Out of Time (Solo)

[Aello]

Timestamp: 29 Spring, 512 AV The skies cast dismal slanting shadows over the stone scattered streets and thatched roofs of the homes in Zeltiva. The jagged edges cut across fallen debris; clotted with the rainfall. Rounded slopes crawling over walls, spilling onto the other side. Cascading over slick stone as the pebbles clattered against the ground. Tears fell from trembling, blackened, misshapen eyes; spit drizzled out of lips. Trying to push the god's pain away. Failing, it still fell. Tumultuous waves poured from overhead as lightning exploded, illuminating narrow areas before fading away into oblivion. Thunder crashed alongside the waves buffeting into Zeltiva's rocky shores. The god's anger reverberating within Aello's eardrums, she could feel the sound ricocheting away as she looked up, through the dirtied windowpane at the world outside of the simple room she found herself within. It never really did stop raining, did it? she asked herself as she followed several lines of tears swim down the dust-encrusted glass. Not since the first day of the storm. Her thoughts paused as her gaze came up, to watch several beams of fiery light hungrily lick the nearby, downtrodden earth. Slowly, her forehead dropped, a wilting flower, falling against the cold glass. A cool air swept through her, causing her to shudder as she crossed her arms and passed her paling fingers over her flesh, to ward away the gathering goosebumps. No time to find them; the timekeepers. Those who know that lady. Again, there was a pause as she began to rub her arms all the more furiously. Nor is there time to find the servants of the lady I call my own. Another pause, pity. Her mind fell silent for quite some time as her ears strained to pick the sound of rain plopping into gathered pools apart from all the others. After a time she could hear it, nearly inaudibe against all of the rest. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after when the pools have cleared, and the waves have returned to their endlessly melodic, rhythmic, natural pace. She listened to them, so high strung, so out of tune. When nothing crashes, nothing clashes. There was a pause as she flattened her rising, green neon veins, coursing rivers, pushing them under the recesses of her cooling, pale and numbing flesh. Maybe then the world's colors shall reflect a bit of luck within what little moisture remains. Her lips curled into a delicate smile as her hands came to a halt; her eyes sparkled mysteriously as her ears played with the multitude of sounds. After all, I have to make them listen. There was another pause. A mere servant of lady Dira. Death and time, can they ever combine? Or are they destined to only run neck and neck at best? There was another pause. Clash, unless... are we really all so different? The rain seemed to get louder, pounding all the more furiously on the glass, defeaning her thoughts. For a time, her mind remained silent, until one thought reverberated within with a defeaning ring: maybe we can go hand in hand, if only we think of the nature of life and death; time and death. For, in the beginning of time, we are ripped from our mother's womb, and brought into this dismal world. That woman cradles us, and with a doe's wide eyes, we stare into her own, at two pale petals curled into a smile. We are made to remember her face as she holds us, young, unclean, dripping with internal fluid and both of our blood. As we are made to take whatever we need from her bosom, a bond is made. One that never breaks, even when one passes. In those stages at the beginning of our time, the time we spend in infancy, she nurtures us. She lets us feed from her; an unworthy parasite. She lets us lie with her, nestled in the crook of her arm. She clothes us, and shrouds our features with a plethora of blankets, and other soft things. She gives us whatever we want and need as soon as we begin to wail, and wag our fleshy arms. She nurtured our feeble, infantile forms. Weak and generally undeveloped. She shelters us from prying eyes, and those who mean us harm. She shelters us from the storm; keeping us close until our limbs begin to grow, and we come to grasp. Soon, she sets us on the floor, and we are made to hold ourselves upright. We look up at her as she turns away and begins to walk. We watch her shadow pass, studying it with our heads tilted to the side, and eyes open wide. We cry as she moves past the threshold, into the nether reaches of our home. Thinking she has disappeared, abandoned us. Maybe she stops for a second, but does not look back. Scared for our very lives, we fall onto our hands in despair. We ignore the stinging sensation the hard wood sends coursing through us as our lips part in a silent scream. Tears stream down our faces, crackling against the floor, the back of our hands, as our legs begin to slide along. Grating, as our toes are tickled. Our fingertips press on, tugging us forward. We smile, for it's as if by magic, we are allowed to chase after her. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, we find her in another portion of the house. She looks down at us as we tumble over the hand we use to tap her; begging for more. She picks us up; we're hers again as we brush noses, and radiance flashes in her eyes; a smile spreads across her cheeks.

