Post by edinnu on Oct 20, 2013 14:35:27 GMT
Edinnu
eh - deh - new
eh - deh - new
Even in these new times, fire will rise into the blue and gleam on land it has always known; the waters will yawn and clothe olden flesh. Scenes as these have marauded his days to an unseeable end. Would he ever repay her for cradling all that has ever existed? His flesh, at last, enriching her ever-changing meadows. Why now did this world seek to cloud truth with beauty and good feeling, for even an old mind could never forget the days when ember and brimstone spat from her lips. It was the nearest he had ever come to death... In those youthful times he had clung to life with such a sense of tenacity -- how foolish in hindsight."Death clawed at his feet before a single breath could be taken, and the swamp ripened into mother's embrace." "Just like the forest after a fire, the boy began to wither away. If it weren't for that wise shaman, he would have never seen a day..." "I swear on the honour of my ancestors! When I could barely walk the pasture, I called him friend. And now I'm on the bed of death, and not a wrinkle streaks his visage!" "It must be the blood of the gods. All that look upon that mark flee as the dastard fowl!"
It will forever defile him, this intricate rune that lay upon his breast, setting him apart from the human race. Even on the seat of a tamed stallion, memory could never journey far enough to at end, gaze upon it's origin. This curse that belied every answer he had longed for, and exiled mankind to the badlands of his ken. He often pondered their existence -- how they shrivel with the sweetness of wine fruit. Why a serpent's kiss steals the hue from their flesh? No matter the wisdom that trickles into his being, there are things he may never fully relate to. These eyes closed shut by the sun. Hair, a match for the raven's feather. The slender, iron-bodied frame. Everything the same as they have ever been; unchanging beneath the wear of time. Only the abstract lines of right and wrong can ever be blotted by the ups and downs of the sun. The grassland fades grey in the winter, and with time, so does the mind. It is here he thrives -- never presuming one over it's opposite. His actions loosely restrained by a sense of character that wavers like fire, having lived the length to see both ends through.
Though elusive as the spring rain, a footprint roams the rock in search of destiny. At times ignited by the boredom of age,
or for nothing more than sheer amusement. He calls the world his roost, and with good reason...
A man who could outlast them all.
Activity: Below Average
Writing Style: Gritty, poetic, and explicit. Always worthwhile.
Allies & Hostilities: N/A
- Skill Chart
- Triggered, +2 Quickness
