I lost. She is gone. The sudden realization gripped his heart and the pain of such a loss near ripped it from his chest. How could this happen at such a time? He had once, a while ago at a special moment in the past, asked her to promise that she be there after the war. Be here…he thought as his clouded eyes gazed at his empty land that now looked so wanton and colorless. He had asked, with his soul in his outstretched hands; his bare everything exposed clearer than flesh; but never had she answered. She was not thus a liar to make an oath that later would be forgotten. She just…didn’t answer. And now here Shadmar stood with the pain in his eyes and his soul so exposed once again. There was no use hiding the tremendous influence of this loss. At the thought, his anger flared. How could this beast, this warhorse who never fails to slaughter an enemy, win any battle and fight every odd, when in his weakest area he be struck so frail and beaten that it seemed his life was crushed within his very body?! How could he ever be so foolish to willingly give himself like he had? If only he’d kept himself under control and away from love, he wouldn’t feel like he did now. But wait, he was no longer that warhorse. He had failed to overcome an enemy, though he had given twice what his opponent had. What more could he possibly do?
Gazing down, the momentary frustration gone, the mustang stallion dropped his guard and with heaving sides, stood locked in a state of anguish. Words cannot describe it. They can barely grasp the feel that one requires to know true depth, and in this case, the sincerity of his heartbreak. What had he done? With what atrocious manner had he disgusted her or…what had he done to deserve this? Neither the devil or God could punish him so severely, nor torment him so spectacularly as this one lady had. Love, his ears flicked back at the thought, love is either a tonic or a poison. They say time heals all wounds, but that is foolish. Guilt or loss can bring one to death, and that my people, is not a mending solution. So many feelings can rot the inside of someone till nothing remains but an empty shell. Right now, the Raider felt as though his world was over, and that it truly was, more than he could ever imagine. Things were ending. His life here was unraveling swiftly.
Here I am, This is the last of me. So far from what I was, So blind to what I ever would be.
Everything he formally knew and was familiar with was vacant now; a vivid memory whereas parts would fog and fade, but others would be vibrant as fresh ink upon paper. This was the splitting point where one junction was now ended and another begun. There was no going back. Time merely cannot allow it and though Shad wanted to cling to every memory of Diamond of the Moon as if it were the only thing keeping him alive, he knew he had to let her go along with that previous stage of life. Everything has its time and in this we constantly shift, whether gradually or in sweeping bounds. He had to get over it, but mourning was the last step to seal the letter. Then, their time together would be over.
Trembling with cold produced by his own body, feeling numb to every sense but upon his open wounds sorely rubbed by every wretched emotion, ShadmarXRaider quietly stumbled further into his home, Silver Tree. Was everything to be taken away?! Quit fooling yourself. Silver Tree is a wanton memory, it’s useless. Pathetic! How could he deliberately con himself? No, he was not in the peaceful cathedral of towering forest pillars. He was in this desolate and godforsaken pit called North Versants. Such a name left his tongue dry and revolted. Silver Tree was long gone now, and with it his former life. His former everything. He was nothing more than a crazed lunatic, good for nothing, trying to breathe life into something long dead and gone. Green eyes blazing, he lashed his head to the side as he surveyed the ugly landscape. Such a ludicrous comparison it was to the previous sanctuary he had known. Now the realms all had the same names, hardly shuffled by directions of a compass. What creativity it took to do something like that. His anger was running away with him, and gone too was any trace of the old Shadmar. But why shouldn’t he change? The rest of the world was doing a fantastic job of flipping everything he loved into a little wh*rehouse. He wondered what was next. Seriously, what else could possibly be taken away now? Perhaps the skin off his body? He could hardly be surprised if someone came to flail it from his flesh. And you know what? At the moment he wouldn’t give a damn. He had given everything; put his full effort into the war. What was he repaid with? A lazy judgment that hadn’t the wits or intellect to decipher everything he had offered. Just because their capacity was so diminutive, why should he pay the price? Like it mattered now. No, it only mattered to Shadmar. No one else could give a rat’s a**. No one else had the ability to understand, except Soldier. To hell with everyone else. They’re so good at damning others and this time Shad could care less about being tolerant of their rash idiocy.