[Aello]

It seems only mere moments have passed before we're tossed into a new memory; changed only moderately by time. Our baby cheeks have grown out, our limbs have sprouted newer, longer branches. We have reached toddlerhood. In this time, in this place, we can see her across the room, preparing our dinner. Wanting her time, and her love, we crawl over to her, tug on the lower folds of her dress. She stops what she is doing to study us. Looking distant, almost sad, she turns to rinse her dirtied hands in the basin. When she's finished, she collects us, holds us to her, pats our back; but there's no feeling behind it. I always could feel it- the sudden lack of warmth. Confused by it, I would always look up before she set me down, holding me only by my hands. "No more being a baby. It is time to take your first steps," she'd whisper, before moving forward. We'd always look up at them quizzically for a time, our eyes constantly batting our confusion. Time would pass, and eventually it would beat our hesitation. Our foot would slide forward, seemingly on its own; like the limbs of a marionette, manipulated by its master. We'd giggle as our toes were tickled by the floor; the entirety of our bodies by our own excitement. Bubbles and streams of spit would drizzle from our parted lips as we'd do it again. Then manage another half step, and fall flat on our asses. We'd sniffle as we looked up at her, her hands falling away from us. We'd whine a little as she left, and our hands fell to wood. Pushed up, easing us onto our feet, wobbly knees. Unsteady legs. We'd try despertely to repeat her motions, realizing them swifter then our incessant crawling. But we'd always fall. Make our skin peel away, as our blood pooled around us. For a time, all would seem hopeless, until time struck again: we learned to walk as our bodies developed, and we were thrust unwillingly into early childhood. Without warning, she backs away, or maybe we are the ones to turn away from her in pursuit of relations to those closer to our own age. We'd go outside and play with them- hide and go seek, tag, man hunt. We'd fish in the stream, or even out in the ocean, from a lofty perch on a pile of old boxes by the docks. We'd listen to the gulls, and skip rocks, mock the sailors who crowed the same notes. And soon enough, with a breath of fresh air came a woman's breasts and hourglass frame. Boys who desired and chased; until they one day claimed the forbidden fruit; seeds were planted, and life sprouted anew. Time passed; and swiftly, they were drawn together, and then torn apart, as their child grew. As their flesh began to sag, and speckles began to line it. Wrinkles spread across their face, and crow's feet by their eyes, now covered in a thick, white film. Blinding. As time wares on, their bodies ache. Their bodies tremble, and more is needed to keep them warm. Their blood from freezing over, so that it may no longer flow. Soon, as the brain begins to fail; as memory begins to fade away, death and time both, catches up to a person. Time ages a person the last few steps, as the lady Dira cuts them down with her scythe; and then receives their eternal souls with open arms. Unless they're an abominable nuit of course. The aurist rubbed her arms at the thought. Perhaps that's it then. Time is there to guide us through this life. To age us, and when it comes to that final hour, death is invited to bring closure. To begin a second life. There was a long pause. Yes, perhaps time and death do go together, hand in hand...

[Arcane]

Rewards and Treasure! Experience Points +2 Philosophy +2 Storytelling Lores Relationship of Time and Death Miscellaneous None Comments Deep stuff! Philosophy and Storytelling are for the beautifully written thoughts. I am unsure of what other lore you want, as the only clear one that stood out was the conclusion that Aello came to with regards to Time and Death. Let me know if you have any questions regarding this grading!