Khepri Goldenfeather
Committed
Roleplay posts: 96
Appearance: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings, lightening to ivory toward her spine, spread outward above her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame. Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features. The only interruption to an otherwise heavenly visage is a pair of feet with toes and a heel ending in talons.
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Registered: Mar 23, 2021 19:54:50 GMT -5
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Post by Khepri Goldenfeather on Aug 9, 2021 20:56:15 GMT -5
A blacksmith? How fitting. She certainly has the frame for it, Khepri thought as she looked over her shoulder to study the woman once more. As Hævys spoke, she continued to keep her eyes on her, glancing away now and again only to keep from bumping into anyone. She noted how the strapping woman dropped her chin and briefly touched a spot on her thigh. Oh? Curious. She would have to figure out why that was.
"Quite the journey," she commented as they came up to a small line leading up to a significantly large pot sitting atop a roaring fire. The smells of oats and sugar wafted through the air, along with something floral that they could barely pick out beneath the other scents. "You won't have to count your blessings here. Things are... peaceful."
As they waited in line, Khepri put a hand to her chin, ruminating on Hævys' question about her own past.
"To put it in simple words, I used to study rumors and guide them in favor of my family. We lived in a rather large oasis in the middle of a desert, but a large cage is still a cage. The elders put things like tradition and reputation into place to keep us alive. My position in the family was one of those traditions. I... disagreed, proposing alternatives for my future. Our future. Apparently, that was a mistake." Khepri shrugged as they came to the head of the line, receiving two bowls of oatmeal. She handed one to Hævys. "They banished me. My family was dead to me from that moment. As dead as I was to them! But now I get to see the world. And they..."
Khepri went silent, looking off into the distance. A bit of melancholy clouded her eyes, and for a moment, that seemed to be quite literal. Before too long, she gave Hævys a tiny smile and a chuckle.
"Well, they're not here."
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Aug 11, 2021 23:56:34 GMT -5
"Things are... peaceful."
The words rang in the smith's ears as she took in the scent, a mix of flavors that seemed foreign and intriguing to her. While a word she had heard many times, 'peaceful' was something Hævys found a hard time ever recalling in her life. Quiet? Yes. Contenting? Perhaps, though rarely. Never peaceful, though. Her very profession relied on its absence, and even with the conflict so far away, its effects were felt all throughout the lands involved. The people sent away, the parts of people that return. The way that some treat their own subjects out of fear of revolt. The weapons made and the graves dug. Peaceful was without a doubt the antithesis of her life. So the idea that here, peacefulness was the natural state? She was hopeful, but her hope was drowning in a sea of skepticism.
Hævys takes the bowl offered to her, looking thoughtfully at Khepri as she told her tale. In a way, it mirrored her own, she realized. Punished severely, for the simple offense of speaking her mind. Speaking out about what she thought was an injustice. However, for the winged woman in front of her it was a chance to leave her cage. For the smith herself, it was simply a move to a different one.
She gave Khepri a somber smile, swearing that she could see the color of her eyes change. She paid it no mind, however. "You've had quite the journey yourself." She comments.
"Punished like that, just for saying something other than what they wanted to hear." Hævys sighs, looking off at the horizon for a second. "Astonishing how cruel one's reactions can be."
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Khepri Goldenfeather
Committed
Roleplay posts: 96
Appearance: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings, lightening to ivory toward her spine, spread outward above her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame. Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features. The only interruption to an otherwise heavenly visage is a pair of feet with toes and a heel ending in talons.
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Registered: Mar 23, 2021 19:54:50 GMT -5
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Post by Khepri Goldenfeather on Aug 17, 2021 21:52:03 GMT -5
"I've come to learn, since coming here, that people do not take kindly to change," Khepri replied. She took a bite of her oatmeal, then mulled it over. She'd never quite had something like it before, but her arrival to the isle had presented her with many new things. "Perhaps it has something to do with how many died, but I've not run into many folks that are glad about the... I believe they call it The Deluge here. The flood. The end of the Known World!" She could only shrug. "But I've yet to see any wars. Any battles. There's the occasional scuffle, but it hasn't ended in death. Yet. Mostly started by the leader's daughter, Zasha. She's training up the able-bodied so that they won't be caught wingless if a conflict arises."
Continuing down the alleyways of tents, Khepri would point here and there to people she met, their trades, their relationship to the leaders. Only a few days and she'd become so comfortable with them. Such were the ways of the wanderer and the politician.
"Any more questions? I do not know much of Pannoa, but I can lead you to the right people."
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Aug 19, 2021 20:19:07 GMT -5
"Perhaps it is still just too early for wars." Hævys ponders, taking a bite of her own oatmeal. Her eyes widen slightly. This food, whatever it was, was much more flavorful compared to what she was used to. Even in the court, Sesærian food was quite dull, and that which had flavor was not quite a flavor like this. She wasn't sure how to feel about it as she swallowed.
