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Post by Endrit Iasael on Oct 3, 2010 11:25:42 GMT -5
Step, step, step -- pounding of footfalls echoing in the hall, in the brain, in the heart. Were those children's feet scampering ahead of him, or only ghosts that smiled with their crooked faces, their crooked mouths gaped open like a fish caught on the hook? He cannot smile into that -- cannot know why he walked this path, into darkness, into a chamber of light that spilled over his burning, burning eye: pupil shrunk to a pinpoint. Death lay before him, around, within -- he walked in silence, in emptiness but though there was no one beside him, he saw those footprints pounded into stone, into the marble -- he saw visions of fire and death before his eyes, of rape and screaming, that horrible, terrible screaming.
Mouth tightening, Endrit tilts his head in the opposite direction, the heavy mass of his hair falling forward to obscure his vision, to blur the lines of reality and illusion -- no, no, pure delusion it must be: who can truly see the faces of their dead? Who could truly hear their moaning in his ears---- the screaming of the forever damned? Stillness runs deep -- no line contorts on his face, no outer ripple of emotion surfaces: he walks in a buffered fog of water, their screams muffled by leagues of sea water.
Drii can only be what he is: there is no more cunning left in his broken fevered brain. What he sees, he now believes -- there are ghosts around him, chanting his name, eyes burning in a pitch of feverish interest, their tongues slipping out from between their lips. You killed us, they scream, and Drii only spends a moment to see their wretched putrescence. Yes, I did -- his only thought, the only physical extension of his conscious self thrown in amidst the haunting. They are no one, nothing. His mouth is heavy, weighed down by silence.
There is wood before him, marble below him -- he is in a cage, his fractured vision giving glimpses of reality, glimpses of truth between the dancing elements of his need: wood burns, burns, hot to touch where his palm rests against it: so rough, splinters press up against the skin in a threat. Fingers run down the length of it -- he pauses. Why is he here? He searches, reaching for a bit of information that has gotten lost in the tumble of his dreams, no, no, the tumble of this walk. This path. Darkness lay around him, but there is brightness in the first -- little lanterns of thought slowly being pinched into implosions. He feels the draft of doubt. For the briefest moment, his chest is seized with grief -- then it is passing, his body only remembering an action that the mind cannot comprehend. What is grief? What has happened in the past?
Drii does not care -- he moves forward, his hand slipping down the smooth (was it rough before?) line of wood and pushes it open. He follows his feet as the screaming children dance around, their eyes full of black, their mouth full of blood. You killed us! His lips turn down in a grim line as he passes the light, a barrier of sensation he would sooner forget than to witness again.
He is here -- and a burst of comprehension swims up through the miles of stillness, gasping for fresh air. You've summoned me -- he thinks, his one eye lifting up -- but not too much, for this boy is short, small, a child. A child with lines across his face, crooked face screaming out You killed me!. "You've called death-- me." he says, mouth tasting like iron, tongue garbled up as if lightning had just struck. He hides his other eye behind hair -- he does not want to see anymore, does not want to look at this child and see his own name written in blood in his forehead. Did he kill him already? Or is this just another person who shall fall before him? Grim, stark lines soften into stillness as he withdraws, deeper and deeper -- in the end, everyone will die. He will make sure of it.
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word count|| 705
tags|| Donovan
OOC|| ello ello ;'3 GAH my spelling is horrendous, sorry >_>
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Post by Seccom Masada-Sensei on Oct 3, 2010 13:24:29 GMT -5
Donovan closed his mud brown eyes and dreamed without sleep. His consciousness melted away into some distant lands. Hands caressed his face and body, as if pushing him deeper into the fog. He didn't struggle and eventually he was beyond those hands, beyond sensation, beyond anything.His mind opened into butterfly wings and flew far from him, upon wings that were yellow with joy and blue with sadness, and in between those colors the black of the end of the world separated them.
A man with no face danced before his wings, a conversation without words echoed, the man was going somewhere far away. An eternity passed, and the man did not return, but then he became that man he was staring at mountains all around him, mountains and mountains and he himself sat upon one. Unable to enjoy the scenery, his world of mountains melted and he was in freefall of a corridor of pure light, so much so that he felt as if his own soul was stained in comparison.
There was a woman there, and he reached out towards her, but as soon as he was close to touching her the place went dark and a loud scream echoed down, he had a sudden fear that he would not survive more than a few more seconds, that the end of the tunnel was fast approaching and that he would die. However, his feet met ground and a sing;e whisper echoed, one that was everything yet nothing at once, from a single voice and from a thousand voices. He danced on a stage, alone and surrounded by faceless eyes.
His mind once more opened, the wings of a butterfly, colors of black and yellow and blue was all he could see, and beyond them he knew paradise. Tentatively he walked forward, but a weakness clutched at him and his knees fell and his body leaned forward, but instead of hitting the ground he once more fell, strange as he had thought he could not fall father than he had already. A farmer combed his hair was a rake, mistaking him for dirt. He sat up and shook the soil off of him and the man looked nonchalant, as if this happened all the time.
Then a bird of rainbow fell onto his cheek, and beauty fell from the sky, rotting onto the ground, the farmer gone. Then... Then...
"You've called death-- me."
The Archmage saw a skull and bony arms surrounded him, embracing him even as he screamed for freedom and tears picked at his eyes, the beauty he knew as life dying and writhing and struggling around him and he, screaming in horror as he was forced in a waltz with the man of skull and bones, the man who stroked his cheek with a bony finger with all the compassion of a lover and all the malice of a demon. The world spun and became colors again.
