03-24-2016, 01:41 PM
The battle plays out in his mind every night.
While he sleeps in the comfort of home, his body stirs and his mind trembles. He relives the fighting, sees the blood and the flames falling around him as if he was there in the Chamber. He sees Weir opened and splayed, his heart still beating in his open ribcage, his merry laughter still echoing alongside the crackle of the fires. He watches Joscelin burn from within, her light brightening until she combusts into a million little pieces. He feels the hooves raining down on him, enemies crowding him from all sides, their blows endless and devastating. Death watches Ramiel as he finally submits to the fighting. As he falls, the scythe falls too, closer to his neck. At the last moment (he can feel the sting of metal at his throat; he cannot avoid it), Death smiles at him. Mine, He says. Mine as before. Mine eternal.
He wakes and still feels Death’s eyes on him.
Ramiel doesn’t sleep well, and his healing follows suit. His shoulder is still a ragged mess from where Demian’s fire burned him down to the muscle. When he walks, he pulls apart the skin that has begun to knit itself together again, re-starting the healing process over and over. The other burns, the small peppering of stray sparks across his body, have nearly disappeared under his lengthening monochrome coat. Fall makes the land bleed in an entirely different way as the leaves turn from bright emerald to coppery crimson. Winter will soon be upon them, and Ramiel starts to wonder if he’ll have to limp through the piles of Dalean snow.
Today is not so bleak, however. The sun streams down across the browning hills of home, casting long shadows that point towards the west. It is still early – early enough to put some real work behind him if he’s so inclined – but he lingers in his exhaustion. From his shelter under a towering hill-top pine, Ramiel watches the rest of the kingdom come to life. A sudden movement catches his eye; a black blur races across the field just below him. It brings an easy smile to his face. After the war, life goes on. Horses come to the Dale seeking a home as they always have. This newcomer testing her mettle and speed against the wind is affirmation that all is not lost, even after terrible violence. Life goes on, even if he will be forever changed.
It takes a terribly long time to reach the mare (once she’s stopped and let loose a whinny) but eventually he does. He wrangles the painful grimace into a genuine smile. “Hello, I’m Ramiel.” The grey and gold king notices the slight bulge at her sides. It has been far too long since the Dale witnessed a birth on its soil; he hopes she stays and provides it come spring. “Are you new here?” A cool breeze sweeps down from the North and he is reminded again that winter is not far off. If this mare is new and plans on staying, he will have to warn her of the impending weather – Dalean winters are their own brand of harsh beauty. “Forgive me if not. I’ve been away from home for a while.”
While he sleeps in the comfort of home, his body stirs and his mind trembles. He relives the fighting, sees the blood and the flames falling around him as if he was there in the Chamber. He sees Weir opened and splayed, his heart still beating in his open ribcage, his merry laughter still echoing alongside the crackle of the fires. He watches Joscelin burn from within, her light brightening until she combusts into a million little pieces. He feels the hooves raining down on him, enemies crowding him from all sides, their blows endless and devastating. Death watches Ramiel as he finally submits to the fighting. As he falls, the scythe falls too, closer to his neck. At the last moment (he can feel the sting of metal at his throat; he cannot avoid it), Death smiles at him. Mine, He says. Mine as before. Mine eternal.
He wakes and still feels Death’s eyes on him.
Ramiel doesn’t sleep well, and his healing follows suit. His shoulder is still a ragged mess from where Demian’s fire burned him down to the muscle. When he walks, he pulls apart the skin that has begun to knit itself together again, re-starting the healing process over and over. The other burns, the small peppering of stray sparks across his body, have nearly disappeared under his lengthening monochrome coat. Fall makes the land bleed in an entirely different way as the leaves turn from bright emerald to coppery crimson. Winter will soon be upon them, and Ramiel starts to wonder if he’ll have to limp through the piles of Dalean snow.
Today is not so bleak, however. The sun streams down across the browning hills of home, casting long shadows that point towards the west. It is still early – early enough to put some real work behind him if he’s so inclined – but he lingers in his exhaustion. From his shelter under a towering hill-top pine, Ramiel watches the rest of the kingdom come to life. A sudden movement catches his eye; a black blur races across the field just below him. It brings an easy smile to his face. After the war, life goes on. Horses come to the Dale seeking a home as they always have. This newcomer testing her mettle and speed against the wind is affirmation that all is not lost, even after terrible violence. Life goes on, even if he will be forever changed.
It takes a terribly long time to reach the mare (once she’s stopped and let loose a whinny) but eventually he does. He wrangles the painful grimace into a genuine smile. “Hello, I’m Ramiel.” The grey and gold king notices the slight bulge at her sides. It has been far too long since the Dale witnessed a birth on its soil; he hopes she stays and provides it come spring. “Are you new here?” A cool breeze sweeps down from the North and he is reminded again that winter is not far off. If this mare is new and plans on staying, he will have to warn her of the impending weather – Dalean winters are their own brand of harsh beauty. “Forgive me if not. I’ve been away from home for a while.”
R A M I E L
this is a man pulling at his iron chains