With the Wind...

[DragonofTaters 920]

Spoiler

 

Shadows lingered in the corner. The peripheral always dark. Danger lurking, yet never showing itself. Hatred and hunger, blood thirst and madness hidden behind twisted words, silver tongues, and fanged smiles.
 

Still, the air was clear. A chill wind whistled across the mountains. Hair and clothes buffeted, crimson eyes were set to the horizon. Watching as leaves and detritus were swept up and across the rocky ledges. It blew towards the south, down the pass. Channeled through the crack in the mountains. Harsh gusts which suddenly cut off before a new one would kick off. Then it shifted once more. Moving downward, across the slope. Carrying the dried foliage with it. There could not be a message to be seen, for it was only wind.

But the woman paused. Listening. To voices hidden in ever-changing threads. The tapestry of the world warping around her, ley lines visible to the Attuned's sharp gaze. Conflict, rushing towards her. Restlessness and distress. Loss. Everything she did not want; the conflict she had been seeking inaccessible, and that which she dreaded inescapable. Something approached for which she had no plan. How could any plan against Fate? Even she, woven into the very threads of Nature herself, could not stop the tides. A shadow passed overhead; the croak of a raven breaking her reverie. Then a call went out, to travel north. Her attention pulled from the shifting threads of Fate laid out before her which wove the woman's doom; threads trailing behind that distant avian. She followed her companions, putting the truth she'd seen to the back of her mind. Nothing was said to those beside her.

~*~

 

Across the world, Nature raged. Cursed blood twisted through roots and branches. Fell-spawn lurked, hulking forms casting shadows where sunlight normally warmed the soil. Hellfire and blood worked their way through the vibrant life. Draining everything. Grey and black replacing brilliant shades of emerald and cerulean; amber fading into a dusty brown. Trees sapped of their strength. Flowers wilted upon their stalks. Moss turning to a dead mat over silent earth. A lone Tree struggled. Still vibrant, crowned with gold. Roots pulling free, lashing out. But overwhelming force fueled by pure hatred could not be outdone. Blades of twisted metal fell. Anguish and rage echoed from within. The soul crying out.

A betrayal was at hand. Promises broken, by minds twisted and hearts turned dark. Visible rot within the grotto mirroring the filth which had consumed those once seen as allies. As family. The burning voice rose within. Bashing itself against the ears of the draoi. ‘Traitors’, it shrieked. ‘Liars and oathbreakers’; ‘Fell-spawn, twisted ones, servants of the dark’, cries of disbelief, though the woman had known. She had known. Years she had spent, decrying them to others. Revealing the truth of their nature. It was her own foolishness which allowed them close. Admissions of hatred, of intention, made clear. Yet she chose to forgive. To seek understanding. Allowed them into her home. Her sanctum. So afraid to lose that she was blind to the Fate woven by her own hands. Broken love, desperately clung to; shattered trust trickling through fingers.

All of it culminating here.  

Flaming crown bent as the trunk moved. Branches sent a shower of gold to the dead earth below. Hellfire skirted across the pale surface. Latching on, siphoning the life from the soul encased. Wisps of lies, of treachery, made contact. The aura of a false druid finding its own purchase upon the Aspen. Leeching the living connection formed between soul and Forest. The Tree shook, freezing. Pain, panic, crippling it. A choice. The final choice. To resist, or surrender. Unyielding, but not unending. Damned she would be, whatever path was taken.

 

~*~

 

Nenar. Wicker. Aspen. Red. Mentor. Teacher. Guide. Arch-druid. Hierophant. Grandma. Auntie. Mother. Daughter. Unbroken. Undying.
Sister.

 

Names raced through her mind. Coursing along threads of Fate, carried through centuries by a woman who refused to stand down. To be still. Natural disasters, lost homes, wars, calamity after calamity. Heartbreak compounding time after time. Fae, fiend, friend, and foe alike seeking her destruction. Her despair and surrender to true darkness and hatred. Identity morphing, fracturing, splitting under pressure. Names and titles bestowed but rarely owned.

