Post by Strike on Jun 16, 2010 22:43:02 GMT -5
The taking of Iris – Before the Immortal War.
The ground was coarse and harsh beneath his naked knees. His tribal leathers spread around him on the ground as he remained fixated to the floor. His hands rested palm up on his thighs while straggly, long silver hair dangled like a curtain around his hung head. Feather and beads of assortments hung in various hair strands, but remained stilled while Strike held his form without moving. At this time he was young, very much so, barely starting out his life. In human standards, he was close to his earliest twenties. A pup in Kragarian times. He would be for a very long time. Though this day, he grew up far too quickly.
His destined mate, Iris was no gone. The rain began to fall, washing away the evidence of her kidnapping. Her blood streamed away and absorbed into the ground. A blood life-force that never should have been able to go past the shielding of her skin. They were too powerful a race for such a thing. But it happened to her. His destined mate was taken, leaving him broken and unfulfilled. Since their birth, everyone knew the connected between the two and what it would amount to. Even his power hungry father did not step between it and only encouraged. She was strong in heart and body, as every proud female of their race amounted to. So why should anyone have argued it?
None of their kind did. But it seemed another kind thought otherwise. The kind of leeching, of parasitic ways. The vermin of his world. Later on, in the world of humans, they would become known as vampires. But for now, they were something different, something more powerful. But just as annoying. There was no hope of getting her back for at this length of time, she was most assuredly dead. They all had said it, testing Strike’s patience and adaption to the news. But he did not spend his anger on them, no. He transferred it to a form of self loathing, mentally killing himself over and over knowing if he had been there, it would not have happened. He could not even do his one duty to her, to protect her as a mate should.
Tears silently fell and dripped from his face, only to mingle with the rain, then ultimately the mud forming at his knees now. There had been so much blood, so much destruction where they had taken her. That was his girl, going out with a fight. But by scent alone, he knew all that blood belonged to her, and very little of it to her assailants. There were multiple, it would take half a dozen to take her down. She was young, but Kragarians are strong, fierce, powerful.
He would have liked to believe it was the sickness, the plague surrounding his people, that took her. That would have been better than this. Many had already died from it, a feat not easy amongst their kind. Others held promise of soon following suit. Even his own father had begun coughing. Some had even gone missing all together without a trace, generally after the earthquakes. It was inevitable that many more would obtain it as well. But now, their deaths meant nothing to him, only one did and that was to the other half of his heart.
Warm hands rested on his shoulders, then a slender arm snaked across and held him tight. He only turned his head a fraction to see long, white splendid hair. The tears came fiercer and quicker as the woman next to him opener her arms further and invited him closer. He leaned onto his mother, burying his face into her collarbone as he began to bawl. Her arms closed on him tightly, a hand holding the back of his head and the other hugging over his shoulders. “Shhhhh….” She urged him to quiet even as his own arms embraced over her midsection and held firmly, much like a child. Soon her voice lifted over the rain, singing calmly in their tongue. Her voice that of lightness and something mystical. A voice to influence and encourage, and she always chose to encourage lightness and calming. Later his sister would obtain this ability, and choose to use it for manipulation in getting what she wanted. But this he did not know yet. He only knew how much he loved his mother and would be lost without her guiding hand.
For many hours they sat in the rain, impervious to sickness from it. At last, he did end up quieting down, but refused to release her. She sang and sang, never hesitating save for only breathing, her melody drifting across the land. He was not a man, not yet. He could not be, despite the hard lesson of life he obtained that day. There would come other things to harden him and make him into a real man. But it was the very last time he ever cried so harshly and had the affection of his mother to sooth him.
The Death of the Moonshallow Clan – Before the Immortal War.
::: TO COME :::
The ground was coarse and harsh beneath his naked knees. His tribal leathers spread around him on the ground as he remained fixated to the floor. His hands rested palm up on his thighs while straggly, long silver hair dangled like a curtain around his hung head. Feather and beads of assortments hung in various hair strands, but remained stilled while Strike held his form without moving. At this time he was young, very much so, barely starting out his life. In human standards, he was close to his earliest twenties. A pup in Kragarian times. He would be for a very long time. Though this day, he grew up far too quickly.
His destined mate, Iris was no gone. The rain began to fall, washing away the evidence of her kidnapping. Her blood streamed away and absorbed into the ground. A blood life-force that never should have been able to go past the shielding of her skin. They were too powerful a race for such a thing. But it happened to her. His destined mate was taken, leaving him broken and unfulfilled. Since their birth, everyone knew the connected between the two and what it would amount to. Even his power hungry father did not step between it and only encouraged. She was strong in heart and body, as every proud female of their race amounted to. So why should anyone have argued it?
None of their kind did. But it seemed another kind thought otherwise. The kind of leeching, of parasitic ways. The vermin of his world. Later on, in the world of humans, they would become known as vampires. But for now, they were something different, something more powerful. But just as annoying. There was no hope of getting her back for at this length of time, she was most assuredly dead. They all had said it, testing Strike’s patience and adaption to the news. But he did not spend his anger on them, no. He transferred it to a form of self loathing, mentally killing himself over and over knowing if he had been there, it would not have happened. He could not even do his one duty to her, to protect her as a mate should.
Tears silently fell and dripped from his face, only to mingle with the rain, then ultimately the mud forming at his knees now. There had been so much blood, so much destruction where they had taken her. That was his girl, going out with a fight. But by scent alone, he knew all that blood belonged to her, and very little of it to her assailants. There were multiple, it would take half a dozen to take her down. She was young, but Kragarians are strong, fierce, powerful.
He would have liked to believe it was the sickness, the plague surrounding his people, that took her. That would have been better than this. Many had already died from it, a feat not easy amongst their kind. Others held promise of soon following suit. Even his own father had begun coughing. Some had even gone missing all together without a trace, generally after the earthquakes. It was inevitable that many more would obtain it as well. But now, their deaths meant nothing to him, only one did and that was to the other half of his heart.
Warm hands rested on his shoulders, then a slender arm snaked across and held him tight. He only turned his head a fraction to see long, white splendid hair. The tears came fiercer and quicker as the woman next to him opener her arms further and invited him closer. He leaned onto his mother, burying his face into her collarbone as he began to bawl. Her arms closed on him tightly, a hand holding the back of his head and the other hugging over his shoulders. “Shhhhh….” She urged him to quiet even as his own arms embraced over her midsection and held firmly, much like a child. Soon her voice lifted over the rain, singing calmly in their tongue. Her voice that of lightness and something mystical. A voice to influence and encourage, and she always chose to encourage lightness and calming. Later his sister would obtain this ability, and choose to use it for manipulation in getting what she wanted. But this he did not know yet. He only knew how much he loved his mother and would be lost without her guiding hand.
For many hours they sat in the rain, impervious to sickness from it. At last, he did end up quieting down, but refused to release her. She sang and sang, never hesitating save for only breathing, her melody drifting across the land. He was not a man, not yet. He could not be, despite the hard lesson of life he obtained that day. There would come other things to harden him and make him into a real man. But it was the very last time he ever cried so harshly and had the affection of his mother to sooth him.
The Death of the Moonshallow Clan – Before the Immortal War.
::: TO COME :::