creative writing Bǫlva

[don dada 579]

previously

 

 

 

bǫlva

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

where am i? for all i hear is the noise

wishing for solace in the dark that surrounds me

it only seeks to consume me, my blade

for my purpose is now but in the blood i shed

 

 

 

He sits across the field of the dead, a slain Mali'kerr saddled underneath the wrap of a leather home. His destination was not far then, the home to a kind not of his own. All he could think of was the screams of the souls in the place he wished he'd never seen. The ruins of a realm he hoped were not of the one his body resided in.

 

She was long gone, the princess. A companion that kept him afloat amid the violence. It had been months, years, since he'd heard of her last, after fated incidents caused them to go their separate ways; though truly, it was Him that pushed it to that point. He could no longer see the brightness in a smile, the serenity in the silence, a memory tampered by a curse; of which he was powerless to rebel against.

 

The wind paced itself, coming to a halt, and yet all He could hear was the noise that embellished in the torment that glued itself to his mind. A damaged soul, he had. Irreparable. The noise became a battle to overcome, lurking in the depths of every step he took, every unsheathing of his blade, and every strike to take a life.

 

A slow rise. He was weary, and he could no longer carry the corpse with him. He took its head and mummified it with mere cloth, a redness seeping through of how fresh it was.

 

 

 

where was the silence? it no longer helped

to strike, to thrust, it was all i could do

yet it bore no flower to comfort my pain

the space only shared by the stain

 

 

 

"Compensation?" The one of Acalonn asked of him. A nod came next, and her words continued. "Fifty mina. Will that suffice?" Anything would, in his eyes. A second nod. He simply bore the head of the one she asked of; of which she never collected. A bag saddles in his palm and with a quick, careless look, a final nod was given.

 

"The Monster of the East," she called. "I wish you luck. Until next time."

 

His steel-toed steps gather before the soulless banker, a small deposit to accompany the rest born of the same essence. Blood money. The rewards he reaped in his occupation; a sellsword, a bounty hunter, yet all too meaningless with what kept him company beneath the visage of a helmet. This was his routine, his healing, however fruitless. Another poster to come again, a face, a name, a number was all it took.

 

Anything to distract him from what truly disturbed the very essence of the man that once wished of a life so simple as to do as he willed, to survive another Ash day.

 

 

 

where would i go? the sights no longer enticed

it was all the same now, a cruel fate only known by I

soon everything would come to a conclusion

and i would be powerless to stop it

 

 

 

The realm of all Highlanders welcomes him, everyday. Vindicated at every approach, stared at upon a seat taken, a silence atop another. Nothing tranquil ever came of it, but he wished for it to arrive someday, in hopes the silence webbed into his thoughts.

 

"I am to be the baroness, soon!" The one called. "A-and if that would not suffice, then-" The stammer of an innocence; eyes beading over the presence of a stranger. To her, he was strong. To him, she was weak. In the respite of a hearth bearing a flame that remained alight, his services were insisted.

 

The middle child of the Moon City came before the armored one of a village long forgotten, basking in the space of his isolation. He wished to will the noise away, her presence to be ill remembered - only for a curiosity to birth, for the first time in the years since.

 

A girl not older then five-and-ten, gathering the strength to continue their approach. A wavering confidence, determined to see it through.

 

"I will consider it." He willed to say, nothing more, nothing less.

 

 

 

what do you see in me? a small noble brazen

abashed and yet unbothered by the dark

wishing to see a light beneath the helm

i can only pray she will never see

 

 

 

 

 

 

the embers surrounded me, yet she ushers it all away

 

 

 

 

Edited June 24, 2024 by madnorth

[ellielove15 547]

15 hours ago, baby said:

"Compensation?" The one of Acalonn asked of him. A nod came next, and her words continued. "Fifty mina. Will that suffice?" Anything would, in his eyes. A second nod. He simply bore the head of the one she asked of; of
which she never collected. A bag saddles in his palm and with a quick, careless look, a final nod was given.

 

Spoiler

 

[Isvinity 729]

On 5/23/2024 at 2:12 PM, baby said:

She was long gone, the princess. A companion that kept him afloat amid the violence. It had been months, years, since he'd heard of her last, after fated incidents caused them to go their separate ways; though truly, it was Him that pushed it to that point. He could no longer see the brightness in a smile, the serenity in the silence, a memory tampered by a curse; of which he was powerless to rebel against.

 

AELYRA screamed and screamed. She beat her fists bloody and raw against the ice that made up her prison. It was a futile effort; the chains around her wrists had held her for decades and would hold her for decades more. Solace came in bursts — stale bread and wine, and the dreams of old friends amidst the nightmare.