This isn't your home—you'll never go there again—but the climate is familiar, the hot summer air thick with moisture. It's a stale sort of humidity, though, the kind that brings with it mildew and rot. Just enough to cover up the metallic smell of blood.
You could almost call it peaceful here, next to the clouded, still waters of the lake. A calm after a storm, perhaps. When you hear the intermittent screams of the dying, they're distant and quickly over. The overcast, smoke-choked sky casts everything in a soft greyish light. It'll rain soon; your scars always twinge when it's on its way.
Here in the quiet is where you like it best—no eyes on you, no crushing pressure squeezing at your heart. All thought slips away into the gentle undertow of Oblivion, your presence like a transparent shadow passing through the world.
Duty remains, though; you can't stay here forever. With a sigh, you pull your sword from the soft ground next to you that you planted it in, shaking off the dirt and blood still clinging. The blade is long and keen, and the dark surface glints with a shifting, oily sheen; it feels comfortable in your hand despite its heft. You're about to sheathe it when a sound catches your attention.
In the reeds, movement. You tilt your head, and step lightly across the ground; in your heavy armor, there's little need to be worried about surprises. Gently, you part the tall stalks along your path toward the source of the noise.
The man isn't much older than you, and he never will be; one leg is twisted at an awkward angle, and you know well enough what it sounds like when breath won't quite take. Curled in his arms is a small boy; his black hair is stuck with sweat to his face, but he doesn't stir at all.
"You—" the man bites out, his voice a wheeze. His eyes can't quite focus on you. "Please, whoever you are, have mercy... my brother..."
Gently, you smile, and nod—and then in one quick movement you drive the sword directly through his chest. He gives one last gasp of surprise, and then the light in his eyes fades as he joins his brother.
You sheathe your sword and bend to close his eyes just as the first drops of rain begin to fall.
Notable:
Shrike looks a little younger, but closer to her current appearance—her hair is stark white, and her skin is pale.
memory 002
You could almost call it peaceful here, next to the clouded, still waters of the lake. A calm after a storm, perhaps. When you hear the intermittent screams of the dying, they're distant and quickly over. The overcast, smoke-choked sky casts everything in a soft greyish light. It'll rain soon; your scars always twinge when it's on its way.
Here in the quiet is where you like it best—no eyes on you, no crushing pressure squeezing at your heart. All thought slips away into the gentle undertow of Oblivion, your presence like a transparent shadow passing through the world.
Duty remains, though; you can't stay here forever. With a sigh, you pull your sword from the soft ground next to you that you planted it in, shaking off the dirt and blood still clinging. The blade is long and keen, and the dark surface glints with a shifting, oily sheen; it feels comfortable in your hand despite its heft. You're about to sheathe it when a sound catches your attention.
In the reeds, movement. You tilt your head, and step lightly across the ground; in your heavy armor, there's little need to be worried about surprises. Gently, you part the tall stalks along your path toward the source of the noise.
The man isn't much older than you, and he never will be; one leg is twisted at an awkward angle, and you know well enough what it sounds like when breath won't quite take. Curled in his arms is a small boy; his black hair is stuck with sweat to his face, but he doesn't stir at all.
"You—" the man bites out, his voice a wheeze. His eyes can't quite focus on you. "Please, whoever you are, have mercy... my brother..."
Gently, you smile, and nod—and then in one quick movement you drive the sword directly through his chest. He gives one last gasp of surprise, and then the light in his eyes fades as he joins his brother.
You sheathe your sword and bend to close his eyes just as the first drops of rain begin to fall.
Notable: