Post by Jerevan Languorem on Aug 14, 2011 0:32:32 GMT -5
Daenien stood at the gate of the cemetery, staring in quietly. After a few seconds of this, he dusted off his sleeves and entered, wondering what the hell he was doing. He hadn't visited his father in years, convincing himself it was because of the distance between his current and previous homes and the graveyard of the village he'd been born in, so why pay respects here, in a graveyard so far away? He sighed slightly. "Sentimentality..." he murmured quietly, glancing around.
He didn't exactly feel nervous in here, but there was something vaguely off about this place, all the same. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. That, of course, sent superstitions flying, but he shook them off quietly. He began moving deeper in, finally, looking for a tombstone with no name.
I turned its head to look at her, a single bright eye glaring down, piercing her heat.
Dos zhaun naubol d'numl'esstu. It turned away, looking at the sky.
Vel'drav dos inbal noamuth rilbol dos mir d'anthe, yutsu lu'Usstan orn zao dos l'iklnig d'zakathin gorga.
------------------------------------------------------------- The Scarecrow nodded.
That is his? She nodded to the jawbone.
And it is important to you. A focus. She extended a gloved hand, not demandingly, but questioningly.
Let me see.
--------------------------------------------------------------- There were many tombstones with no name. It seemed that the elements were unkind here. He would have to be more specific.
Daenien realized he'd been walking in circles for a bit. Was his father's grave a mausoleum, or a headstone? A large statue, or a simple plaque?
Last Edit: Aug 14, 2011 7:31:50 GMT -5 by Skulldon
Of all the graveyards in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.
Post by Jerevan Languorem on Aug 14, 2011 10:16:12 GMT -5
Daenien sighed, thinking for a moment. It had either been a headstone or a plaque... He couldn't remember quite right. He hadn't paid for it, and he'd only visited it once. Either way, he was almost certain it would be worn down quite a bit now. He didn't really think anyone would have bothered to repair it. His father hadn't been a much-loved figure, except perhaps by the bartender who he kept rolling in coin.
Post by Sabalae'lochan Do'afin on Aug 14, 2011 13:00:44 GMT -5
This stranger was starting to creep her out immensely. Sabalea'lochan took a step back at his words. In her mind death was a part of life and there was no need to grieve over it and the despair it brought.
And what, stranger, shall I do if I never feel despair you talk about?
Scarecrow took the jawbone, cradling it in her hands. She put it on the ground gently and wiped away the leaves, leaving a large patch of sandy, dry dirt.
Closer to the ground, closer to where he lays. Be glad this is an actual piece of him.
She drew a circle around the bone with her finger and sat in the dirt in front of it, head down. Suddenly the line in the dirt glowed a deep purple, flaring up and engulfing the jawbone in purple flames. It grew and grew, becoming a flame the size of a small campfire, burning a bright purple. A shape in the flames took form, that of a crouching, wolfish beast, staring at Zaedus with narrowed eyes. The Scarecrow tilted her head back, and spoke in a voice that was not her own, one that Zaedus recognized. Brother...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- The figure stood up, facing away from Sabalea, his arms outstretched.
Not only would you lose the will to live, you would lose the will to keep dead. You would be separated from all you know, doomed to walk this tiny patch of earth, one that shuns and hates you, one that is so different than the resting places of your forefathers. Even now, my torment is raging....the world itself mocks my misfortune. These cursed...monuments to the dead remind me I am not welcome. He sighed.
To be finished of my work...to be buried as befitting a Drow and my faith...would be release...
Daenien seemed to remember the way, or come across it by accident. Before him stood the humble headstone of his father, plain in every possible meaning of the word. Even the decay seemed to have slowed on it out of sheer boredom.
Of all the graveyards in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.
Post by Jerevan Languorem on Aug 14, 2011 15:00:59 GMT -5
Daenien sighed slightly, kneeling down before the headstone. "Hello father, you old bastard..." he murmured. "How's the afterlife treating you?" He didn't really expect an answer, of course. He wanted to visit his father's grave and get the guilt off his shoulders once and for all.
I was a playright, a musician. My caravan was burned to the ground because of the local's xenohobia and fear. Everyone I knew perished. I was the only one who saw our murderer.
Shadows arose around Sabalae. They moved in circles between the gravestones.
My music was spurned, cut short. My symphony, dashed. A hundred years of effort, wasted. The curtain...called, too early.
Of all the graveyards in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.
Post by Jerevan Languorem on Aug 14, 2011 23:01:08 GMT -5
Daenien whipped around, causing him to stumble and fall. Cursing, he got back to his feet. Upon seeing the speaker, he blanched visibly. Control yourself! It's a skeleton, not the bloody grim reaper! He gulped slightly. "Oh? I'm sorry to hear that." He truly did hate his father, but even so after the words left his mouth he winced. Not the thing to say at all, especially if this creature knew him...
B..Baelzor.....I...I seek guidance from you brother.....As you know my exile was due to your death...the high Shamans, and.....Father...deemed that i was no longer apart of the clan unless I can prove to them that I am worthy to take your place as High Warlord. I seek your guidance, and help brother....help me redeem myself, and put you at rest.
The Scarecrow glared for a moment, the fire reaching her eyes. They were still glass buttons, but Zaedus could feel the familiar glare of his brother. She got up on her haunches, like the wolf in the fire, matching its pose. Redemption...you seek forgiveness, Zaedus, not redemption...one flows from the other. Grief, guilt, they blind you, make you weak. His brother's voice growled. Justified guilt, brother. I don't need to remind you what you did. I see it in your eyes. You relive it at night. Exactly as you should be. This...bitch called me here to talk to you, but talk I cannot. Only pain here, brother. Only suffering. There was a pause after he insulted the Scarecrow, but he growled and continued.
What would you be willing to do to cleanse yourself in our clan's eyes? My eyes?
Last Edit: Aug 15, 2011 13:34:53 GMT -5 by Skulldon
Of all the graveyards in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.
Post by Jerevan Languorem on Aug 15, 2011 11:18:31 GMT -5
"I heard that bit, yes. Just because I came to pay my respects to him doesn't mean I wish him well." He scowled. "That bastard almost killed me more times than I can count, whether with overwork or with beatings he delivered when he was rolling drunk, or both." He resisted the urge to spit on the grave. That would likely be going a bit too far.
Post by Sabalae'lochan Do'afin on Aug 15, 2011 11:38:56 GMT -5
Amazement and wonder glowed on her face. Such a beautiful piece of music deserving much more praise then it was given. Sabalae'lochan had no words for this music, it was one of he most fantastic things she had ever heard.