Death comes for all. For so many centuries, the druid had walked hand in hand with Death. Chased but never captured. Escaping when she should not have been able. Stolen by kin, the very kin now here seeking her undoing, the one time she walked towards Death’s waiting embrace. Bound to the mortal plane, inextricably interwoven with Nature herself. Balking at times, embracing that fate at others. Surrounded by life, family, friendship. Assured and cared for in the darkest of moments.

Faithless sought to sunder her. To steal her from family, from life, from Death. To destroy every bond formed, every thread carefully woven within her being. They reacted with violence to a promise held firm. Leaving the woman with few options. Face utter annihilation, or allow herself to surrender to a call which had beckoned far too long. Fight 'til there was nothing left, or embrace Death and darkness, mutation and enslavement. They sought to steal, to capture, to contain. The druid would not give them the satisfaction.

One last act of defiance. One last choice, made of her own will. The Aspen Tree shuddered as sickly hellfire consumed parts of the soul within. Blight coursing through veins, carried by sap slowed by toxins. Axe buried to the handle, splitting wood which was never meant to break. Ethereal knives pulling, tearing, at the deific connection tethering the soul. Ripping free of it all, Nenar Terin, the Wicker Druid, sent a violent blow through the entirety of the Tree.

A crack echoed through the grotto. Pain-filled melodies mixing with a rebellious, wrathful hiss. The golden tree splintered straight down the center. Branches falling to the left and right. Crashing to the ground as the Druid herself sundered the vessel. The Aspen shattered. Soul released, wrenched from the grasp of the evil, the deranged, the draoi. And though Nature made her anguish known, something was finally set right.

After four hundred and twenty-six years, Death had her due.

 

~*~

No letters would make their way across the realm. That was not the Aspen’s way. Hidden away inside a rocky hollow, a crumpled paper could be found. Written in blood, crimson and amber appearing akin to crystallized flame on the parchment.

OOC Note: The below letter would be available to those entrusted by Nenar with her private space. Her close family and friends, welcomed into her grotto.

 

Spoiler

 

“I have warned you of all I can. Entrusted all I know. Taught as well as I know how. I was not perfect. I made mistakes. I was selfish, I was cold. Fate and Death hunt me. They are always there, in the corner of my eye. I know I will not outrun them much longer. Now, I have lost my race with them both.

Admit when you make mistakes. Own them. Accept them. Work to right them. But do not drown in them. This is a lesson I desperately needed, and one I struggled with ‘til the end. It is what killed me. Guilt, twisting love and logic so that I was willfully blind to what was before me.

Be better than I have been. Learn from my faults, my follies. I do not wish my pain, my burdens, on any who come after.

I love you. My friends. My family. Blood or no. You are mine. Know that I have cherished every moment. Those filled with joy and sorrow, anger and triumph. For it was these that gave me life, gave me will.

 

As I write this, the wind comes from the south over the bay. Leaves are shifting, though they are not properly caught up. There’s a draft, leading to the heavens. Fate speaks, in all these little things. I know what she is telling me; now it is your turn to hear her. Listen to her voice, on the wind, in the rain. The earth and fire hold her secrets. Let her guide you. Let her embrace you. And know that my voice is carried with her. I will always come when my family calls. Know this to be true.

Act when you must. Do not wait. Be brave, be bold, be the fire I know you are.

You are all stronger than I have ever been.

Thank you.

For every lesson you have taught me.
For every grace you have given me.
For the trust placed in me.

For the forgiveness allowed me.

I am sorry.
For every hurt I have caused.
Every promise that I broke.
Every hope that I shattered.