x[ . Let them boil in their own blood . ]x
The JadeRaider walked like a soul from a hundred years past, searching the realm in a dead body but not recognizing anything around him. He hardly saw anything. His stomach was empty and churning, but it stimulated no desire to eat within his brain. His head scarcely reached above shoulder level and in this pathetic state he wandered. His steps tread slowly and dragged across the uneven earth. Legs became stiff and jaunt with his motions and consistently he stumbled. Never hesitating or giving it a first thought, he’d gather himself and walk on. Though he was surviving at this point, he wasn’t alive. Passion makes one truly live and this he did not attain. He was a canvas that once was splashed with vibrant color, but now water had flooded the hues into a running mottle of drab colors. His clearly painted life was now obscured and repulsive to the eye. Every minute he saw Moon’s enchanting Arabian countenance instead of the landscape before him. He knew every single detail upon her perfectly etched face and wished his eyes could lavish it once more, if even for a second. With his ears he heard her soft laughter echo throughout the empty forest. Her voice was smooth and captivating as she’d gaze at him with large blue eyes. His skin, it felt the warmth of her breath from her velvet nostrils and delicate touch that he had grown to love and yearn for. Her porcelain body hypnotized him, the silver sheen dancing before his gaze. This he remembered as if she were with him; the continuance of pain reoccurring in waves as he knew that she was not, each sapping more and more strength from his being.
He’d give anything; his life; to be with her. But even death could not bring them together this time. Though his gratefulness was true for her being alive, he wished that things could be another way. He did not want to lose something so beautiful, something he’d barely had the chance to love. Shad’s affection pleaded for the chance to show her how great his passion was and how much she meant to him. He could prove himself to be good enough, though he was half the person she was. If only he’d get the opportunity to beg her to love him back…but it wouldn’t make a difference. She had left, with all knowledge in mind. She had known what would happen in her absence but denied him a life together. But had she known how much he loved her? Guilt struck him as he pondered whether he had ever communicated his great attachment. Was it faulty reasoning that could bring this tragic decision of hers to reality? He had done something wrong, but where and how he did not know and over this he cried without tears or voice. Neither could displace the depth of sadness to which he had fallen.
Could I really prove that I’m good enough? The mustang horse’s teeth clenched. Could I really? Could I?! His thoughts screamed in his mind, rage burning in the marrow of his bones. His legs began shaking as he summoned will to move them forward. He was nothing anymore. What a wretch he was! One who couldn’t win his battles or control his own mind... He was the laughing stock now. What could be more embarrassing than giving your everything only to fail in front of everyone? He’d so grandly made a fool of himself for trying confidently. It made him wonder. Had he been judged against for the sake of his expecting a victory? Just to prove him wrong? Oh but there’s no making sense of a dupe. Of course anyone can dumb down their words to make it more readable! Who can’t? Anyone can make sentences for the simple minded. But how? How could this happen; to say that they were nearly even? Is it really that difficult to summon brain power and decipher with what takes very little intellect and low amounts of intelligence, a battle that allowed months of time to be judged?! How grateful Shad was that he is not so pitiable as that! He’d hang himself by the neck should he bend to such low levels. To be indolent to that extent would make him cower beneath rocks where he would deserve should he be that way.