"You pointed out how this...Zaja?" She tries to pronounce the name, the first sound came out more like a hiss, while her voice carried through the shushing noise instead of cutting off during it. "The leader's daughter, how she is training these people. Even they expect something to happen, it seems. Makes sense, I guess. Peace is an unstable state. I would join this training, just to be safe, but..." She trails off, before smirking and letting out a puff of air from her nose. "I can't exactly call myself able-bodied. I'll just have to stick to making the weapons for them, if need arises."
She considers Khepri's offer, about any more questions she may have. "Hm... a place to stay, maybe place to practice my craft? I have some frustration I need to get out, and swinging a hammer at metal is probably the healthiest way for me to deal with it."
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Khepri Goldenfeather
Committed
Roleplay posts: 96
Appearance: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings, lightening to ivory toward her spine, spread outward above her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame. Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features. The only interruption to an otherwise heavenly visage is a pair of feet with toes and a heel ending in talons.
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Registered: Mar 23, 2021 19:54:50 GMT -5
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Post by Khepri Goldenfeather on Aug 31, 2021 23:43:06 GMT -5
"Early for wars... perhaps," Khepri mused in turn, a twitch pulling at the corner of her lip. She hoped the rest of her years there would be too early for wars, but she knew the faults of man and duralam.
"Zasha," the birdwoman corrected her. "Though it seems you pronounce things a little differently. Had I not been so apt at mimicry, I would have similar troubles. Alas, it is a specialty among those who were once my people." Going on, she listened to Hævys' worries. "Perhaps you still can, if you wish, but I share your concern. I do not fight with my talons. My words do suffice... most times. And where they do not, I have my wings to take me away."
She thought of getting an audience for Hævys with either the Reverend or Zasha, and told her as much. "It would be easy to find someone to set up a tent. As for a forge... well, that sounds complicated."
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Sept 9, 2021 12:41:27 GMT -5
Hævys shakes her head. "I'd be more helpful making their arms anyways." She says. "I'm not cut out for the front lines, better to help prepare those who are."
She listens to Khepri's offer. "Thanks, I'd appreciate it. The tent would be enough for now, but if I can convince them to give me a place to practice my craft they could get something out of it to." She takes another bite of her food, savoring the taste. "If its not too much to ask, such a meeting would be better done sooner rather than later, I would think. I doubt the bare ground is the best place to sleep around here, no matter how peaceful this place may be."
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Keph
Established
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: 22
Appearance: Sporting odd, eye-catching, snow white hair is the one, the only self-proclaimed ‘Master Adventure’: Keph d’Avon!
With a seemingly pure, unending thirst for exploration and a well of eager energy to match it, this short, athletic young man often finds himself in unnecessarily precarious situations. Even so, with all the trouble he gets himself into, a slight smile is most often seen.
Despite being born a mute, most will find him of oddly many words. His soft face is home to a pair of clear, sky-blue eyes; soulful, expressive orbs that constantly complement his exaggerated and somewhat theatrical expressions.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 14:10:27 GMT -5
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Post by Keph on Sept 9, 2021 22:00:09 GMT -5
Shapeless forms dance in-and-out of a shallow haze. Like unkempt embers, they flicker, then die. The haze deepens; mists kindle and nurture. Warmth exudes, a nostalgic euphoria follows. The forms begin to be granted shape, but the haze remains. Scent is the first hazeless detail: it’s campy. A minty, forest-ish scent, mixed with the aroma of burning wood. A campfire? No. That’s wrong. A firepit. Yes. The prior warmth is given a source: a firepit that’s before him. The firepit crackles, lighting a large hall. It’s then that he realizes he’s in a large hall, how large he can’t quite say. Its walls are made of heavy, ancient logs, shaved clean of their protective bark, replaced by a thick layer of history. He takes another look at his surroundings, it’s grown detail: people are there, they’re familiar and similar in many ways, but varied in many more. They’re celebrating, but he can’t tell why. Ale and laughter are abound. A hand places itself on his shoulder. He turns. The face is distorted, blurred, the memory refusing to step forward, like a painful goodbye lodged halfway up one’s throat. “Kephy-boy, what’re you doing staring off into nothing?” Keph unconsciously beams. That brief weakness is all it takes. The face clears. It’s grandpops. The world finally gains a firm purchase, its features now unnaturally distinct. A bothersomely long, yet clean, grey beard worthy of a village elder greets him. It often made hugging the man hassle, hairs having a habit of poking into his eyes, he does so anyway. Chronically kind eyes look upon him, which despite prevalent crowfeet, burned with youth that mirrors Keph’s own. Granps takes a seat next to him. Old legs pop, his face twinges in pain, which manly pride is quick to conceal. He looks up towards where wall tilts to ceiling. Initially, it looks as if it might go indefinitely, but it does have an end, basked in shadow, where light but