03-11-2020, 02:09 PM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Fredericka+the+Great|Marcellus+SC|Special+Elite|Tangerine" rel="stylesheet"><style> .castcont {position:relative;z-index:1;width:560px;border:2px solid black;padding-top:20px;background:#061212;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px black;border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;} .castquote {position:relative;z-index:2;text-align:right; font: 9px 'time new roman'; color: #f07e73;padding-bottom:20px;left:-10px;} .castmessage {position:relative; z-index:2;border-left:1px solid #f07e73;padding-right:50px;padding-left:10px;left:20px;text-align:justify;font:12px 'times new roman'; color:#AEB0AF;} .castgradient {position:relative;z-index:3;width:560;height:50px;top:20px;background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%, rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%)} .castimage {position:relative;z-index:2;width:560px;margin:-30px;} .castname {position:relative;z-index:3;color:#f07e73;font:30px 'tangerine';top:-351px;left:190px;letter-spacing:15px;text-shadow: 13px 0px 4px #AEB0AF;}</style><div class=castcont> <div class="castquote">and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left<br>a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was</div><div class="castmessage">
Castile returns to his den to rest, his body weary from the battles and tireless efforts to increase Loess’ power, but he has returned a conqueror. He falls asleep, the kingdom supplying him with its own inner magic that complements his lasting immortality. Torn muscles weave back together, lacerations stitch back, puncture wounds all heal. Although immortal, he isn’t invulnerable. Even magicians in this dream world get hurt. But the land is grateful for his efforts. Once, he considered leaving for Tephra because the volcano frequently called to him, but Loess yelled louder. It hugged him to its breast and provided him a life of satisfaction. As repayment, he expanded its influence. It clapped shackles to his ankles, but sweetened the deal with tendrils of magic that increased his superiority over the pseudo-dragons, over his opposition entirely.
(They are not true. Not like us)
(We were born like this, together)
(They are frauds)
When Loess awakens its dragon, Castile opens his eyes to see the den empty. Mother, father, siblings, and children. They’ve all faded in time, abandoning him to his own ventures. Castile knew it would happen one day, that he would outlive his children and grandchildren. Has so much time already passed? Is he so callous to knowingly shrug and move on?
He hears a clamor outside even at this mountainous altitude. Go, the kingdom says to him, and he obeys.
Upon silent wings, he descends upon them with torrents of fire that split the land. What remnants left from Leliana’s magic wither underneath his fury as outside nations combine in opposition. He is not the King, but still – forever – a guardian of Loess. The land burns, but he knows everything will be reborn like the phoenix. Magic spears toward him, yanking him to the ground to resume a bloody battle. Quick flashes of vision witness Alcinder’s murder, then Velk’s and Sochi’s. Mother falls as well. He thought them lost, dead and easily suppressed (half forgotten), only to see them on the battleground burning in his hellfire while defending Loess’ honor and reputation. Seeing their bodies litter the rocky hills shatters his already-broken heart, destroying so much of his world that he stumbles back a step. He questions himself, much as Straia hoped. Can he truly give up everything – his entire family, his entire being – for this, if he will have no one to enjoy it with?
Surprise reads vividly on his face, and his enemies lunge forward to overwhelm him. Castile’s jaws clap together ferociously when he pulls himself from his demons, maiming a few, killing many. The war is gruesome, but this isn’t the first he has experienced. It certainly will not be the last.
Loess is the victor, and Castile celebrates by casual meetings with women, bringing more children into this bloodthirsty and savage world. He tells them tales of his life, of their ancestors before him, of Beqanna, because stories last far longer than a soldier’s mortality. They carry these remnants of the past with them, admiring and fabricating them, until their last day. From one ear to another, they may change, but still, a thread of Castile lingers on.
Another lull, another disaster, another war, another monarchy. It happens in cycles, repetitive. If not with Loess, then other lands, other territories. Some seek independence from his kingdom’s grasp whereas others simply want to replace their superiority.
