Spring, 514 AV. The 34th, at the 17th Bell A fair day, the sun is almost ready to set beyond the horizon and disappear forever till the morning, only two bells left before it starts to tuck itself beyond which the eye can't see and shroud the world in darkness and unveiling the star filled heavens, it was a calm day, and the lake was still, almost a mirror itself.. The trees creaked as their tall tops swayed in the eastern wind and the air was humid and now at that fine balance between warmth and cold, shifting from the Hot breeze-filled spring day to the freezing spring night, flowers were sprouting and the snow was gone besides a few patches blackened with mud that have sought shelter in the shady cool places away from the sun, the land was becoming green again and the animals were roaming once again, birds could be heard chirping all around but scarcely seen unless stirred from their perches high in the trees, it was indeed a fair day, but there was one thing that did not belong, a black shape, motionless, on a small knoll on the edge of the tree line, indeed this statue could be mistaken as a small burnt tree with its bark turned to ash and its wood burned into charcoal. Alas it was not the case, a burnt tree would've been better than the reality, it was a specter of hate, staring at the city with a desire, a desire that a warrior who lives for battle would get if he were to face Myri herself! A Unconquerable titan.. But one that he'd long to conquer no matter how impossible the task... Aravorn stared out at the lake, his mist was gloomily falling off him and lingering around his feet, ruffling occasionally as some violent thought or memory came to mind, his head was low and turned slightly to the right as the sun was on his left, and he dared not look upon the bright face of it, for it'd sting his eyes, his face was shrouded completely, from a combination of shade, angle and his own soulmist, he was a shade, barely visible yet his presence was cold and dreadful, and the only noise that came from him was the senseless mumbling that came from under his breath, cursing frequently, his eyes were the only things that could be seen, though barely, filled with hate and sorrow staring out at the city, he had been here all day, and he was deep in thought.. Cruel terrible thoughts that'd make no sense to a sane man, yet frighten even the bravest, and turn the stomach of a butcher, these thoughts were no ones own but Aravorns, and he kept them to himself, they filled him with a strange joy while making him gag at the same time, his insanity filled him with such disgusting thoughts of revenge, the things he'd desire to see done to every Man, Woman, and Child in Ravok, the repeated torture of Rhysol own whore: The Voice, in mind and body, something not even she could take.. Something even a god would beg for death before the end, but only if she yet lived.. The thought of Rhysol and The Voice made Aravorn curse them, when he thought of them he thought of the Black sun, so he cursed them too, and for each thing he thought of he thought of another, and each one he cursed to suffering. So Aravorn stood, almost shapeless by the looks of it, little more than a transparent statue with a black grim fog surrounding him, never thinking of something pleasant, nor remembering anything pleasant from his life, as his memory was gone... and only fragments remained and they were all of the darkness he had suffered in captivity, and the curs behind it! His actions as of now are unpredictable, and any traveler should fear to encounter such a insane subject.. |