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Registered: 06-2013
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Von'rah Dwin'mitore


     One eye saw darkness but felt grit and hard grass. Mouth tasted the texture of earth. Nose felt dirt, the smell slowly coming to mind as he opened his other eye. His body seemed to fight and regret waking. The weight of looking up took all of his energy. The smell of blood cut through the clay smell. His body was twisted and lay on the ground where it had fallen hard.

     It wasn't his arms that he noticed first. Feminine hands turned him over and he saw a silhouette that was washed out by blinding light. He felt a bandage wrapped around, heavy on his left side. She was speaking but the words left his mind just soon as they were heard. He only felt their tone as his eyes fought to shut. There was an urgency to her voice. She got him to sit up, and his whole body ached, bruised but not broken. He didn't remember getting to his feet but was on them. Again she spoke with an urgency. It might have been 'run'. He found himself moving forward, faster and uneven. Drooling to the side he felt the dirt in his mouth sharper. An unmistakable grit and taste. He spit to the side and didn't miss his clothes fully. The sight of blood drew his attention in it. His head far to willing to find any excuse to look down. He couldn't look away from the red on his white clothing. His feet were still moving forward as the enchantment of fading consciousness broke in the split second his head made contact with a tree. Looking up just in time to hit it square on.

     He was on his back at the next slow spinning blink. Torn between needing to run and wanting to rest. A creeping darkness fogged his mind and vision. Run. That warm, easy darkness held onto him, growing. His eyes shut. The feeling of dirt still in his mouth but the smell of blood and its taste had gone numb. The image of white hooves crossed his mind, pounding against the ground. He pushed to his feet in disgust of wanting to rest. Walking forward he continued, stopping only for what felt like a short time to lean and rest on a passing tree. The rush of blood in his head beat hard. Hooves.

     There was an outline of a city with stone walls. He saw a guard in armor who kept to his post. It was a distance away, but a human city. He could work with that most likely. He had come here for…

     His left hand shot to the side of his head and felt cold, wet, bandages that had soaked through. There was a stale coating to them, a shell that had dried in blood. More time had passed then he recalled. Just a quick rest then he would find out where he was. Just a quick rest. He kept telling himself that as his legs gave out and he sank against a tree. The dirt was damp, this place was covered from the sun. It would do. The back of his mind screamed to just keep going. The smell of earth held him to it and won the battle. It was not a peaceful rest that took him, but a slow one that pulled at a shameful feeling for giving in.

     He woke days later, leaves and natural litter had collected against and onto of him. His neck strained to move as he sat up. The weight of his head pulled at the stiffness of his shoulders and back. Small bugs skittered from his clothing as he moved. A dry tongue moved against the last of the dirt in his mouth. It didn't jar any memory, just the want to be clean of it. He moved a stiff shoulder, his fingers finding his lips, adding more dirt to it before managing to get them clean enough. Tired eyes returned to the walls he had seen. His left hand felt along the ground instinctually and pulled his spell book closer. The back of it was nearly torn off, held on only by chance and some decorative stitch work. The pages themselves shredded. Only a few towards the front had been spared. He pressed it together with shaking fingers. The cover was leatherwork made to look like wood. Something about it he knew was special to him. Nothing came to mind. He watched the book for longer then needed, not met with a reward of memory. Using his other arm he managed to stand and look around, lost. None of this felt familiar. Nothing.

     He leaned more behind a tree at the sound of passing voices. A name he picked up on called to him, but he did not know why. Avendel. That was right, the name of a city. A city he felt the need to go towards.

     Flipping open his book carefully he cast a spell to clean himself until he could find a place to bathe. At the least he would draw less attention. Humans were quick to notice weakness. His brow furrowed as his mind wandered down that path. He tucked his book away into his bag. He had a few gems on his person but no coin. That he knew he would need to change. He looked at the simple, shiny gems. Again, no memory of them. Nothing.

     He turned his attention to Avendel and started to walk.
6/11/2013, 6:33 pm Link to this post Send Email to TheOtherKip   Send PM to TheOtherKip Blog
 
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Re: Von'rah Dwin'mitore


     Avendel was still recovering from what had happened. A city half in ruin. He spent more time in the surrounding forests on the edge of town. Nothing felt quite right to be around.

     Talks with Sabella and Yvette. Mention of dancing. His mind pulled images of dancing white hooves and his brain spun. Usually he tried to focus on what he was seeing. No. This time he wanted it to pass quickly.

     Living almost fully in the present was taxing. Learning of different names for places, races, and people. He was far too slow for it, slower then he needed to be. It was strange how loss seemed to be following him. Memories, words, followers, company. It was not expected, not in this degree it had come. Even now, names he heard seemed to slip his mind.

     The elves, the Tu'atha, were seen as savage and rightfully so. There was an assertiveness in them he had not expected. Still thoughts of one speaking to him as he lay dying on the forest floor stuck in his mind. The words not as much unfortunately, but those wild and hate filled eyes. Not bitter but filled with bloodlust. The fight was too chaotic, and he was taxed far beyond his skill. He had been unable to speak with the dying elf. Regret hung in his heart, the body left in the forest as rocks were moved to block the way in. A chance lost to time. Something about that stuck with him. Something dark. Sad. He had fought against his kin, and not lightly.

     He had a need to return to the Shadowpine. Not for the portal. Not that he expected the body to remain, particularly after seeing how quickly others rotted once they fell. Wisps and whispers of Wormrot. He wanted it to be different, so badly there was an ache to return and see reality from hope.


------------------


A memory shared.

     Fire claimed them. A story written on fabric made into dresses for a dance to be done around the viewer. Fire claimed them before it was finished. The last page made into a scarf. He remembered seeing it worn, but not the face of who wore it. His eyes shut as he listened to the sounds of Vera writing and faint conversations, the taste of honey hung on his tongue.

      He made his way to Bodkin fully for the first time. He had wanted to walk to know the land between there and Avendel, but the bearbeaks had been too much, and with the recent problems his planned guides were likely to not cross her stone walls.

     The driver knew his way well and they arrived quickly. On arrival he had expected stronger fortifications with how others spoke of Bodkin. He wasn't fully disappointed to see it as it truly was. It was relaxing, and made clear why those that lived here were more defensive. Their strength was more in the people who lived here, rather then the buildings. He moved to a gathering spot. Aoibhin seemed unwell, the caustic drink she was nursing didn't help dissuade that notion.

      He was too tired to speak with her on such matters. A bitter smile rose to his lips as he could not recall having ever needed to rest this much. Not recalling the last time he ever had to before arriving on the island. He was starting to meet people enough to recognize them at times. The call of the trees was too much and he quietly left the well made fire, heading off to think more. Unwanted but needed sleep took him quickly once he was alone.


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      It was a kiss that brought back no memory. Something taken in a bold moment and unexpected. The nothing that followed it in his mind only gave sorrow. Not even a flicker of the past. He held still hoping it was just slow. Time went on. Nothing. His company seemed to be having a good and casual night. It was something his heart had needed, a change of thought and a bit of a game. They sat by water and spoke a bit, Androcles had a blunt but honest sense of humor. Even if he was human, he had missed seeing someone smile. His thoughts flashed back to someone who swore they never would. As Androcles left to go about his business, thoughts started to return to that memory as he walked, the sun rising higher in the sky. It was interrupted as he passed two he knew and started to talk.

     He let his feelings and frustrations be known as he spoke. A situational anger of things. And in talking he knew he wasn't alone in spirit, only goal.
6/19/2013, 5:20 am Link to this post Send Email to TheOtherKip   Send PM to TheOtherKip Blog
 


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