 

Nenar Terin-Caerme’onn, Wicker Druid of the Wilds”

 

 

Spoiler

OOC: So this is the first pk post I've ever made. Nenar was the character I applied to the server with, back in 2018. She would have been 8 years old, come May. Her journey has been a wild one, and honestly I could never hope to name every person who has had an impact on her story. Who has given me amazing rp, contributed to this incredible adventure I've been able to take her on. Y'all taught me how to rp with this character, you gave me a community with this character, you let me make mistakes and come back from them with her. It's weird, saying goodbye to her. But I want to thank you, all of you. Those who I've known for years, and those who are new friends. Every single one of you has added to this journey, and I wouldn't change anything about it. It's been a wonderful ride. And though it's going to be weird to not have her, I hope y'all can help me build some cool new stories with my other characters. It's time they get some love.

Thank you @RainbowRoad1234for giving Nen her ride or die, @Toffeefor putting up with her shenanigans and taking the time to teach her (and me), you two and @Wand are the reason I stuck around with her. There would've been no epic journey without the three of you. I was all set to pk her at 50 and you enabled me to grow her and explore her as a character for seven more years. Thank you.

 

Plugin for Azuras time is broken, but I found it interesting to see just how long I've spent with this character across these years. It's been a hell of a run.

 

 

[RMW01 318]

A trembled breath was drawn, the heart shattered daughter of Nenar remained knelt by the ring as she saw her mother fade once more. Little could summarise her grief, and nothing could place words to the love she felt for Nenar for every year they had spent intertwined within one another's life. For days she would sob, for years she would cry, and for lifetimes she will mourn what she has lost till that moment comes where within a forests gaze them embrace once more.
"I love you mom, may you one day finish what you left behind."

 

Spoiler

ooc: It has been a wonderful time seeing Nenar as a character and growing to know you through her, every moment i had to roleplay with her was enjoyable and something i looked forward to! Cannot wait to see more of your characters and what chaos you have planned for the future with them.

 

[LupinCrystal 177]

Crimson hair was pulled into a bun with parchment spread across a workbench, silver wires and metal sat on the table along with notes of who needed to be reached out too "Didn't think all of this would happen so fast..rest, sister, I'll watch over the others as best I can. You have my word" Amethyst muttered softly, pushing the notes into a pile before adding a firefly charm to her bracelet along with the others she had. Made of silver and red kulia crystals. After a moment, she pushed herself up from the workbench, only to vanish into other parts of the house. She had work to do.

[RaiderBlue 1064]

 

As the channels of battle echoed out from the lower portions of the cave, Asger felt the tether attached to Nenar's soul suddenly relinquish, not to the depths of the Soul Streams destinations but one destined for them hundreds of years ago. An outcome undesirable to the long-aged elf but one he was quick to accept, turning to travel to the battle after a snide comment came almost second nature to him. One that claimed cowardice of the soul tree as it was consumed by demonic flames, he so greatly loathed. 

 

The eternal man thought of the now-deceased in those moments after the words shared over time, as one aching question lingered at the forefront of the being's mind.

 

Does such mutual shame and distaste not make the two Lords similar?

 

A question they would never earn an answer to as he exited, looking down over the amassed force meant to foil long-toiled over plans. The tree lord held no truth, though, as conflict continued, and his gaze met that of enraged, panicked warriors; a singular thought crossed his mind.

 

They were no different from him; their rage would gnaw at their mind, as it did to the lord who died but moments before.

 

Spoiler

While I am the evil villain in this situation, I would like to say that I have certainly enjoyed my roleplay with you, Taters, over the various runs of our two characters. Even during my large stints of inactivity, I would still hear of you spreading the evil name of Spore's misdeeds, which I think was a very fun thing to do.

As I understand it, you expected what happened to a certain point, and I'm glad the outcome ended with Nenar in the forest. My intention is never to rob anyone of their character, and even if the outcome had been the soulstream claiming her, I would have done my very best to keep roleplaying that character enjoyable, should you have vibed with the idea. 

I thank you for your decorum in this stressful and certainly rough endeavor, and I look forward to some of the event-side interactions we discussed in DMs.

