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Showing results for tags 'bishop'.
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Lost with Time An empty manor perches in Helious, appearing void of any soul thriving from within. Occasionally, through the apertures, a figure can be observed with sullied hair. He can be perceived as a man who held capability within his digits, but never noticed how to manipulate it. Klaus paces unattended in his quarters. His survey draws to the window to the outside, sneaking in, as the outside dances with the breeze. Everything he knew transformed, it was expected. Almaris finally evacuated and the entirety of the continent made their way to Aevos, precious family and friends had passed. Now, Klaus was all to himself. The sounds of the ocean splash against the coast, the liquid drawing up and heaving back out in seconds. Seagulls swarm the waters, cawing to their delight: another wave, another whack against the shore. Klaus had begun to sense that this world wasn’t for him. Society was too cunning and swift, or maybe the fellow was a coward. A coward that hides at the thought of unpredictability. He brings himself to his feet, treads down the staircase and absent-mindedly gazes at the portraits of other red-haired folks. Their features and purpose served no importance. Every single one of them had forgotten about him. Klaus grasps his red overcoat, lobbing it over his shoulders and slithering his appendages into the sleeves. A rowboat tied to a post neighboring the docks remains idle. The bloke trudges to the familiarity, the sea. Klaus climbs into this ship, uncoiling the cords and seizing hold of its oars. He begins to row, setting out on a sentimental journey. Just as the world had turned its back on him, he turned his back on the world.
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* 15-18 Locked away in my symbolic room strapped to the bars of this comfortable prison I’ve known all my life. Confined to do what people expect of me, /confined/ to the role I am placed in on this chessboard. Locked away by the lump in my throat only wishing to speak but the air becomes still as the eyes stare, stare to me for I am different? Or stare to me because I am brave. Eyes that should be a doorway open and welcoming a door that is shut instead. Doors that keep the social “standard” to its quo, why, father, why are these eyes of winter so compelling to the soul? Mother, why is it when they glance with their winter eyes my feet freeze in place? No answer as I have neither to go to when I am sad nor to call for my achievements; it is only me.
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[!] The same printed drawing would be posted to every surface around Haense includingbeing stuffed into mail boxes. It is scribbled in many different colours - creating an image and text - the layout looks as if it were drawn by a child (Which it was).