Generations come and go, but Castile still exists, worn – and now – indifferent by the losses he has experienced over time. One after another. In this nightmare, no one he loves has his immortality. It strands him alone. At first, it rattled him and nearly broke him, but then he encased his heart in iron and learned to simply <b>live</b>.
He chose this life.
These are the repercussions of his decisions.
He attends another battle, no longer keeping track of Loess’ powerful influence. It’s this time, however, that he segregates himself from the great majority in the field. Powers adapt and develop with each season of offspring. Castile, clutching arrogantly to his magic, has warded off so many enemies, but he allows himself to be defeated this time in order to break the monotony. Kill him, they shout, and Castile stands proudly in front of them because he is ready. He has been a soldier, a father, a son, a king, and a lover.
A jagged grin stretches across his lips as his mind reflects back to Straia, repeating something she once told him. Even in her absence, her legacy survives with one statement, through him. <i>”To live, one must die,”</i> he knows it will not be forever because Beqanna never allows their deceased to eternally rest. Magic always brings them back and breathes life into their deflated lungs on the beach.
Something punctures his heart, another rips his wings, and a final rips open his throat. It stings initially. His jaws clench and his enigmatic eyes flash, but then an odd wave of peace overcomes him. This is death; this is how Sabra described it once, eons ago. A final breath escapes him as Castile’s body collapses heavily to the ground.
For generations, he was known as a conqueror and a fearsome (destructive, volatile) guardian to Loess.
Now, they will gossip of how the beast was finally slayed.
Eventually, Castile rises from the ashes as he knew he would, smug as he takes his first breath. Indeed, life is exhausting and sometimes death is required, isn’t that right, Raven Queen? Considering The Grim Reaper’s feeble hold in Beqanna, the dragon – reverted back to his equine body in this fleeting moment – shakes himself of the dirt and leaves. He peers arrogantly up at the sky as a voice speaks to him, familiar and demanding of his attention. <i>”Yes. It was worth it, and will be time and again.”</i> To achieve greatness, one must give up everything, including life, even if that means restarting the cycle.
Soldier. Lover. Father. King. Guardian.
Once, he hesitated at her words because he thought of Sochi, of their love, of their children. Now, Castile has only himself. There is no one to hinder him (to give him pause), no one that can be used against him, no one to dismantle him.
The world – this dream world – thought to break the dragon by unraveling his life, but it only made him stronger.
</div> <div class="castgradient"></div> <img class="castimage" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3a/f6/0c/3af60ca3191f811e43ba97ce40851796.jpg"> <div class="castname">castile</div> </div></div></center>
Castile returns to his den to rest, his body weary from the battles and tireless efforts to increase Loess’ power, but he has returned a conqueror. He falls asleep, the kingdom supplying him with its own inner magic that complements his lasting immortality. Torn muscles weave back together, lacerations stitch back, puncture wounds all heal. Although immortal, he isn’t invulnerable. Even magicians in this dream world get hurt. But the land is grateful for his efforts. Once, he considered leaving for Tephra because the volcano frequently called to him, but Loess yelled louder. It hugged him to its breast and provided him a life of satisfaction. As repayment, he expanded its influence. It clapped shackles to his ankles, but sweetened the deal with tendrils of magic that increased his superiority over the pseudo-dragons, over his opposition entirely.
(They are not true. Not like us)
(We were born like this, together)
(They are frauds)
When Loess awakens its dragon, Castile opens his eyes to see the den empty. Mother, father, siblings, and children. They’ve all faded in time, abandoning him to his own ventures. Castile knew it would happen one day, that he would outlive his children and grandchildren. Has so much time already passed? Is he so callous to knowingly shrug and move on?
He hears a clamor outside even at this mountainous altitude. Go, the kingdom says to him, and he obeys.