 

[Drusus 198]

Deep within the Father's domain of the Eternal Forest an old soul stirs upon the arrival of a friend. The Lynx, without pause, searched for the fallen sister. Searched for her dear friend.
Finally finding herself within the Nightfall of the Forest, the Lynx only had to search a little longer before finding her target. Her voice, gruff and gravely with an ever present growl echoes out from her form as she knelt down beside Nenar. "Your duty is done, solider. You can rest now." With those words spoken, she wraps her arms around the woman into a tight embrace. Welcoming the Wicker Druid home.
 

A Mali'aheral closed her eyes as the the songs of woe washed over her, a feeling that she was all too familiar with. Yet it was only upon the news finally reaching her did the reality finally struck her. Nenar was slain. It was news which was bitter sweet and hit like a brick. She kept her usual calm expression until she was finally alone, only then did she allow tears to roll down her cheeks. "I wonder if you still believe, that no one will miss you.."

The Volcano druid with her splintered mind found herself suddenly fall to her knees as the sorrow of nature echoed out and washed over her form. Deep down within her core. At a certain level she knew what had happened, she could now only hope that this wasn't the start of something bigger. The voices bickered and whispered though for now, she retreated further into the wilds to watch the possible chaos unfold as it was her nature to do so.

A wandering hedgeknight, known also as the Duck Druid or even the Duck Knight to some found herself suddenly grasping at her chest with a sense of concern and sorrow. "Dammnit all, heart. Ya' better not be givin' on me this soon. Too young an' too much left t' do." The knight utters out, shaking her head a couple of times.
It would be some time until she found out the truth of the matter. To the knight, death was an expected fate for all those who fought the dark forces. She would find herself within a quiet place with a rare ale in hand, wordlessly offering thanks to a good friend. 

The small form of a blindfolded youth would be seen wandering around Illivira alone. The news had reached her finally, her hands having a gentle grasp upon a flute given to her by her grandmother. She did not cry, death was natural and came for everyone. The youth finally found herself upon the main arm of Illivira, allowing the wind and rain hit her face, yet she did not cry. Only then did she allow herself to mourn in her own way. She raised the boneflute to her lips and played a song, dedicating one of her favourite tunes she learned to her grandmother. The rain rolled down her cheeks as she played, yet she did not cry. Upon finishing, her hand took hold of the hidden hagstone within the folds of her attire. "The unknown. Faunus' message of times to come. Times without you."

Spoiler

 

 

Spoiler

End of an era for a good many! It has honestly been really good being able to watch yourself and Nenar grow and change during the years. While she will without a doubt be missed by many I do look forward to seeing what new stories you end up telling with your many other characters!

 

[Wand 1220]

"Nenar!"

 

An old, familiar voice calls through an empty grotto, seeking a friend. She was always so hard to find, yet always where she was expected among the aspen trees. Instead, he finds a letter, and he remembers.

 

🙒

 

Once in an age of Bronze, in Caras Eldar, stood a young Praetor across from his lieutenants. In the twilight years of the Dominion of Malin under the leadership of Mortal Queen Renn, this commander had been Fëanor Sylvaeri, and one of his lieutenants had been Nenar. If he was young, then she was barely a sprout, but she had in her good roots, firm beliefs. She would not leave behind those with which she had been charged to protect, and neither would he.

"Nenar! Come with me. Join me there."

 

"If you say so, sir."

 

When Nenar asked him why alongside the others, he stated that he saw promise. Her blank eyes found his own. Here stood one entrenched with a strong sense of duty, and he would not throw her to the wolves. He knew if he did not persuade her, she might just allow them to gnaw her down to the bone, such was her steadfast soul.

 

🙒

 

 

A century and a half passed, and so did the ages of Aegrothond. Once stood the Vale of Nevaehlen, and a wicked thing sprouted from the woods. A hunt had gone so terribly wrong, and Nenar threw herself into the maw of a great wicked tree to save her sister. Forever after, her eyes were stained red, and when he looked upon them, Fëanor saw what he had wrought.

