The waves kissed the black sanded shore with a subtle push and the breeze blew through the buildings like a howling gale, filling their empty spaces with a long forgotten warmth. Tree limbs danced and swayed as each gust caught their great bows, weaving and bending under the quiet night sky; flames of fire catching the branches of the great rotted oaks with splashes of light and colour. Everything was as it should be ordinary, quiet and solitary on that lonely summer’s eve.
The rhythm of the waves rolling onto the shore swayed the woman into a blissful dreaming state, the cool grass beneath her palms licked at her flesh with each passing gust. Ordinary, quiet and solitary. The warmth of the fire washed over her as she cradled herself within her own arms. How long had it been since she felt the security of a warm embrace?
Muddied memories buried beneath a life time of harsh lessons and new obligations slowly rose to the surface as her mind withdrew itself further from her present reality.
“Do you not believe it to be unwise to allow yourself to slip into such an absent existence? The mind is a wonderful thing.. It has the ability to disguise a nightmare within a dream. I will not say that losing one’s self in the comfort of memories past is a weakness but perhaps in such open environment’s you could avoid wrapping yourself within your own mind. In horrible times one must be horribly alert.”
A shrivelled and hunched character slithered from the blackness of the coastal path, his words hissing in his mouth and ringing out across the roaring tidal waters. Blooded and muddied robes shifted beneath his frail figure as he sat comfortably next to the open flames, “the heat of a fire.. How nostalgic we have become in these passing years my friend.”
Old bones creaked as the woman laid her hands at her side, the skin on her arms hanging like tattered drapes, bits and pieces blowing in the wind. Remnants of dried veins pulsed and oozed a thick green sludge that seemed all but stagnant within her rotting flesh. Large globules of vibrant green liquid dropped from the loose hanging veins to the dusted beach floor as she adjusted her positioning.
“If one does not hang onto their past how can they ever possess a future? I choose to honour those who lost their lives by keeping them in my memories. If their suffering was forgotten then wouldn’t our existence also be pointless? If we do not exist to avenge the crimes of the Butcher Prince then what is the point in our existence?”
The rotted woman replied, her sunken beaded eyes locking onto the hunched figure just across from herself. “Excuse me, my old friend, but I will be lost in my thoughts in whatever manner of places I wish. If my memories prove to be my death then it will be a noble one and a death I would gladly welcome.”
The hunched man leaned forward towards the flames, his face fully lit by the light of the fire. Dried lips were clenched tightly and a tired frown soon painted his face but still, he spoke;
“Take that passion that you still possess within you; use those memories as fuel to feed the fire that burns within your soul. Do not let those who have fallen – do not let those who have been raised be forgotten. If death is the answer to your existence then do not let it simply slip away by allowing yourself to become so careless. You are becoming consumed with these conflicts of your past life, these emotions that you refuse to bury and it is making you weak.”
Leaning back, the hunched man continued;
“Do not misread my intentions, old friend, I am not questioning the merit of these memories nor am I questioning the power they provide not only on an individual level but to our whole culture. The crime of the past life is a pain shared by all who are Forsaken. With that being said.. You cannot deny that you have been careless, that you have grown weak. I see such passion within you, a will to exist, yet you waste it away day after day in places that belong to the dead. “
“Crawl out of your mournful existence, if it is vengeance you seek than come and find it. Open yourself to this new life..”
A crippling hacking noise came from the woman’s mouth as her face twisted into a demented smile of torn skin and exposed bone, “my friend, I do believe you have become a hypocrite. Memories do not make weakness but here you are, illustrating to me that my memories have made me so. As I have said.. I wish to honour the memories of the past. That is what this life holds for me.”
“This is what you wish to do? To march the lands of your former self and be filled with such despair that you sulk into the woods at night to sit by a fire and pray one day you may awaken and be able to feel the heat from the flames? This is our life now; this is how we must exist. Please, for the last time, I have come here tonight to beg you to join me my old friend. I understand that you have lost the path to the Light.. So please, join me in the path to the Shadow.”
The broken man now paced on his feet, the exposed bone from his heel making a grinding sound as it brushed each rocky surface.
“I am sorry my old friend, but this is my existence now. I will find honour in keeping these memories and the Light will find me again and when it does, I will have my vengeance. All I must do is continue to have faith. ”
“You have made a gravely ill decision my friend.. and I pray you are put to rest before the many who have banded together in this new life for a purpose beyond death. You will be driven mad by your stubbornness and in your last days of sanity I hope you look back on my visits and reflect on how different your future could have been. Good bye now, my old friend, you shall not see me again.”
Sulking silently off the coastal path the man walked alone on that ordinary, quiet, and lonely summer’s eve.
Trembling fingers clawed at the muddied banks of the long road, scrapping violently at loose dirt as the small frail figure climbed from the ditch she had awakened too. Shambling, shaking and scared the girl treaded onto the beaten roads path, her body quivering as she forced each step further to familiar places.
Foul and polluted purple robes hung in shredded sections from her body, tangling at her feet and dragging in the dirt as she continued to pace forward. Tired eyes looked down upon her broken body, the flesh on her arms a putrid green, her skin blistering and dry, even the hair that draped her face hung in greasy matted sections.
A chill was present within her flesh; it crept along the skin and filled the bones. It was a deep bitter chill that filled every inch of her being and pained the core of her soul. She could feel it within herself, the chill of Death, the feeling of the grave.
“Li-Light guide me, for I am yo-your humble ob-obedient servant,” the words caught in her throat like razor blades and the voice ringing throughout her ears was unfamiliar to her, “Li-light protect me..” The words faded from her lips as she fell to her knees, dirtied fingers gripping the ground as her chest heaved but tears refused to fall.
As she rolled the tips of her fingers over the dry dirt there was an absence in feeling and in that moment a sickening realization finally filled the girls mind; she was dead. There were no sweet nor bitter smells that filled the forest’s air, the wind blew but she did not feel it against her skin. The chill she felt that slithered within her bones was not a sickness but a symptom of what she had awakened from.
The small girl rolled onto her back, laying on the road and gazing up at the clouded sky through the canopy of barren trees. The will to move on had been lost, at least in this moment, and as she closed her eyes to breathe in the cold fall air she felt her lungs rotting within her chest; she could not force them to inflate, she could not force herself to breath.
Once again the girl’s body heaved with an unbridled depression and still, no tears came to her eyes. In loss and in frustration she cried out into the sky, screeching and wailing, tossing and turning on the dirt road floor. Surely she would awake form this nightmare, surely this was all just a dream.
In quiet desolation she whispered to herself, “why do I still exist?”
Serata: I am desperately stalling and trying to find something to do with myself at work. Posted a bunch of stuff about Sherbourne so y'all know who she is and what she looks like...and I still have 4 1/2 hours left before I can go home and play again. T_T
Aug 31, 2016 6:28:52 GMT
Banshih: Yay for stalling? Yay for rp campaign starting soon!
Sept 12, 2016 23:04:21 GMT
Banshih: Thanks for another great Dance Of The Dead!
Oct 27, 2016 12:23:26 GMT