Louder

[Vindicant 642]

 

Spoiler

 

He tried.

 

He really did. Four elven months he spent being a good man. He held his tongue, he smiled when he didn’t want to, he refrained from drawing steel. He did his best. Even when people spat on him, called him a demon, he didn’t resist. He just nodded, pulled the hood further over his head, and carried on. Each time it nagged him a bit more.

 

‘Why not fight back? He’s easy to kill. See there-- his throat exposed, just rake it with your nails. He’ll bleed out, and you won’t even feel a thing.’

 

Karyssmov tried to ignore the devils on his shoulder. He wished he had an angel there, like others did. Instead, it was just naysaying. ‘Kill them.’ ‘Gut them.’ ‘Make an example of them.’ And each time, he ignored them. He bit his tongue, and he just smiled and nodded. He walked away when he didn’t have to, he took the higher road each time. He was doing his best. He was trying his best.

 

But the scar on his shoulder which still ached continued to remind him.

 

The world didn’t care for change. It didn’t care for redemption. Once you did wrong, there was no undoing it. No years of repentance, no amount of gifts and offerings of aid was ever accepted or card for. He kept trying. Even when it did nothing but afford him pain, he was trying.

 

She offered him a smile each time. Condolences for the new bruise on his cheek, or the long cut down his chin. She’d treat him each time, of course. But it never felt right to him. He was trying, but they didn’t care. Each time, they drew steel and tried to ‘smite the evil’. He just wanted to live. He wanted to make up for what was wrong, but each time it was dragged from him.

 

 

HIs unseeing eyes stare into the top of the ceiling within his home. He couldn’t even see his children smile or laugh anymore.

He felt despair eat at his heart.

 

 

---

 

He still remembered the scream.

 

The faintest yelp She made from trying to get him out-- get him to safety, get him away. And she protected him. The spear aimed for his neck-- aimed to kill -- instead drove through her hand, crippling her. He felt the black rise again. That same bitter rage against the world that continued again and again to reject him. It was fitting to take from him-- the one who took most, but to hurt Her?

 

She did nothing wrong. And that rage only built. He brings her away, treats her away from prying eyes. He snapped at those who tried to treat her-- they’d hurt her. They already did, they’d just do worse. And all the while the devils in his ears sang their little songs, ‘You could just tell them! Tell them! They’d kill them!’ and he tried to ignore it. But it wiggled in his ear against his will, a wail heard constantly as he packs her injured hand. He holds her, too afraid to do much more.

 

Again, he was unsure. Again, he didn’t know what to do. Was he a man if he didn’t protect his own? Who wouldn’t defend his kin and kith? Those he loved, they deserved to be protected. They didn’t do anything wrong, they didn’t send him down the road he walked.

 

A sharp tooth bites into his lip, drawing blood from the now-anemic man. He fumbles with a cloth against his lip, attempting to clear it up in his sightless state but only manages to smear it over him. His thoughts keep turning to those around him. Those who wanted him dead.

 

They weren’t worth as much.

 

They weren’t as important.

 

They weren’t worth her suffering.

 

They were

expendable.

 

 

 

---

 

He barely managed to get away. The wound in his shoulder bled to the dirt below as he barely managed to hold her to his arms. His brother draped over his shoulder-- because they simply hadn’t taken enough from him yet. They wanted him too.

 

Karyssmov couldn’t have that. Shambling off, he barely gets them to the shrine of Akezo. Fervently and with the use of only a single arm, he painstakingly treats the serrated gash in his right shoulder, faint whimpers and grunts heard as the needle digs into flesh and muscle and threads linen through where it did not belong. And yet it brought the flesh together, stopping it from falling apart.

 

It didn’t make him stop feeling it though. The screaming only got louder. The more his own wounds hurt, the louder it got. The more she squirmed in pain, the louder it got. Each time his brother made a snapping sound, it only got louder. It didn’t feel like it was going to stop. It only drilled further and further into his head, and he had to lower his gaze and hide his expression to not show what was flooding through him. He probably could have shrugged it off as just pain, but she would know, and she would say it was a lie.

 

But he didn’t want to disappoint her. He didn’t want to lie. So he said nothing, merely glaring at the sky. The sky of the world that denied him. The one that took everything from him.

 

And each time he looked at a new star pop up from behind the clouds, it only got louder.

 

 

Until it was the only thing he heard.

 

And so he begged for eyes from anything that could listen.

 

---

[Farryn 860]

She remembered that day too well.

 

Seeing him trying to tell the guards to lower their weapons, trying to tell them he is trying to move on. Her rushing forth to stop the guards from harming him. The pain of being blasted back by a shaman who lost control, only for the very person the guards wanted to kill to pick her up and support her dazed form. He kept her steady and made sure her bleeding was not heavy. As he tried to explain the situation to their leader, a spear surged forth to strike at the back of his neck as the guard tried to take him down against the will of their leader. Yet Elvira Naromis was no fool – she kept her arm over his shoulder, not just for support but to defend the one area she knew any warrior would aim for.

 

Her quick thinking saved his life that day... but also was what broke him.

 

Even when she looked at her hand, she remembered how broken he became. All of the effort, all of the time he put into trying to move away from his past. Only for those who doubted he wanted moved on to ruin it through trying to kill him, turn others against him. The many times she nursed his wounds and reassured him, remained by his side and stopped him from making the worst mistakes. At first, it was to gain information and to ensure the lives he would potientally kill in the future were saved. Yet she stood by his side to help him directly, to help him when many see him as lost. Elvira remembered the day he pleaded for her aid in redemption, and the many scenarios that he faced.

 

Many scorned her for trying to help him: They wanted her to kill him, the usual and easy method that only encourages more violence. The method that never solves anything and never stops attacks – especially if one held the will to live. That was not how she went about her duty, she does not kill those who try to gain redemption. Not on her life. Despite the fact she was suffering just as much as he, she needed to keep on fighting to keep him away from becoming the monster people see him to be.

 

No matter the cost and what may happen to her, swearing to both Aeriel and Sokar alike...

 

She will do what she can to save her son from himself and everything else.

[AgentMemory 69]

((wow, great read from both of you guys. Keep it up.))

[Chase 3793]

Evar'tir leaned back in his desk chair within his room. The Ithelanen manor was still, save for the distant snaps, crackles, and pops of the seemingly always lit fire. The silence was heavy, despite only the 'Ker being around to endure it.

 

 

Fire, screaming and yelling, the mechanical sound of siege weaponry, and the clash of steel. Sounds all too familiar to the man, which plagued his dreams, seared into his mind like a brand from redhot steel. These thoughts and visions recurred to the soldier constantly, as they would to any who endure times of war. But sometimes it wasn't always the noise, sometimes it was the silence. 

 

At this particular point of time, the silence seemed to get to him. Rubbing at his temples lightly, he relived the Coalitions. The clash of steel, the impact of trebuchet munitions, the screams to keep pushing forward. 

 

All the wars, all the fighting. Was there a point? No, probably not. But it did make him think. This time around, he seemed to remember his days in Sutica. The lax gate protocols, the sound of distant sparring, idle conversation in the square.

 

And then there was Karyssmov. Karyssmov, the once devout cleric. The father, the Exemplar, the leader, the Sutican. Now, a different man. A man Evar used to look up to, now he yells at him to get out of his city.

 

"Strange fate" he thinks to himself.

((have a work of latenight random edgy writing. Im not really sure where i was goig with it, so sorry about that. Hope it makes sense at least slightly, if not, can't say I didn't try. I enjoy the writing, keep it up you two))

 

[Zacho 2177]

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.