A Long Trip

[ronin_champloo 5951]

Amongst the swaying waves, held within a port, a boat sailed in search of the alchemical legends of eld. The moments prior echoed in the man’s mind, and like the waves, they had continuously knocked and crashed on the borders of this thoughts — echoing what was to be done, and what was to follow; penance.

 

He carried scorn within his closed off heart, guard and locked amidst a bastion of utter defence, made in deference to his duty — to uphold it onto its extremity. The Alchemist, however, knew that it wasn’t the full truth, merely a fragment of it. To those that knew him, they didn’t know the severity of his wroth towards creatures woven by the Dark Magi. Hate festered like the growing flames of obedience and order, and judgement was laid before those who were lost. He abhorred them for what they were, for what they represented, for what they reminded him of — the reason that he had originally taken the Sunlit Path; each beating, burning and conquest was made following this hateful view. No chances were given, for he deemed their souls stained beyond consideration of redemption.

 

A pyre existed, and only to burn rather than offer warmth and company.

 

“In your faith, you were compliant in subjugating others— all for your quest of hatred and judgement. You must make amends, and build a shrine of rememberence for what you’ve done; the sins that you’ve committed.”

 

The Alchemist scowled, and dark thoughts settled within his head, directed at the shadow that followed him, reminding him of what he had done in his quest for the light. Time drifted and faded, and he would not let this deter his path.

 

The faint scrunching of grass showed him that he let his mind wander once more, that the man was lost amidst a sea of this thoughts. He had sighed, and kneeled amidst the verdant forest. The humming of the birds, and the quiet swaying of the leaves that moved with the howling winds, offered him a quiet song to close his eyes too.

 

This wouldn’t do. Far too secluded, too.. hidden, for how can the dead be remembered in a bygone shack, forgotten and unseen by all?

 

He wandered once more, from one forgotten place to the next, searching for anything. With a few quiet moments, he had found himself in the emerald plains — mundane and peaceful, a contrast to the conflict of his mind. He did not like returning to those memories, even if they happened so long ago, the felt like burning hot knives that sought to pierce his skin. Those flashing thoughts were too painful, too vivid. The Alchemist did not like them. Once more he inhaled before closing his eyes, beginning to set his hands to work. It was rough and harsh, the various stones formed bruises and calluouses on his fingers and palm — yet, it didn’t deter him; the path of penance was long and arduous, each step aching on the bones. Yet it was for reason, to remind him of what he had done, and his sin.

 

Survival dwelled in the hearts of all, weak or strong, the ability to act on it was what separated man from beast. The extent that they’d go to ensure living, backed and kicked into a cage, yet still breathing. Like those, he likened himself to an animal — one thrown onto the ball, obeying to survive in that damnable war. The physical scars grew smaller in time, yet the mental marks remained and lingered as the root of his wrath. Another breath drew him away from his thoughts, and he braved the depths of his rage once more. It quickened, and those memories turned into a flash. He repeated this many times amidst the construction of that shrine.

 

After a few days, he laid the final pieces of the shrine with bandaged hands. The Alchemist didn’t speak, merely carrying on with the images within his mind. They didn’t hurt as much as they used to, thought those thoughts heralded a sting, along with the twitching of his fingers. Finally, the elf set to work — using a simple slate to etch words onto the shrine. It read, for all to see;

 

‘THOSE WHO FAIL TO STARE AT SORROW WITHOUT WAVERING, WILL FOREVER BE CONSUMED BY HATE.’

 

May the fallen of the Inferi Crisis find peace, and solace, knowing they fought for the betterment of all Descendants.

 

He breathed once more, exhaling a relived state. The Alchemist stood, and gathered his things, soon moving to depart. He would clean this shrine many times amidst his trip, dedicating himself to caring for it for those that he failed.

 

His sins were confronted, the life of suffering and struggling was left, offering him a peace of mind. The Elf was forever ready to die and to perish; either by another or the cold embrace of age. The terms of what he had done was accepted, and he moved onward with no hesitation.

 

And upon the shrine was a letter, addressed and written to a certain person who had long left this realm; his estranged father.

 

There, he had spoke with a quiet voice. A tone that could’ve been hidden amidst the howling winds.

 

”No longer do I wish to harm; I wish to protect, to heal and save — to be better.”
 

Spoiler

OOC:

Wrote this after I was bored, and reflected on the current growth that my character has had.

[Unwillingly 11382]

Spoiler

spoon writing +1

 

[wowj 2891]

Spoiler

nub wae diz epik