Upon silent wings, he descends upon them with torrents of fire that split the land. What remnants left from Leliana’s magic wither underneath his fury as outside nations combine in opposition. He is not the King, but still – forever – a guardian of Loess. The land burns, but he knows everything will be reborn like the phoenix. Magic spears toward him, yanking him to the ground to resume a bloody battle. Quick flashes of vision witness Alcinder’s murder, then Velk’s and Sochi’s. Mother falls as well. He thought them lost, dead and easily suppressed (half forgotten), only to see them on the battleground burning in his hellfire while defending Loess’ honor and reputation. Seeing their bodies litter the rocky hills shatters his already-broken heart, destroying so much of his world that he stumbles back a step. He questions himself, much as Straia hoped. Can he truly give up everything – his entire family, his entire being – for this, if he will have no one to enjoy it with?
Surprise reads vividly on his face, and his enemies lunge forward to overwhelm him. Castile’s jaws clap together ferociously when he pulls himself from his demons, maiming a few, killing many. The war is gruesome, but this isn’t the first he has experienced. It certainly will not be the last.
Loess is the victor, and Castile celebrates by casual meetings with women, bringing more children into this bloodthirsty and savage world. He tells them tales of his life, of their ancestors before him, of Beqanna, because stories last far longer than a soldier’s mortality. They carry these remnants of the past with them, admiring and fabricating them, until their last day. From one ear to another, they may change, but still, a thread of Castile lingers on.
Another lull, another disaster, another war, another monarchy. It happens in cycles, repetitive. If not with Loess, then other lands, other territories. Some seek independence from his kingdom’s grasp whereas others simply want to replace their superiority.
Generations come and go, but Castile still exists, worn – and now – indifferent by the losses he has experienced over time. One after another. In this nightmare, no one he loves has his immortality. It strands him alone. At first, it rattled him and nearly broke him, but then he encased his heart in iron and learned to simply <b>live</b>.
He chose this life.
These are the repercussions of his decisions.
He attends another battle, no longer keeping track of Loess’ powerful influence. It’s this time, however, that he segregates himself from the great majority in the field. Powers adapt and develop with each season of offspring. Castile, clutching arrogantly to his magic, has warded off so many enemies, but he allows himself to be defeated this time in order to break the monotony. Kill him, they shout, and Castile stands proudly in front of them because he is ready. He has been a soldier, a father, a son, a king, and a lover.
A jagged grin stretches across his lips as his mind reflects back to Straia, repeating something she once told him. Even in her absence, her legacy survives with one statement, through him. <i>”To live, one must die,”</i> he knows it will not be forever because Beqanna never allows their deceased to eternally rest. Magic always brings them back and breathes life into their deflated lungs on the beach.
Something punctures his heart, another rips his wings, and a final rips open his throat. It stings initially. His jaws clench and his enigmatic eyes flash, but then an odd wave of peace overcomes him. This is death; this is how Sabra described it once, eons ago. A final breath escapes him as Castile’s body collapses heavily to the ground.
For generations, he was known as a conqueror and a fearsome (destructive, volatile) guardian to Loess.
Now, they will gossip of how the beast was finally slayed.
Eventually, Castile rises from the ashes as he knew he would, smug as he takes his first breath. Indeed, life is exhausting and sometimes death is required, isn’t that right, Raven Queen? Considering The Grim Reaper’s feeble hold in Beqanna, the dragon – reverted back to his equine body in this fleeting moment – shakes himself of the dirt and leaves. He peers arrogantly up at the sky as a voice speaks to him, familiar and demanding of his attention. <i>”Yes. It was worth it, and will be time and again.”</i> To achieve greatness, one must give up everything, including life, even if that means restarting the cycle.
Soldier. Lover. Father. King. Guardian.
Once, he hesitated at her words because he thought of Sochi, of their love, of their children. Now, Castile has only himself. There is no one to hinder him (to give him pause), no one that can be used against him, no one to dismantle him.
The world – this dream world – thought to break the dragon by unraveling his life, but it only made him stronger.
</div> <div class="castgradient"></div> <img class="castimage" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3a/f6/0c/3af60ca3191f811e43ba97ce40851796.jpg"> <div class="castname">castile</div> </div></div></center>