 

Once Almaris fell, he was surprised to find her rushing forth with a small sapling in her arms.

"Nenar!"

 

"Your daughter-"

 

The seed of a Mother Tree, grown and then ungrown, laid between their hands. He had not 'til then thought of the tree as such, and was surprised to hear the words from Nenar's mouth. Truly, Nenar was one to remember the forgotten, to make sure none were left behind. Once the roots of something steadfast had begun to bloom, and she too would be a great tree in time.

 

🙒

 

It was on that blasted island, the drake bearing down upon them. They could feel their doom draw near, when a familiar vessel spun back around and into view. It would take him a while, but he later learned it was Nenar amongst many that pushed for them to turn around, to not leave them there to die.

 

"Nenar!"

 

He knew that look in her eye, indignant and steadfast to the last... and watched the relief pass over her face. Rare was it she was ever known to yell, to argue, but the war of Apotheosis was prepared to change them all, and it was far from over. A decade or two passed, and he was not surprised her rage carried over into the next age.

 

🙒

 

Now, Fëanor sat beneath the aspens which remained, and freed the letter from his grip.

 

He whispered to the trees, for a secret he learned long ago gave him the confidence that his words were shared among the wind, the leaves, and every scuttling beast and chirping thing in the grotto.

 

Spoiler

Act when you must. Do not wait. Be brave, be bold, be the fire I know you are.

 

He would never know if that last part bore him in mind, if at all, but-

 

"You were one of the best soldiers I ever had, Nenar. For you, I will try."

[marsloll 1384]

Spoiler

 

 

[By Amotti]

 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴍʙɪᴛɪᴏɴ - ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅʟʏ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ. ⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

 

It was almost impossible to pinpoint how and what she felt, even after all this time. Those lingering words seem to cling to that wretched creature’s mind, like a leech or a parasite absorbing and eating away at her thoughts that would otherwise occupy the space. Since the beginning, she fought against instincts that plagued her so - the innate destruction, desolation, and ruin that festered in the back of her mind. That restless jolt that almost gave away so much, that ticking clock that jerked with every movement. 

 

Kill her. She is hopeless. She will only lead to devastation. She is a parasite, a hindrance.

 

Save her. She loved you, when nobody would. You loved her, when nobody would.

 

What was she? What could she have been to warrant the fate that was so cruelly imposed upon her? Her life, all of her life, flashed before her eyes - what little the Lord had been a part of in comparison to her own long, long time on the Mortal Realm. How rare it was for that red-headed woman to not be a part of it. It was almost nostalgic to think about it, even though she won’t be around. If that thing could shed a tear, they would. 

 

Hatred. I’m sure that’s what she feels. Hate. 

 

I could never hate her.

 

A sharp blade cut deep against night-toned flesh as strange sap bubbled to the surface. Staring against the wound with little wince, it reminisced. The world was a cruel place, one that both had been great witnesses to. This was a grace that was given to the Lord - a shield from herself, and from the reality that sought to claw her down to the depths. The darkness that seeped from every corner - it would not take more of Nenar than it already had. It would not let the abyss take her like it already did unto them. Tilting their palm, the sickly liquid poured onto the blackened dirt - spilling across the ground in a slow ooze.

 

May that hate burn bright in the people who loved her. Let us see whose love burns the brightest.

 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ. ⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

 

[NightOfTheWind 3226]

The following would take place in the future, when word of the Hierophant's passing had become common knowledge amongst those in common circles. In a place untouchable by mortal hands dwelled a devout narrator. An author with beastly features--dragging the point of an ink-tipped quill across the old pages of a wide and large saga with a primitive, practiced hand. The pages were bound to black and white leather. He sat upon rolling wheels of glittering fog, other books stacked high above him, below him, and at his level. Scrolls sat beside the stacks or hung from the branches of the trees in the forest he resided in. Each tome held a single story-- of people and creatures, of myths or legends, with some crossing into the narrative of the others. They contained accounts of the past, events still being penned, and near-empty volumes reserved for matters yet to transpire.