Then, he awoke and opened his eyes, finding himself on the floor of his room, his completely normal room. Wetness licked at his hair, urging him awake. Aeolus let out a confused snort and helped the boy get up, before motioning towards this stranger. Donovan was confused, mind still reeling from the latest vision. Who was this man? Ah, yes, he had requested the presence of this man. Wiping away a some drool from his lips and tears from his eyes, he smoothed down his clothing. "Welcome. I've come to ask you of these visions you claim to have?" He asked, formal and soft and not at all shaken by the horrors in his mind. His small hand patted a chair. "Come sit, tell me about them."
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Post by Endrit Iasael on Oct 3, 2010 15:00:09 GMT -5
There is only death in each breath, in each pause as the thoughts of consciousness sink deeper and deeper in the tragic ocean of his madness. There is no fire, here -- no stress, but that which he makes himself when he tries to remember. So he does not. Instead he watches in this silence, surrounded by the buffering currents that come and push him from one direction to the next. He floats, he lives, he breathes -- but every breath carries death, a noxious poison of his insanity which spreads like a plague. He will infect the world. Drii desires nothing, and yet he lives, his fingers clinging to a life he does not believe in. Why, why? Ghosts ask him the same; they open their mouths and scream their horrors as he watches in silence, without fear: indifference has carved itself deep in his bones.
Yet he is here, still, summoned, called -- his tongue in knots, the roof spinning 'round as children dance along the jagged edges. He loses himself in brown eyes and no longer sees true; there is a moment of silence, as the other's breath -- name, name, what was this name? He should remember, should know, had been told... but the name is long gone. His own is but an echo of knowledge, a lyrical threnody of death. Endrit. She had called his name, and he had merely watched -- waves rolled up and swallowed him, destroying the image before it could be fully formed.
What did he see? What did he feel? There is only numbness here, only a distancing of flesh and mind as he carves each chain with ruthless abandon. There is no need to feel. No need for anything -- but the motion of his determination. Drii does not remember where it came from: it has been part of him since before the blackness of his memory -- it is everything to him, the only certainty he has, and he will not be dislodged.
Is there pain as he watches the expression flicker, as the child speaks without speaking: his very posture singing loudly of pain. Drii opens his mouth, but only tastes it on the air: sweat and fear. Would the child burn? He sees shadows crawling over that face, and turns away. No point, no point -- his burning hazel eye, chartreuse with gold and greens so tight around the pupil, have shifted toward desk, toward the floor. These he sees, but does not comprehend. Emotions are stifling him: he withdraws even farther from the noise of the child's existence. Does he whimper in fear, or is it pain which twists that mouth? So quick, Drii is watching the creature as if the child no longer exists in his world of webbed colors and fractured prisms. One eye sees lies, the other, truths -- yet it is impossible to untangle them. Drii has no patience, no skill -- all that he had been was lost the moment he had been betrayed; lost again the moment he had taken a knife to his beasts' throat.
His fingers are sticky with blood; he looks down at them and only sees clean skin. Welcome. I've come to ask you of these visions you claim to have?
[/b] But the boy-child has not come anywhere. Words are muffled as if there is an ocean between them, and the child cannot speak the language of the crashing waves. He cannot see true -- or does not wish to see the broken threads that are held up by one, one little golden thread that connects him to Ealei. Ealei -- whom Drii does not even recognize as a creature of reality. Thoughts are grinding together, broken and shattered -- he picks them up and looks at the child through a cracked mirror of this terrible vision, through a world of dreams and falsifications. The sea trembles: Drii is stillness itself. Eye slipping to the side, he is caught by blue, by feathers and fur. Water and darkness, where once he had been fire. No smile, but a weighty twitch of his lips as his eye narrows, chin tilting to regard the creature come to it's master's bidding. Come sit, tell me about them.[/b] Lost, cast adrift, his thoughts without fluidity --- sound brings him back, brings that burning eye toward the child, the harbinger of death, angel of sin. The child beckons, as if he is a dog, but no malice surfaces to stifle the brightness of that eye; no resentment -- only an indifference as his body moves to adapt, to shift forward and sits in the chair; hair shifts back as the seat slips down -- a glimpse of that eye, but it catches and focuses so keenly on that sweet, small face before it is hidden again. He is asking questions -- and none of them are will you kill me? -- he is asking -- his voice is loud, too loud in his head, shattering, disturbing the waters. Speak, speak, he must -- he opens his mouth again, though there is doubt in his eyes, " What sea do you call me?" his lips turn down in disapproval, the keen intensity of his eyes turning inward, a light flickering out as the darkness comes to eat it. No, he must speak -- this is important. What does the boy want? Will he die? Yes, yes, it is always the way. Everyone will die -- Drii will make it so. So he tries again, working his tongue carefully over the words though instead of what he means to say, other words spill forward as if his tongue belongs to another creature altogether -- as if the tongue which speaks, is from the other side. " Order life -- save, I mean. But only death comes. I do. Kill. No, I ..." a pause as his fist clenches, his eye turning sideways to see the creature, to look into it's knowing eye -- why ask, when there are answers all around? " I don't burn." he says, looking into the creature's eyes as the world turns and the waters lap at his skin, welcoming him back down into the abyss of his subconscious. Alone, finally, finally. The creature's eye becomes the moon, and he's alright, alright when there is only himself here, only silence. Soon, soon -- and he hears children's laughter; his head whips around toward the door, but there is nothing there, only himself, tossed upon the shore. [/blockquote][/color][/size]
word count|| 1026
tags|| Donovan
OOC|| skidoosh ;3
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