Fuming, Shadmar felt his head grow hot and skin tingle with sweat. He’d grown to hate this little world he was stuck in and curse it to hell, but he had not the strength to do it. Everything he cared about was lost. What should have been his greatest talent, his most exercised strength was all failure. The author’s literature was skimmed over at best. How? How can you rightly judge something if you don’t even take the time or consideration to fully weigh the words and actions? Of course it’d be difficult to understand if you didn’t even attempt to let the words take you, or even see them! How could you call yourself leadership when you don’t attempt effort? It’s not children’s books we’re playing with. Shad had endeavored to design an intellectual level of reasoning and thinking, but God forbid anyone should try thinking! Shaking his head with disgust, the grulla stallion then lost balance, tripped over a root and fell broadside against the coarse bark of a tree. He grunted as he slid down, finally laying distastefully upon the ground, his legs placed uncomfortably beneath him with the stinging of the bark down his side. He felt old. As if his weight was too much to carry, frail as his bones seemed. He had walked this tedious venture since he arrived home the day before. The sun was overhead but dulled by lifeless clouds, their skeletons stretching across the sky in broken drifts. Blood from the fight was dried to a darkened red and plastered on his skin, spiking his hair wherever it had flown. Dust clung also and took the shine from his grulla coat. He looked drab brown; his wounds strewn darkly about. A voice kept repeating in his head, I lost. I lost.
I failed..
It was agonizing. The repetition of the words drummed stronger than his heartbeat, pounding a headache into his head. So many questions pleaded at his heart but the only answer was, I failed. He did. And it had been spectacular. In a sense he felt that he had won, that his efforts were so much more and there was the evidence of his eyes to tell him that he had succeeded. His green eyes had seen what they had seen and there was no questioning it. But at the same time, none of it mattered. It was said that he was defeated, and so it was. But more so he was destroyed, by himself more than anything else. This damage was too much. He had the nagging feeling that it hurt so badly because he felt it unfair. He felt that it was the most exemplary taste of poor judgment he’d ever witnessed. But of course he felt that way. He was the one who lost. And he kept reminding himself of that over, and over, and over.
The minutes ticked by with monotony. But the stallion still lay crumpled against the tree, his soul slowly dying inside his weakening body. He felt that time was slower than ever, dragging itself by. Yet he couldn’t rise. Minutes turned into an hour, one hour into two. His burning eyes stared bleakly, once in awhile feeling momentary relief from his eyelids. His leg twitched as he gazed ahead sightlessly, staring into the world he had once known but not seeing the one really before him. It was almost better that he be in this dementia, rather than his raw heart being exposed to this hell hole of reality. There was nothing left for him here. He blinked. He almost felt a slight flicker of hope, like a dwindling flame struggling to breathe in an airless atmosphere. There was only s**t here, but what of elsewhere? Could he possibly regain some faith for the future in a place not as damned as this? Dreams of the wild! How preposterous. This is only a place of chains and derided visions. Apparitions of what should be danced in the black, haunting hurt souls that relished pain. Oh but don’t peace and justice sound haunting when you are so far gone in your own sinful lifestyle? True good makes you cower and feel ashamed of what you enjoy daily in your perverse manners, mostly because you know the unwillingness to change that harbors in your being. The land is no longer free here. Leaving nightmares of the wild sounded promising, it sounded like the only shred of chance he had remaining.
Hopefulness left him as he began thinking of the wasteland he was stuck in. It was a twilight zone and he felt hate flood over him more clearly than ever before. He despised every dream he had ever had here. Slipping back into a vengeful state, Shadmar bared his teeth and felt his jaws grind. He loathed it. He hated it! Xcidra… Slowly he relaxed his muscles and closed his eyes, thinking deeply about his previous home, his beginning. It was a beautiful place. Though war had been wrought, the pure had won and returned the holy light back to the land. His mother and father…his brother and sisters….his sanity still remained in tact there. Sighing, Shad then took a deep and refreshing breath. He knew that Xcidra had peace. But he wasn’t there. Instantly his body tensed and tremors shook through him as he remembered where he was, and how desperately he abhorred it.
