Damnit_Delmar 1090 Share Posted December 14, 2023 Look beforehand Spoiler This is just a creative writing post, been wanting to get back into the swing of posting some more dream posts for my guy, and overall testing my ability as a writer. Something that I've kind of been having the character go through internally, but not so much spoken. Of course this isn't common knowledge. Warning; Mention of Drowning, and Death Otherwise, enjoy the creative post. The Split Sea Spoiler Art Credit - Sae Sae Norris Pinterest The sound of rocking tides sung true within the night, the white frothy waves crashing against the banks of that dark stoned cliffside. Seated upon the ledge, sat that fel prophet, adorned in all his dark finery; except for that sole wicked mask of his. The damned tool of dread, sat upon his lap, his dulled blue-gray gaze resting upon the crow's skull. “Is this what I am to be? A being, deprived of that, which could bend fate?” The question rang aloud in the open air, yet the only audience was the cold northern air. Not a shriek of frosted wind, nor the rustling applause of the leaves, would answer that maddened Mali’dun. So he merely sat, his aged orbs shifting to gaze at his palms, those which were adorned with ivory plates and claws. He knew fully well what lay beneath the garb, a withered form, a decrepit being that had languished in self sustained agony now for decades, a mistake he should never have made in the first place. His gaze lifted from his cursed palm, to instead gaze upon the vast ocean before him. The rolling tides crashing down below him, his sights focused upon the water below as he merely leaned forward. He thought of what was to be done, what he had done, and for but a moment he felt himself give a sigh of relief. For he knew now that any ire or tragedy that befell them, would be not through his own doing, but rather any stupidity that they themselves attempted to try; and so the man's eyelids began to flutter shut, as the rare call of sleep took ahold of the man. His eyes opened, yet they did not see the vast and sprawling ocean surface, nor did they see the branches of the dying frosted trees. Instead he felt heavy, as though finally the bodies of all those killed had begun to drag him down. With every breath in, he felt the choking sting of saltwater, and the briny taste of it too. His gaze upwards, gave to a shimmering perspective, the rippling belly of the water's surface, seeming to almost refract and reflect the storm that could only be presumed to be shouting overhead. “For one so dark, you do tread awfully close to that freeing light” A garbled tone rumbled from the murky depths beneath him. His gaze, tinged in pain from that blue water, looked down to see that shadowed speaker. His heart seemed to stop in his very chest, a tightness in his gut, as he bore witness to that remnant visage of his. Hands of a rotten kind clung to the form of the drowned Delmar, his face bearing that once common scar, a blindfold of decayed cloth draped over his gaze. A grin spread from the old teeth, as bubbles drifted towards the sunken son of Sarai. “For one so demanding of power, you took so little” The words left him, a tinge of anger laced in the mostly neutral tone of the man. “We both know why that was, and look where that brought you, look what you shall be.” The arrogant tone of that merchant hummed out, clawing his way closer to the beggar. While the current, aged man that was Reynard, rested in pallid clothes and tarnished jewelry. The rotten and youthful, yet decayed corpse, of the Delmar still swam in those fine silks and clothes. “You wanted a legacy, yet all it did was make you lost.” “We both know, that matters little now, in the grand scheme of what is to be.” A sigh escaped the man, his hands clasping together as he looked to the tarnished digits of his, a resolute nod slowly coming to be seen from the drowning and sinking man. His form only drifted closer to the younger and decrepit Delmar. “We both made a mistake in our youth, did we not?” “You would call your gift a mistake?” “I would call it a shackle.” “You would call the very aspect of crafting death and life at your whims, the power to raise monstrosity, summon legions, and sow plague. You would call that a shackle?” A laugh erupted from the decayed Delmar, a cough that let a few rotten fishes float to the surface. “Do not forget of its maladies upon the body itself, the corruption of our soul, the tie to that hellish place.” The older adunian looked down in disgust at that creature, knowing fully well the irony in such an action. A solemn pause was given, the silence deafening in the dark waters that surrounded that demised duo. The only thing to offer respite from the crushing solitude of silence, being the occasional shift and movement of water. Yet after what felt like hours of nothingness, the voice of the decayed Delmar would speak. “You realize that all you see is but a reflection of who you are. I am the mirror into that dastardly soul of yours, I am the wealth you bear, the power you hold, and fate you are bound to.” “You are the mistake of a greedy child, who only understood the power that he had grown up with.” The solemn tone of the son of Sarai rang out, his gaze now level with the long dead corpse before him. The only thing to barrier such eye contact, being the old blindfold that rested over those eyes. “A mistake, I must live with, a mistake I must try to fix.” “We both know that is not the whole truth.” The corpse cackled in mad glee, the jeweled and skeletal hand, grabbing the shoulder of the solemn Farscryer. Its digits dug into the flesh as it leaned on forward. “Though if that is what you truly desire, then what you need is simple really.” The old adunian paused, slowly his head tilting to the side as he felt his body start to spin around, his gaze still locked with the half skeleton before him. “How is it so simple?” “Because whether you wish to accept me, or not, you will always be seeking a new kind of power. Until that ravenous appetite is filled, you will not find peace. For you may reject my very being, yet you fail to comprehend that we are but one.” The words cascaded forward in a torrent of briny bubbles, choking the Delmar as the stench of rot and decay filled his lungs, that pain that had clung to his shoulder only growing for but a momenta as he whipped his form frantically about in search of that Decayed entity. Yet as the bubbles dispersed, so did he find himself merely in the emptiness of the waves, the darkness slowly tugging on in. It was a familiar darkness, one that he had found himself lingering in as of late. A comfort, to the decrepit soul that was him. Slowly, he shifted his gaze up, his long graying hair spread far throughout the waves. His eyes, a dull gray-blue color, lingering towards the sole radiant spotlight. Drifting throughout the waves and water, drug down by the heavens itself it seemed, was that torn strip of cloth. The old frayed fabric, slowly spiraling down, its length laid bare to rest above the bridge of his nose. Before all remained dark, that suffocating vacuum claimed him once more, he saw above him that lingering decayed visage. Its eyeless gaze, and mad grin, only displayed in knowing truth. A final set of words, leaving the fleshless lips of the revolting thing. “We are one in the same” The Craftsman awoke upon the cliff, the skull resting next to him, its eyeless gaze focused upon the withered weaver. A tired sigh escaped the man, his form gently lifting upwards, a grimace splayed as he felt the dull ache of his bones. A calm breath was given, before he slowly stood up, his form gently coming to drift above the soft grass. Slowly, he plucked up the skull, placing it once more upon the top of his head as he gazed from the ocean than to the vast forests behind him. “Rest shall only take me so far.” Murmured the delusional Mali’dun, the man starting to gently make his way with the small troupe of the damned. His mind made clear once more, of that ritual that had to be done. 7 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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