01-09-2017, 01:25 PM
Kilte
R
Mind Over Matter
T
hey say that death can be a welcome thing. In the moments slipping past Kilter, he had found this to be true. The cold sliced through his body until a tingling numbness rang through his wilting body. His eyes once shut tight became slack, like a child dozing to slumber. Death was opening His door, welcoming the young boy, a haven away from the months spent scrying through the woods and winter. Kilter was ready, though young and inexperienced, the life he knew had been (for the most part) harsh and unwelcoming. Death would be a good friend.
Kilter... His name shimmers, vague and faint in the depths of his mind. His eyes stutter weakly, flecks of frost frozen like spiderwebs across his lashes. Before him was - his father? Through the fog of snow, the man before him bore semblance to Eight. But things were all off - where Eight was solid and thick, the man before him was lithe, like oil where Eight was rock. “Father?” Kilter’s voice is feeble and trembling. He closes his eyes once more, a slow shake of his head. This could not be his father. His father was long gone- his father did not care to find him. Eight was many things - many times a king, a chaotic evil, a magician in its purest form - but Eight was not a father. No, Kilter knew however similar, this man before him was not Eight.
His name rings out again, Kilter, more solid in its vacuous form, sleek and slinking to the young boy’s mind. This dark thing before him, speaking his name, standing impervious to the elements around him - could only be one thing. “Death?”
Kilter’s spindled legs work to find any form of purchase beneath him, slippery against the ground beneath him, weak against the snowbank that has claimed his body (oh if only he knew the power inside him, the ability to move objects, this snow would be a farce)- but still he tries to stand, to face death not upon his knees.
“I am ready.” And he uses the last of the life inside him to welcome his new friend, Death.