Hate…
Hate…
Hate…
Screaming, his shrill voice pierced into the air and wavered as he released every breath within his lungs. Hate is a soul-devouring disease and it feasted on him now. He thought of the one he despised and it filled his stomach with maggots. He stared at the land he was trapped in and his eyes began to bleed. Shaking his head and struggling to pull himself out of the crazed state of mind, the Raider tried to still his trembling body. Most of all, he fought to rip himself away from the violence he was consumed by. You love it don’t you? Is this easy enough to read? But this is what the dreams of the wild are around here. They’re visions of grotesque pleasure. People just love feeding their eyes with graphic words; they relish nonsensical rhymes or ridiculous attempts at evil. You need to die. I want to shred your face. Shadmar’s eyes became bloodshot. In his veins flowed infections and puss crusted on his wounds. His hide was ragged and his hair shed in clumps. He was no longer Shadmar. This, was Black Saint emerging. Wiggle little worm. I feel your bones cracking in my hands. Black Saint wanted death. He thirsted for it. Everyone should die. It would be great…change that. It would be amazing to see everyone writhing, mutilation and gore strewn about, all over himself, as Black Saint would reign. Fear would slither in his name and poison the ears of those who heard it. Relish death, you skinless carrion. I despise your existence as your blood slides down my throat. The forceful shaking escalated into spasms. Shadmar cried out in pain and horror as Saint’s form grew within his own and then began eating over his flesh. His muscles covered over with thick dirty gray hair and his limbs stretched in length and mass. Shad’s wailing voice faltered with agony as an overpowering baritone bellow began screaming louder. Come out, come out. I want you to see this; the ones you love being dismembered. A quivering light vibrated around him as his face contorted and twisted with disgusted pleasure. The new skin crawled over his body, finally reaching his eyes. They bulged and blood trickled out the sides as the piercing green faded, retina and iris alike overcome with a cold glossy black. The tiny veins inside wiggled as they turned red and swelled. Screaming; the stallion’s voice drummed deep with seething hate, gurgling with blood in the back of his throat and hoarse over his parched tongue. He pulled himself up on cracked hooves and stood, breathing deeply with his ribbed sides. His long tangled mane played on a stale breeze and for a moment in the horrifying transformation, he stood motionless. Then, his fanged teeth bared in a malicious grin. He had won. Shadmar, the pitiable little rat was gone. Now, my cruelties will repay deeds I have yet to gratify, he thought as his sunken eyes narrowed while staring around him. Follow, crows, you beautiful scavengers. Feast on the rot my evil will feed you.
Black Saint thrashed his tail as a shadow slithered around his splintered hooves. He saw the apparitions, slipping behind trees and floating in the corners of his eyes. “You dubious little cowards!” The beast snapped as he flung his head around, shaking as the visions slipped behind his sight once again. Oh how he loathed them! They terrified his movements and haunted his back, but he enjoyed them also. Fear was exhilarating, and the distorted shapes reminded him of the madness he both despised and adored. Trembling in anger, he turned his attention yet again to what he could destroy. He saw the tree to his side, the one that Shadmar had fallen against. That sick place still stunk of hopelessness and forfeit. His soul jumped in his chest as Saint flung himself at it, parting his jaws to maul the bark with jagged teeth. His hooves scraped long gashes into the wood as he shredded its side. Splinters stuck into his gums and scarlet liquid stained his mouth. Backing away with unsatisfied glee, he felt the pain in his mouth and saw his gore on the tree. Delighted at his work and angered by his inflictions, he threw his head and burned hotter with madness. “Look at what this did to me,” Black Saint mumbled, suddenly upset. “The tree…it bloodied me!” His voice gained volume until his last words were shrieked into the air. He wailed loudly, shrouded in his pain. Suddenly quieted from his cries, the disfigured creature stumbled a couple feet, gazing noiselessly around. It looked as though he was concentrating…sensing something. His detest smelled a beating heart, and he knew it to be close. He felt it pulsing steadily, and he felt the rancid taste of love.
Love, my heart’s desire…to mutilate.
