no time { raven vs. finley } day 8
Apr 13, 2018 15:34:52 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 13, 2018 15:34:52 GMT -5
Set your dreams
where nobody hides
Give your tears
to the tideGolden-edged skies fall and brings along with it, the firmament above and the shards of my mosaicked heart. Our curses departed eclipse and apotheosized, reaching a crimson pinnacle. Her blood was shed, a holy burial inched nearer and I fathomed it to be mine, even pictured the silver possessing every inch of this lambskin.
My tide of life had risen but light’s breaking apart at the seams of horizon ahead; it was the hour of descent. The sands of time had cascaded out – the hourglass’s falling towards a finale. I caressed the ski pole within scabbed fingers, paid my gratitude, and readied it for one last, fleeting dance with Ripred.
Then the Earth below suddenly cried; the air impregnated by the distant boom of a cannon, taste of scattered gunpowder and old copper on bruised tongue.
Somewhere, a seraph chanted lamentations – and the sun attempted to devour itself, for a miracle had been smoldered out. Bella Rose’s silhouette became one with the shadows, and dispersed, carrying the sense of home in its untimely departure.
And, through realization and shock that turned my river of flushed blood to tributaries of ice, I gathered the minutiae;
The holy burial was Bella Rose’s.
After scavenging through her array of items and trinkets, an index finger drag itself through the snow – drawing a circle around Bella’s resting form, something complete and ceaseless for a never-ending energy. About the cornucopia was a boneyard before, but now it’s been ritualized to a sacred ground upon which a hearth spilled her blood.
The world’s soundless, save that ghastly howl of wind and the snow’s discreet pitter-patter on ground. It’s the hour of mourning and grievance. There’s a sense of intimacy in air, some personal energy that forces me to usher myself elsewhere – anywhere.
I discover a den for one near the stone-building, below what was once windows but had been reduced to scarlet craters that grant vision to a darkness. Brusquely, hands throw on Bella’s ski suit upon this body, a second skin of some sorts which immediately brings synthetic warmth. Fingers secure the ski goggles over hollow eye-sockets that are darkened by a deep-rooted exhaustion of both body and soul. And, for the pile of armor, I burrow them within the cage of my arms.
The moment I lay on ivoried snow, back supported by the stone wall of the structure behind, night’s already seized the sky above.
There’re new stars tonight, new sets of constellations which scintillate with a promise – of home, of a safe return. But, the twin moons dangling overhead, carbon-copied scars and grey, bathe the horizon in moonshine that looms like silvery premonitions.
Suddenly, a flash of holographic lights explode and the snow below trembles before the horns are blared.
It’s the anthem.
The opening image’s caused by my trembling fingers and a miracle disguised as silver. Bella glows in Technicolor and the moment she flickers away, I realize that she’d taken Ten along with her. A final essence of Caine; and I’d struck down her as if lightning.
The next is the boy from Four – Dymas. There’s no memories to evoke of him, but he was Bella’s companion throughout this ring of violence. Darkness sits – and then a kaleidoscopic colors before another one of the lost children are projected onto dark skies.
Eyes fall on the dark threads first – which brown circles register as a color akin to Aeson Kight’s and, for a split second, the flower of hope cracks its soft petals. But those eyes, they whisper volumes of untold stories; it’s not him.
No.
Violet Salazar’s visage is a soft hologram against the dying light, bleeding azure colors throughout clouds and scorching an aperture in there. “Who?” Breathing out wisps of white, the question goes – at her waning countenance. “Who killed you, Violet?” There’s the same tragedy in these whispered syllables that the arena’s brimful of.
Thoughts retrograde, back to that carriage from Seven, where Violet sat hypnotized. A dynasty held upon her back; she was an empress, a Salazar. I didn’t want her fade away, some twisted form of selfishness didn’t want her to fade away – because then, even if I meet my demise, there’s another set of wrecked bones and scabbed skin to carry forth the emerald banner of Seven. Now, it’s just Raven Sayer, dressed in rags and heartbreak.
Band-aided skin and pastel-kissed bruises, I stage valor even though there’s fright beneath this skin.
The wolf from Two takes the skies next; Aeson’s supposed lover. When set in comparison with that nameless beast, she was a tender whiteout – even if Mercy’s blood was spilled by the jagged head of her silver. Now, the bet’s settled, justice’s served and whatever I decide to do, it is for a private vendetta, some blood grudge that these veins crave for.
A one-boy crusade against beast.
Dreams are of an extraneous land; strange fancies which bleed out to become ghosts. But, day breaks – and brings along with it, an energy that jolts exhausted bones awake, hauling them out of weariness.
I suppose color’s returned to my cheeks, which have been frost-kissed to a shade of crimson since the prologue. A feline stretch makes an exhausted skeleton creak in response to it.
Only four walks this frozen landscape, Three who must be devoured whole for my gain. And, after a series of losses, one grows resilient to the deed. I reach down, for the armorial Bella shed from her skin – which I looted.
“I’ll carry you onward, Bella.” A quiet prayer, before embellishing myself back in a cocoon of metal foils; armor fastened back onto chest, her shin guards wrapped delicately around legs, her ice axe a seamless fit to hand, and, by resting her helmet on my head – I complete the panoply and rise as a silver moon again. Sunshine picks at the frayed edges of steel, bathing this form in marigold.
Glaciers have been kissed to life again; epiphanies become mutual. The finale’s near, the sun’s rising and setting. Eyes on the leaden horizon ahead—and they don’t waver. My heart’s turned clockwork, intervals between each beat kindred to the next.
With mechanized steps, I match down a snow-veiled path – in search of a tomorrow. Trudging through snow and slush, it ushers me back to the hot springs and their bank of hot, roseate steam. The paper lanterns have not sodden yet and the warmth coils as a comfort within these bones.
There’s movement in the mist. The hot springs’ serene faces mirror him out to sight; it’s Finley. He murdered Cade. “Hey.” Voice delicate, I stage empathy. “Don’t be afraid, Finley.” Fingers wrapped around the ice axe don’t waver – they wait. Brusquely, fingers fish out the jar of tar and the moment the molten asphalt kisses flint, it catches flare, and then immediately leap – predatory in nature – at the sacrificial lamb ahead of him. It’s not time for mercy; she’s gone. I have silver and axe by my side; I'm not afraid.
“Because, you weren’t afraid when you murdered Cade, were you?”I have silver
and axe by my side;
I'm fearless.There's no end,
there is no goodbye
Disappear with nightuses jar of tar / flint
to light axe on fire.
raven attacks finley combes / flaming (axe)
VSYKY|hU1-50
Severe burn -- 8 damage -- Turn Delay
axe11009 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage (axe)[dars]
