Hamartia

[Unwillingly 11139]

The dying caw of a raven

 

Piano keys that never play the same note

 

A shattered wine glass, littered across something foul and foreign
 

---

 

The night was cold and just as sharp. Cass’  sleep-ridden eye pulled itself open, vision blurred and hazed after his once-slumber. Slumber, even, was generous— a good night's rest was seldom, yet so fervently sought anymore.

In his attempt to rouse himself further awake, he’d sit up, a motion navigated with such caution. Despite his best efforts, there still came the burn of a wasp in his chest, striking across his collarbones like lightning which drew forth a pained warble from his chapped lips. The pain soon faded into an ache.

Through a splinter-nailed grasp did Cass reach for a lantern. The quick strike of a match brought it to life, yet just as much an ache to the man’s eyes. He’d stare down, digits brushing over that reddened amalgamation of a gash, pus-filled and near rotten. 

 

There was something humiliating, something shameful in having been reduced to such squalor and dejection. After a childhood of nightly meals and steaming beverages, how could he have allowed himself to fall from such grace? The notion brought the wave of an ache to his stomach, and so quickly did he throw his head aside to spill out a rush of bile in a foul mix of what he was able to scrounge up the night prior. 

 

The back of his hand, sweat-coated and rough it may be, wiped at his mouth amid a few sputters and coughs. No doubt, it was not a clean sight. The tavern quarters he resided in had grown derelict and forlorn prior to his stay, leading to a company of spiders and mice who sought shelter from the bite of the north.

 

It was a situation that reminded him of the past, yet he wished not to linger on it. Instead, he’d pull himself to his feet, throwing whatever woolen shawl he had over his shoulders. He would not stay here to decay— he would not allow it. 

 

So, he’d drag himself downstairs, where he was greeted by a highlander— a woman of pale complexion and dark brown hair to contrast. Her rasped voice spoke out to him.

“Mmh- sir? You look ill,” she began, taking note of his countenance. “It’s snowing outside. I can go get you a—”

Thhd!

The front doors had slammed shut before the words could be finished. Cass cherished those last breaths of warmth that clung to his body, soon replaced by the harsh sting of northern gales.

He’d start walking.
 

Spoiler

If you read this far, thank you :) I tried to keep it short and sweet

 

I want to use this post as a chance to give a sense of the type of roleplay I’m interested in. The more disgusting face of roleplay, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. I want to roleplay with players who are also interested in this theme as well. I want to roleplay with people who are interested in exploring dynamics, nuances, attention to detail, tragic flaws, and allow their character to be susceptible to change and misfortune.
 

I know this sounds incredibly pretentious, but I want to offer a hand to people who are interested in these concepts. Gore, grit, coercion, desperation, an aesthetic, a theme, a direction, a self-sustained narrative. I want to roleplay with new people. If this is something you think you’d be interested in, please, reach out (un-w#9099).