His lip twitched as he consumed the scent, building his resentment. The life this being carried was strong, he could feel it. Come closer, so I can eat your soul …His mind repeated. I must crush you. I must turn your passion to hate . Black Saint suddenly looked up and his eyes feasted on the target he so sensitively felt. It was a buckskin stallion. This last living thing the grulla maggot loved; he had no one else. He had been abandoned by his lover, cheated by his leader, and forced from his home. This stallion was his cherished ally… my enemy . This, was one of the last steps to destroying Shadmar entirely. It’s time to eat, ugly demons.
*******
Total w.c. 3 525 Motivation(s) This is…interesting to say the least. I’ve never had this much motivation behind my rp before. It’s easy when you’ve got all the feelings you’re writing about. I’m glad this was turned into a plot, rather than just destroying my characters. It’s a weird experiment, letting my mood control where my writing goes instead of the usual vice versa. Comment(s) Have at it buddy! *hugs* Playlist(s) Enya [Tempus Vernum] . Medwyn Goodall [Behold The Darkness] . Tan Dun [For The World] Quote(s) none
Black Saint stood completely motionless, legs locked to the earth like a statue upon its stone alter. Though he was so still, it looked painful. His black glazed eyes stared into Soldier, deep past the skin. In this moment he began breathing heavily, struggling to stay his place. He wanted so badly to murder. Not kill, but murder. Oh but there’s no other feeling like slaying an innocent life, feeling the delicate pulse quiet and then fall to an unnatural silence. He hungered to feel his teeth slice skin and pour out entrails upon his tongue. But that was only half the fun. Delight would woo him with the sinking feeling of punishment. Having wronged a life past reversal to an undeserved punishment, he would be inflicted with deplorable anguish; it was dreadful past the point of hope…and altogether stimulating. Saint had every urge to unleash his full hatred upon this worm and crush even the smallest bone in his body that made him stand so tall and confident. “Heathen…” The disfigured stallion mumbled, ignoring the demand momentarily as he took a stiff step forward. “Heathen?” He questioned, his eyes began growing larger, lids pulling back and revealing the bloodshot white of his eyeballs. They opened until they bulged, stinging with the strain. He exclaimed pathetically, “But I am a faithful disciple! I adore my lord, I let him beat me and bludgeon my body. I hail satan with my very soul. Long live the father of hate,” he recited the verse devotedly. Secretly his thoughts spiraled. You, accuse me of disloyalty toward a god, when I am more faithful than you. Your maggot of a prince lets me suffer…He watches the world burn! A silent grin slithered onto his repulsive countenance and with projecting eyes still wide, he began heckling. His voice cracked with laughter, each breath drawn in noisily as he fell into a fit of mockery. Saint let his head rise and fall in an unnatural way as he heaved, similar to the manner of vomiting. His laughs eventually receded into troubled chortles of pain. Internally his body convulsed, due to the vexed position of his twisted spirit. Quieting again, Saint let his eyelids droop lazily, as if he were weary. Then his pernicious voice lowered dramatically with the tones of being in a trance. As if wearing a mask, he privately despised how Soldier had commanded him. He wished to rebel but forced by the despicable authority of virtue, submitted. “He has become what he feared greatest. He hates you, don’t you know?” A certain sympathy came across the trace of his vocals and his gaze softened. He knew Soldier wouldn’t believe him, because he knew the stallion as well as Shadmar had. So he confirmed his statement with more verification. “Who one is, is their choice. Your God granted free will.” His tone became harsh as he spit the last phrase. An emptiness came into his eyes at the mentioning of the enemy, but he gathered himself and carried on. “Shadmar left you willingly, and cursed you. So you see,” Saint’s face was a picture of guiltlessness before the accuser. “I did nothing.”
