12-27-2015, 05:19 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-28-2015, 12:18 AM by Corruption.)
But I won't rot, I won't rot. Not this mind and not this heart.
There is great power here.
Storm gales and those who fight against them; so beautifully evolved to live in this wild frontier. Mighty darkness and light... and isolation. Clouds and mist wrap around the below, cloaking everything in thick obscuration — such utter isolation. His time here leaves indelible marks on him. An untamed, windblown imprint; the scent of petrichor and ozone; the development of his wings and shoulders, rolling with surplus muscularity. He peels away from his company of blackbirds and watches them off with sad eyes, pumping his wings back to hover for a second in that comfortable peace. That cold and windy remoteness.
He does not come down often. He has never stayed long. Just long enough.
There is a muffled whooshing sound of displaced air and a flurry of churned up snow, and the heavy thud as the black stallion meets the ground, again. Unfamiliar hardness, gentled only by the thick blanket of unbroken, fresh snow. He feels newborn — shaky and uncoordinated. He feels the dives and whirls of flight — phantom and mocking sensations shivering through his network of nerves, driving him upwards. Corruption disembarks from his flock to eat and sleep almost exclusively, unfitted to their high-up perches and nests. He is separate from them, though deeply intimate, he is what he is. And what he is demands the touch of soil, no matter how alien it feels to him now during long layovers. He is not young anymore. The black man has not been young for a long time, and though remarkably fit for his age, he no longer has the endurance for extended flight that he once did.
He takes a stiff step forward, his powerful wings stretch out impossibly large before folding at his side, coughing quietly and feeling the tender exhaustion in them. How strange... how magnificently steadfast they feel, until they are stilled, finally allowed to feel tired. Corruption closes is dark eyes tight, for a moment he questions the wisdom in this. In being here — this strange and desperate place. In his departure. He glances up, the bright grey sky clear and wintry; bleak and empty, save for a singular resident bird leaving the piney woods for the beyond somewhere. He turns away, every movement like that of a mountain, ponderous and slow. He will not stay grounded, but he needs a place to roost. A place to become older, because he is not immortal. Every day he feels the weightiness of age, he finds grey feathers salting the black.
He takes in a sharp breath, pulling in the crisp scent and wondering why he thinks he might find something in there — there is nothing left. The air has been bled of everything he once knew. The heavy black stallion shifts his great weight, an unapproachable combination of power and unease. This land has been cruel, and it has been gracious to him in many ways. Now he must find a place. For himself, away from and within his memories.
This land houses ghosts aplenty, moving through trees and breaths. Reminders.
Storm gales and those who fight against them; so beautifully evolved to live in this wild frontier. Mighty darkness and light... and isolation. Clouds and mist wrap around the below, cloaking everything in thick obscuration — such utter isolation. His time here leaves indelible marks on him. An untamed, windblown imprint; the scent of petrichor and ozone; the development of his wings and shoulders, rolling with surplus muscularity. He peels away from his company of blackbirds and watches them off with sad eyes, pumping his wings back to hover for a second in that comfortable peace. That cold and windy remoteness.
He does not come down often. He has never stayed long. Just long enough.
There is a muffled whooshing sound of displaced air and a flurry of churned up snow, and the heavy thud as the black stallion meets the ground, again. Unfamiliar hardness, gentled only by the thick blanket of unbroken, fresh snow. He feels newborn — shaky and uncoordinated. He feels the dives and whirls of flight — phantom and mocking sensations shivering through his network of nerves, driving him upwards. Corruption disembarks from his flock to eat and sleep almost exclusively, unfitted to their high-up perches and nests. He is separate from them, though deeply intimate, he is what he is. And what he is demands the touch of soil, no matter how alien it feels to him now during long layovers. He is not young anymore. The black man has not been young for a long time, and though remarkably fit for his age, he no longer has the endurance for extended flight that he once did.
He takes a stiff step forward, his powerful wings stretch out impossibly large before folding at his side, coughing quietly and feeling the tender exhaustion in them. How strange... how magnificently steadfast they feel, until they are stilled, finally allowed to feel tired. Corruption closes is dark eyes tight, for a moment he questions the wisdom in this. In being here — this strange and desperate place. In his departure. He glances up, the bright grey sky clear and wintry; bleak and empty, save for a singular resident bird leaving the piney woods for the beyond somewhere. He turns away, every movement like that of a mountain, ponderous and slow. He will not stay grounded, but he needs a place to roost. A place to become older, because he is not immortal. Every day he feels the weightiness of age, he finds grey feathers salting the black.
He takes in a sharp breath, pulling in the crisp scent and wondering why he thinks he might find something in there — there is nothing left. The air has been bled of everything he once knew. The heavy black stallion shifts his great weight, an unapproachable combination of power and unease. This land has been cruel, and it has been gracious to him in many ways. Now he must find a place. For himself, away from and within his memories.
This land houses ghosts aplenty, moving through trees and breaths. Reminders.
I won't rot.
been a long time since I played the old guy, so I'll get acquainted fast hopefully. just no Gates, I have someone I think I'm bringing over there when the time is right. and no chamber, but that's probably obvious.