a warm baguette and replacing it with a moist one.* "he  he, the ugly one returns, my bread factory lives." before he returns to his own hiding hole somewhere in someplace, stalking like he always did since he went there.

[MamaBearJade 2090]

A familiar young druid spots him as he enters. She stays silent as she watches him keeping her distance. A small sad smile falling upon her dark lips as her pale blue eyes follow his figure. She decides to give him time.

[HazelWazel 463]

Delmira Aureon stands quietly in her bedroom, her eyes locked upon the tattered Sutican banners that she had taken before moving. Stepping forward, she would brush her hands lightly over the fading colors. A frown would lace her face as she closes her eyes in thought of what once, but what could never be again. Removing her hand from the fabric, she peers out into the hall with a little sigh. Perhaps she would see her teachers again. There was much to do. 

[SeventhCircle 460]

Alem'shun Vanguard's habit of gardening never faded with his age and he rarely stopped once he started but today he spotted something that put a halt to his gardening, a ghost from his past, A friendly ghost, A foe? a Rival? He never knew in life all he knew at the moment was from his high perch up the hills where the fields of grain once flew was that the faint figure was so distant and small but it shocked him to his core and alongside it, a wealth of emotions of so many different flavors rose up. All he could wonder was what the future held.

[Sky 0]

"I wonder if the exiled-prince intends to return and take back what he once owned." mutters the masked figure Axis.

[FloralHedgehog 493]

5 hours ago, Archipelego said:

A tree halfling drifts upon a boat back into the lands of Atlas.

A plant halfling eagerly waits for the tree halfling's return

[firegirl7894523 247]

Carsandra takes on of her many strolls around Sutica. She pauses, at the sight of the battered man, looking lost, looking broken, looking destroyed. She quietly paddles over to him, to see if she can help.

[TheIchorDruid 1986]

Quillian paused the general staring she shared with a stump of a tree. As an old friend presented her with a note. The woman's eyes peered over to a much more old, familiar name.. an ally she thought was gone. Something crossed her face, shock? Anger? Relief? It was truly unknown what dressed the stoney features of the Azalea druid. Blue orbs flickered elsewhere, mumbling something only coherent to herself  "Welcome home Exemplar." 

[Clayphish 149]

Opal thinks back to Karrysov and his fall from power while tending her bokolo. "Huh ... I wonder if he did the mature thing and found a new, productive job in life where he eats normal food and earns a living wage, or if he did the angry toddler thing of not working, eating trash, and seeking revenge by ******* himself over ... I'm sure he did the mature thing. He lost his magic and government title, not his ability to lift 20 pounds and stand for eight hours."

[Chase 3793]

Somewhere, the Dominion's Praetor was held captive. He awaited Virarim to helm, for someone. But, he was unaware of the man who he once looked up to, and served under's return. He had helped orchestrate his disconnection, perhaps. He held spite, but, many did. He was not special. He knew he would find himself face to face with 'The Exemplar' once more. He didn't look forward to it, but he knew it would happen. And so, he waited.

[Gallic 1066]

A spirit sleeps, awaiting the return of its wayward pawn. A father lay slumbering, seeking dreams of days he lost.

 

Both rest beneath the same tree, within the same sheaves. Both are compelled by the same curse.

[MickMeist 175]

A stone suit of armor meanders across Atlas in pursuit of help for his father. He notices the man, cocking a nonexistant brow in recognition. "Surely that isn't the same one I watched lose his god." Echoes softly out of his hollow helmet, and he continues to clunk on.