His pictured countenance remained as the thick bodied stallion’s hooves moved forward, drawing closer and closer to Soldier. As he did so, the air he pulled into his lungs began burning. It surged down his neck, as if scratching the inner walls of throat. He swallowed the pooling blood in his mouth in hopes it would soothe the aching. But his head began pounding. Pain rippled through his brain and he wished his cranium would just crack and get it over with. It was agonizing; the love that surrounded the confidant of Shadmar. Though it was choking, Black Saint stalked closer. Legs dragging limp as if the tendons had been cut, he slunk nearer and soon began a wide circle around his enemy. His hate was not strong enough to bring him much closer…not yet, and he knew it. Summoning his energies into warped thoughts and having depleted the available tactic of hate, he switched to another practice.
Swiftly, his awakened eyes began darting over Soldier’s fine conformation, diving deep into abnormal fantasies. He longed to touch it and sought the completion of proximity between them. Flaunting his voice with only a minute amount of perceptive attraction, he whispered, “Such a pity. I don’t know why he’d leave something so…appealing.” He halted behind Soldier and the sensual reverie screamed a hundred perversions into his mind. Oh how sodomy did the trick! It was sickening the way he felt the erotic nature. Depravity slays any threatening morals and strengthens twisted concepts. Feeling exhilarated and all the more delirious, Saint began salivating as he stared. Blood from his earlier tantrum mixed with his drool as he began slinking around the circle once again. His focus was spinning with wanton cravings when suddenly he stopped, his entire being completely blank. It looked as if he’d been shut off when suddenly his unblinking gaze darted to Soldier. He felt hate prickle the hair on his withers and down his spine. A momentary panic struck him as he felt this new abhorrence. It was not his own. He flashed his tail and side-stepped, wary as if a being was beside him. He could feel the internal anger of the JadeRaider flaring. Perversity had always been a deep disgust to the pure warrior, and now a holy fury livened his spirits. The pain was one that Saint could not stand. Instead of death and decay, it was a healing that threatened to cover his open and bleeding immoralities. It challenged to regress his faults into the flawless creature he had once been. His blank stare at his adversary boiled into a dangerous aggression blurred with worry. Shoving down the virtuous impulses, he snarled and snapped viciously. His jagged dog-like teeth gleamed in the dull moonlight, their yellow stains darkened by the horrifically murky night. His shadowed face resembled the way Shad’s black features used to be, only now there was sin and not seclusion within the complexion. His massive body gave off a dull glow, like the faintest light of a ghost before the glistening gold of the buckskin horse. The second being exceptionally conformed while the first was distorted more by spirit than structure. “Where is the tree, with limbs of silver and leaves like morning frost?!” The beast demanded, his voice screaming with antagonism. He was aware that Soldier knew exactly what he spoke of. It was the Silver Tree, the vision of hope and tranquility. It was the key to peace…the last remaining hope of reviving ShadmarXRaider.
More worry overcame Black Saint’s face and he stressed visually. His distress downcast the entirety of his appearance. “I can’t…” he muttered almost inaudibly. I have come so far to be what I am. I have every formidable power. His mind portrayed the thoughts to anyone that watched closely. He was afraid to change. This is what he knew. But he despised being this way. The torments rose anew with every night and at this point, his soul would be handed to severe punishment. There was no turning back…but Saint hoped. “Perhaps then,” he spoke softly, his apprehensive eyes glancing to Soldier’s and then falling away in shame, “I might be cured of the demon I have become.” His tones reflected those of Shadmar for a mere second and then vanished. Hesitation filled the moment as the dreadful beast relaxed passively, his head held at mid-level how the JadeRaider often stood. He rested in desperation but not without self-respect. Even in this state he would not allow one to look down on him, though he was weak with despairing. He was pleading with Soldier, for the chance to become righteous once again, the last chance he would ever have.
*******
Total w.c. 1311 Motivation(s) The insanity of this plot Comment(s) whoot. Saint is a disturbed little child. xD Playlist(s) Enya [Tempus Vernum] . Disturbed [Perfect Insanity] . House of Flying Daggers Remix [Flower Garden] Quote(s) none
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