The Life Of Belor

[chaotikal 2392]

 

The dust. The smell, and the lime colored tunic covering her mother’s body. That’s what Belor first remembers from his first breaths. Life as a slave was not always the jolliest one, but it was the life Belor knew. He was told stories about him as a baby, where his mother and him lived in a camp with other “Gypsies.” but now the entire nomad group was under shackles and the rust of domination. Belor always looked to children, children from the kingdoms broad around Anthos. He looked to their hands, ever so often grasping toys and delicious meals, whilst he took upon himself shackles and mops, made with the crust of the dying animals who took upon the carriage of the slave master, who was named Ragath, or at least Belor named him that.  Belor was a lonely child, he was never encountered by other children, and when he was, he’d mute and stiffen up, looking straight to the sky.

 

The sky. The frontier where happiness and sadness melds into one beautiful harmony, an eternal perpetual dance where his worrisome mind is no longer an existent object, but a substantial sustenance flowing across the imparable walls of the sky. The sky was his warden, and he was the warden of the space above his shoulders. Belor was never a mouthful child, he’d only look at other children as their lives went in front of him. Look. It was his only tools, his ears blind, and his mouth deaf. His eyes were talking, and hearing, and screaming. Screaming.

 

Turning into an older children, his view of the world developed into the very arms he used to lift the oh so heavy things he was forced to lift by his own curse. The day that his arms were torn apart, his mind was ripped over, was a ripply day, the waves crashing upon the very feet of the carriage. The hills were so distant that they seemed like little people in the horizon, merging as one with the sky. The dusk came soon to him, as Ragath ordered to move on, but most of the slaves looked back. They looked. It was Belor’s mother, lain on the rocky sand, wet, soft, but not forgiving. She had carried the weight of a thousand men to the ends of the world and back. She was tired, and now her skinny frame left her yielding, ready for no more. Her mind, her beautiful mind was now astray from her body. And as such, Belor fell to the ground, as Ragath began pulling the chains from his shackles. The hills in the distance pointed into Belor. It was him, only him to blame. The sky closed it’s eyes, and went to forever sleep.

The sky never smiled back, the hills in the distance never stopped pointing, but the shackles broke. As soon as it was night, and Belor was out of the instance he had put himself, the shock status he had entered... He watered the chains for a few hours, until the crust on the metal began to show orangy, and then broke it against the wheels of the carriage, leaving forever the servitude of a murderer. But the shackles weren’t broken. The blame cogwheels upon his shoulders put him down ever so heavily. But the sky smirked a grin.

 

((This is a new character. C:))

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

((Welcome back, you lasted *checks calendar* 2 weeks! Wow!))

[ToenailTickler 290]

((James bby you came back :D))

Hektor looks around for his cousin, but doesn't see him. He thinks that His uncle is off again trying to get the ladies... like usual...

[The Great Mongol Khan 1110]

((his life sucks))

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.