Cerulean Jax
Newbie
*Images of bodies, torn asunder, dangling from demonic-looking pikes and hooks, fill a hazy clearing. A few sparse huts, as broken as their lifeless owners, create the falsehood of a shabby little villlage.
In the center of the village, motionless, he stands. Light does not touch him, as much as it grasps hopelessly around him, as if trying to maintain enough of a hold to give him some sort of illumination. But it fails, and he remains, blacker than a page torn from the Book of Night.
There are no sounds, as he observes each dead villager, hands gripping his swords in readiness. No mourning, no weeping. But when he leaves , the rains come down, and wash everything away in a torrent of unspent tears.
It is always like this.
Always.*
-------Waking----------
In the center of the village, motionless, he stands. Light does not touch him, as much as it grasps hopelessly around him, as if trying to maintain enough of a hold to give him some sort of illumination. But it fails, and he remains, blacker than a page torn from the Book of Night.
There are no sounds, as he observes each dead villager, hands gripping his swords in readiness. No mourning, no weeping. But when he leaves , the rains come down, and wash everything away in a torrent of unspent tears.
It is always like this.
Always.*
-------Waking----------