 

This is what that narrator wrote today:

 

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

"Be safe!"
"I will! I'm off, I'm off!"

Thus concluded the last exchange between our pilgrim and the Wicker Druid, and as he leapt through the air and traversed towards the northern clouds, where frigid winds stung his pale face, there were thoughts of gratitude to the guide that showed him much. For the Aspen, Nenar as most knew them, would be remembered fondly by most. A reliable teacher to those who sought guidance in dark days, a friend to those who needed it, and most important of all; family that would be mourned for. The trees were not known to cry, yet I myself observed that the wicker trees in the West shed more leaves than usual. It seems trees too, can grieve.

──────────────────────────────────────

 

The narrator's quill stopped after dotting a period with their ink, the tip of their pen hovering over the next space. Slowly setting the quill aside in an old inkpot, choosing to rest for a moment, something within their ancient soul would not allow them to continue. They were an elderly creature, one who had some difficulty lifting themselves away from the cloud upon which they sat. A staff slowly levitated to their grasp as they walked past their desk to look over the cliff's edge, a stick of incense burning quietly at his side. Time passed until the incense had reduced itself to just ash, and there did the narrator quietly lower their head to a clearing in the valley. What did he see in the forest, where there was a single rotting stump?

 

 

New life had began to grow thanks to its nourishment.

[DankuzMemuz 61]

The Woad wandered across plains and under boughs. His work demanded his time away from his people. During the hours of wandering and taking in the sounds of birds singing and smells of grass, he felt a change in the wind.

 

The Chorus fell silent but the pressure of it he could feel in his heart and mind. The Third and claimed one of his Siblings, he could feel that.

 

Mourn he did, for the fallen even though he did not yet know who had passed. After offering praise and prayers to the Mother he uttered two words..

 

"Hileia ehiere."

 

But he still had much to do before he could return back to Iryalen..

 

Spoiler

Wow. Lovely post, Taters. Thanks for being such a pillar of the Druidic Community as Nenar. Can't wait what you got in store next!

 

Also, forgive formatting. Wrote this on my phone

 

[Crymson 535]

Somewhere in the Soulstream or beyond, Adris wore a typical wistful half-smile. "Enjoy th' rest, Lari'onn. Ye were always there for me, even helped me find peace. No one deserves some measure of it more than you do."

[MayRndz 1830]

[!] Nothing but anger rolled off that riptide Druid, suffocating waves of raw emotion. She had known something would inevitably come to illivira, that too many people could see that grotto and so she moved not long prior to that attack.

 

She had been there when the wicker druid collapsed within the walls of Aelwen. Her usual, carefully kept demeanor shattered, replaced by open panic.. It did not take long for her to process the fact that something would be happening in Illivira. Though she never quite expected the outcome that would befall them.

 

Her frame slipped back into the towering city, drawn toward a gathering already in motion. From there, she began to rally what strength she could, crossing vast stretches of the continent to summon those who would fight, those of Caurost and those of Iryalen. 
 
The Druid looked utterly disheveled. Something about her near feral, and unbound. That Vesper Bound druid let that anger seep through her soul. She clung to every part of her soul that whispered vengeance, of retribution that was to be had, and she had an idea of where she would begin.

 

She knew… She knew too much now and that blindly ripped her from anything  sane, anything well thought; an intentional blindness to that of what Nenar probably would have wanted. She was dead set on ripping people’s lives from their hands and nothing more or less.

[Rig 17581]

Moments prior to Nenar's death...

 

The King of the Demons was an enigmatic figure, one shrouded in relative secrecy, bar the occasional person with a faint inkling of his plans and character. Much like all Inferi, Vriza lacked the ability to empathize – in fact, he felt earnestly he had not been brutal enough in his subjugation of the grove, and was embarrassed at his own lack of foresight securing his allies downstairs.