meekly dips its feet. A variety of trophies hide within those shaded heights. Great pelts, massive heads, and the preserved carcasses of aquatic horrors. It displayed the mastery of hunters and even more masterful fishers that built the legacy of Avon. “Ah. Come now, you’ll do better. A rabbit is more than impressive for a first hunt.” Keph’s smile fades. That’s right. The celebrations were for him and other youth. He went on his first hunt today, didn’t he? Grandpa looks over one shoulder, then the other. He leans into Keph’s ear. “I hear the Baahast boy nearly pissed himself at the sight of an elk,” he mischievously murmurs, before letting out a mocking laugh. Keph can’t help but laugh alongside him. A few eyes are now on the two, the noise of laughs growing into uncontrollable roars calling attention to them. Keph begins to cough. The old man slaps him on the back. “Come on. There’s a mug o’ ale with your name on it… don’t give me that look! If you’re old enough to hunt, you’re old enough to drink.” An overtly goofy chortle reassures Keph of the innocence of a sip-or-two. Steps are taken towards the table. Its sight is lost to encroaching fog. He continues to walk, unsure of where he’s headed, it’s a depressingly familiar feeling. He blinks. Pain greets his nose. That brief second is all that it takes for him to stumble into something. “Waaaatch it.” The lead huntsman surreptitiously hisses at him. Keph waves in a dismissive fashion. The huntsman replies with a roll of his eyes. Keph rolls his eyes back. The rebellious youth can see how badly his trainer wishes to slap him atop the head, it’s what he always does when he screws up. But he couldn’t. Not out here. A loud, angry yell and a brief distraction could easily get both of them gored. The young man squeezes his pained nose, hands concealing a smile. He finds that there is joy to be derived from pushing the huntsman’s buttons especially when he knows he can’t be punished. His teacher’s hawkish eyes scan the horizon, forgetting the boy’s misdeeds. Hands sign. Something is up ahead. Keph gets into position. It’s a deer, a mighty big one too! An arrow is notched, and raised to eyelevel. The neck. It’s best to hit the neck. A bird drops from the sky, white as the snow, as white as his own hair. It startles the deer, his mark takes flight. The arrow is released, it whooshes past, nicking it, but insufficient for a takedown. The shot had been taken in desperation, and he didn’t expect it to work, nevertheless, he’s disappointed. Keph rises. Quick on his feet, he takes chase. “Hey! Don—” The huntsman orders are met with belligerent rashness. He tries to run after his student, but Keph’s always been slippier than a hare. *
It’s been an hour, by his estimate. He’s still chasing it. He’s lost sight of the deer, by this point, but its tracks lead him true. He’s nervous, anxious, but also excited. A prize like that would prove to all that, despite his age, he has the grit of ancestral heroes. Imagination soars, images flash through his head: scenes of applause, ale, and the honor of a personal sacrifice to the Scaled Slumberer. Energetic pitter pattering of feet and a sudden jolt display his delight. He ducks. There it is. He assures himself that it won’t escape twice. A second arrow is notched, aimed, and released, it doesn’t fail him. Metal pierces hide. The deer takes one panicked step, two, before shock sets in. It stumbles and falls with a heavy slump. His tunnel vision dies with the deer. He smiles at first, then a twig cracks. He turns. Murder-filled eyes are staring him down. A dire bear. There had been other warnings, but pride had blinded him to them. Air escapes him. He closes his eyes, too scared to meet the curtain call with honour. Inwardly, he cries for help. Something has to help him. Anything. Consciousness fades. There isn’t pain. He isn’t dead, somehow he knows that much, but he isn’t where he was. A comforting emptiness cradles him, it’s too expansive for him to truly understand. He knows he won’t remember this, not completely, not truly. A fragmented dream accompanied by whispers from beyond. Time passes. His senses return. The beast is slain, very little remains of it. The head huntsman and a few others had thrown caution to the wind and done their best to follow the reckless boy. Their faces somehow managed to grow paler, expressions sharing how they regret their choice. The world trips and tumbles into the void. It doesn’t last, soon regaining its footing, yet like with every major fall, it proves crippling. Something is left behind; the haze returns. He realizes now that he is somewhere, but not here. It’s all a memory. The great hall forms around him again. An encore? No, this memory is different. The fire stands tall, today. Dwarfing even the greatest of Avon’s warriors. Fight as he might, his eyes refuse to focus, incapable of escaping the flame. There’s an elongated table before him. Several men, a few women; one of them is his grandfather. They’re all ancient, all wise. The decision hasn’t come lightly, he’s certain of that. The words are as featureless as everything else now. They’re without meaning, but his emotions towards them are clear. Anger that rivalled the fire’s, shame emptier than the deepest of chasms, unending regret. *
Keph’s eyes shot open, wide. Several, deep breaths were taken, his mind reeling from unwanted nightmares. His body felt numb, with a weakness similar to what he had felt back on the Depravity. All except for his legs, which felt as if they had walked for miles without stop. It was a bizarre dissonance, which only distracted his mind from the unknown surroundings. There were tents, people, and lastly noticed: a hand pressing into his head. He leaned into it, deciding that whoever had woken him could at least bear his weight, he just wanted to rest for a bit longer.
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