Kindle The Fire.

[V0idsoldier 1139]

 

 

He is the question mark in a sentence. A whisper in the wind. The
imagination of a child. The curiosity of a cat. He is the perfect
blend of inspiration and passion. A creative force amongst the
endless bodies and bloodbaths. 

 

Muse.

 

He was not a complicated man, he never was. To give him a jar of ink and

a brush was to give him happiness. To allow him to play music was to
give him freedom. To allow him thought faded away his troubles. He
found calm in the worst of situation, found light in the darkest of
corridors. That is who he was, who he always was. Who he always would
be, it seemed.

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His steps were the only sound to be heard in the slow moon lit night. The feint clack of his boots upon the surface of the stone walkway echoing through the desolate forests, infinite trees. It was as if, to him, there was no other living creature with him. This was of course, absolute ignorance  a joyous lust for solace in a land so filled with chaos, he realized this as the moment dissipated. Now, he was no longer the only thing around. In the darkened region of the trees, there were eyes pointed at him. Hunger laying deep within their eyes, though fear of the unknown holding them at bay. The crickets began singing, and that was his symbol to come to end his night. 

 

"Hush, my beautiful creatures of the night. Silence your hungry cries. I, am not your food source" He spoke aloud, utterly calm and at ease in the setting. While some would hold fear in their heart of the many predators of the night, Muse felt better than ever. Dedicancy had taught him some things. His heart was held lightly in his chest as he stepped off the road of the Humans, and into the grasp of nature. He was but a few paces in, and yet already the trees enveloped him like the sea, accepting him into their warm embrace. It took him only moments to gather enough wood and find a clearing to start a fire, slipping his flint and steel out of his pouch. A spark was lit, a fire was born, and Muse, the one to kindle it. 

 

 

"Shhhhhhhh" The sound of a log being dragged across the fresh mud made a sound reminiscent to a mothers whisper to her child. Soon, he had a site set up for himself, a place to sleep for the cold winter night. He sat upon the log, slung his Lute off his back, placed it in his lap, and began to sing a song.

 

"The world is on fire...

And I am it's heir.

Kindling the flames,

With but a simple stare.

 

I sit upon the sidelines.

A figure looking in.

The world is a journal ,

My mind, the pen.

 

Some seek war...

Some seek pain.

Though through all this,

We all seek gain.

 

Let the wars wage...

Art is Eternal.

The people so innocent,

Yet all souls infernal."

 

((This is just going to be a simple gathering place for Muse's journey across the lands during the time of war. His peaceful, simple outlook, and a place to document his growth. Basically a place to write when I'm bored. Nothing big or important ^.^ Hope you enjoy!))

[Heff 2460]

((I actually enjoyed this read good job... I hope you write some more))

[V0idsoldier 1139]

 

 

He was relaxed, all things considered. He had been beaten, robbed, thrown out a window, stabbed, berated, hated, and cast out more times than he could even count. But at that moment in Muse's life, he was relaxed. He was happy. Alone, in his natural setting. Him, a beautiful beach, and exploration galore. He had exiled himself now for what must have been months, taking with him only his art supplies, his lute, and a few bundles of bread. He had been living off the land since then.

 

When he set out, it was winter on the mainlands and there was war brooding. The Human Oren versus what could only be described as the world. When he set out, the world was on fire. In fact that had seemed like the very reason he HAD set out. A way to avoid all the filthy violence that he could not participate in. A way to clear his head. And a way to grow up, spiritually, mentally, and physically. He wasn't sure anymore, but he thought his day of birth had passed. He was young and alive and had many years ahead of him, but the second birthday that his memory could recall brought about... changes. He was Nineteen now, and he began seeing the world in a different light. 

 

Isolating himself from the world as he had once before in his past brought about significant emotional changes. He did not feel so compelled to express himself in such wild ways. He was slowly but surely growing out of his immature shell. His bare feet dug into the sand below him, the numerous beads of sand tickling his pale flesh. He looked up and across the beach to his cozy shack he had constructed over the past few months. 

 

 

He slowly meandered across the beach to get to it. Day was turning to night and he thought it was best to get some rest. Tomorrow he had another day of training ahead of him. Training in many things. Though he had taken what could only be assumed as a leave of absence from Druid Dedicancy, he was still very much attuned to the nature around him, more so than most Dedicants even. He had to keep his bond strong, just in case he decided to take the next step. He had also been practicing his Martial Prowess. He had spent his entire life abused and spit upon, and he had never had the urge to change it, though with the world changing he knew that his pacifist way of life was not going to last forever. Ancient books and long days practicing the lost arts was all he could do, for he feared weapons far too greatly to use them. When he returned to Mainland he would return as more of a man than before. If there was anytime to grow up, it was now.

 

He fell asleep whistling a tune, and muttering away a last lyric;

 

"Where has the peace gone?"