 

However, fate had brought Vriza and Nenar together that day. In his estimation, he was the strongest Devil-King on Mundus, and he refused to be brought low by a tree, no matter how bravely those roots thrashed and whipped him, slapping against his flesh-armor and leaving small scratches across his chitin exterior. 

 

Such tenacity, this creature would make a fine Inferis.

 

[Akrasia 265]

Spoiler

 

 

 

☽༺𖤐༻☾

A profound sorrow resonated within the Lord as he walked through the forest alone. A crisp apple falling into his hands before it was promptly tossed back up. Those last words practically cursed him, making him reflect on what he cared not to. 

 

His saunter coming to a halt as he felt the soil beneath his boot gave way. The druid whom which usually was careful of where he stepped, aware of his surroundings, had kicked over an anthill. He stood there for a few moments, watching the ants attempt to bite through his thick skin to no avail. Ultimately, the being who had not consumed for near a century would crouch down and take a bite of the apple. His eyes lazily gazing over the swarming insects as they attacked him. Was it in their nature? Was it spite that made them act this way? Presenting such ferocity for something that was bound to happen. The 'ker would let out a sigh before placing the apple onto the mound, somehow already deep in the process of rotting, before simply walking away.

 

"Is this what her rest is worth to you? Perhaps in time they'll understand this was necessary for the others to step forward. So blind that they do not see they would have not surged to action otherwise. May her death nourish the others so they may grow stronger, the weak are not fit for this realm..."

☽༺𖤐༻☾

[Tav 4337]

Spoiler

 

 

♫♪♫ | Smiling Faces Sometimes

 

The man had fears. It was hard to admit, but he had them. A fear of being killed, or even captured. He had betrayal to fear now, too. Yet amongst all of them, stagnancy came out the most.

 

It’d been a while since he emerged from the dingy swamps, left to his own survival with hardly any allies to assist him—or perhaps, he didn’t think of them as useful. And maybe, just maybe, something had been truly wrong with him; for within his heart, he felt an ire. Its reasons were unknown, or perhaps they didn't matter, but still it persisted, enough to make the back of his throat bittersweet. 

 

“Good riddance,” The Prisgoth spat toward the wind, his words hardly strong enough to echo against the now conquered Illivira. Skies above knew he’d be forever cursed for it, for assisting in the slaughter of his brethren—but that was a fine price to pay if it meant culling the elders, to cleanse the Druidic Order of its tumors. Only then did the bittersweet feeling leave his throat, respite at last; no matter how ugly his deeds were, change was nothing short of beautiful.

[craneia 232]

An ‘ame wraps her arms around herself - the tears sliding down her face holding a multitude of emotions. Overwhelming was this devastation, a white scar marring her neck now - a reminder of her failure, on this day, and the loss of someone so dear. 

Her hands grasp the staff tightly - murmuring a prayer under her breath, whispered words broken as they leave her trembling mouth. She lowers herself to the ground… staying there for a long while. Watching the sun set… kaleidoscopic eyes scanning the horizon as it rises, the tides rolling in - nipping at her feet, and back out. A horribly selfish part of her wishes it would take her with it.

There was very little left of who she was before as sand shifted around her… numb for a moment as she pushed herself into a standing position - her body healthy here, in this limbo... this dream state. Something never before seen from the gentle, the healing, the soothing soul within her. A rage that writhed, a wrath that, above all else - was starving.

And as her eyes opened, within that clinic - staring up at ceiling... at the blood around her, then to those who stayed with her through the night. There were still things to fight for, still people to fight for. 

"All wounds heal eventually." The slumbering elf, now laid beside her on the clinic cot - her son, her sister's son - had said. And while she could not believe it to be true... the wounds, for now, are cauterized as the kaleidoscope shifts. Blues, greens, and lilacs give way to the burning reds, oranges, and golds of bonfire. Something had broken within the ever-faithful, something had begun to burn.

 

 

 

Edited February 1 by craneia
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