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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Great Post, Hammer.
Very interesting. TRSG's Post I believe.
Hmm...wondering how Septimus and Evani are going to make up.
Posted on 2008-05-14 at 23:08:42.
Edited on 2008-05-14 at 23:13:29 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Done...
Post is up.
*sits back and twiddles thumbs*
I`ll post after someone else's reaction.
Posted on 2008-05-14 at 19:21:51.
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Brother's Keeper
Betrayal.
A small unassuming smile flickered over his lips as the soft words of the mercenary hovered in the silence of the little room. He settled back in his chair, content. “I remember”, he breathed, his voice gentle and almost reverent, rising like smoke from a funeral pyre to the low, white-washed ceiling. His eyes glinted in the faint light that crept in through the grim portside window that scanned the mists and lowlands of his world as if through the filmed eye of a blind man.
He rose wordlessly, feeling himself dismissed, his footsteps uneven and surreal as he limped past the seeker, past the keeper in the infuriating quiet. Pale faces resurrected in the moonlight, names, words that caught in his throat, and he was to stay, like a child, the titles that would have granted power over his fear forever slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, like shine.
And then she was there, the woman for which he had no name. He felt his heart convulse in his chest at the sight of her as she floated towards him on effortless steps, ethereal, heartbreakingly beautiful, and in the dim cavern of his mind he hated her.
He stood, unmoving, feeling distantly a biting pain as his nails dug into the tender flesh of his palms. His slender body, outfitted as it was with finery, moved in a cold, distant rage to block her path, eyes suddenly fixing on her with a fervid, frightening intensity. There was no rational mind behind the savagery of his gaze as they seared through her every uncertainty, penetrating through every weakness, every hint of hesitation. Madness, that irresponsible jester capered behind the justifiable rage, and one knew at once that he was a creature of exquisite danger, a creature that could kill.
“Look at me”, he whispered into the deafening abyss, his voice terrifying in its chilling simplicity.
Fury fired through his body, warming his frightened, frantic heart at her callousness. He snarled suddenly at her, in a guttural, wordless expression of defeat, tearing his eyes from her to the harmless, unharmable paneling. A sharp, humourless laugh escaped his throat unbidden with the sound of shattering glass. “How little do you know me”, he whispered, his eyes meeting hers once more, black as insect blood in the underbelly of the vessel. “I am a dead man”, he murmured through numbed lips, “a specter made flesh. What know I of revenge” He brushed his dark hair from his eyes, his face a sallow landscape of hills and valleys in his grief.
“What know I of being human?”
He faced her then, bright as the sun. “Am I not a pirate lord”, he questioned angrily. “Who slew the cowards, the deserters and the blind? Did not I? Take back your love again, for you do not love me. Take back your words, for if you love me, I cannot love”. He broke off then, and staggered back, shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. Pressure rose behind his eyes and he choked it back, fighting against himself.
“Pariah”, he murmured softly.
“So spoke the Keeper”.
“I cannot love, but I love you”, he whispered. “The question is not of whether I will take you. My heart belongs to you, regardless. The question is whether you will take me”. He stumbled back another step. “But what woman would? “ His eyes met hers, tortured and sad and for a split second they shimmered with tears.
“Love me then, or kill me.”
For a moment he hesitated, drawn by an inescapable power, and then he was gone, running from her despite the pain that resulted from his rashness, desperate to be away from the torrid emotions her presence caused, the love that was so strong, so overpowering that it was like dying, the uncertainty that was drowning. He tore up the stairs to the deck, and stumbled into the open air, almost crumpling to his knees in his haste. He staggered to the rail, and leaned against it, closing his eyes to the garish sun.
Time passed, of which he was barely aware. Memories of the nightmarish encounter with Evani still burned fresh within his mind. It was with an exhausted reluctance that he lifted his head to the unmistakable sound of the ship, suspicion managing to light in his eyes the instant before the abrupt stop of the vessel. He grabbed for the rail, managing to keep his balance despite his unsteady legs.
Gazing towards the wide expanse of sea, towards the oncoming enemy, he drew forth his pistol in shaking hands, trailing it on the figures of each foe in turn as the great ship groaned and turned broadsides. He stepped back cautiously, body held tense, weapon outstretched, as the three oddly-attired warriors boarded. He glanced sharply to Shaben as they arrogantly voiced their demands, silently cursing his friend and grinding his teeth, he watched a spell-bound Shaben tramp unconcerned over to the unnatural vessel.
“Always have to be the martyr don’t we”, he called out sardonically over the raging ocean. “Lovely”.
He cocked his pistol, eyes squarely focused on the elven female, gauging her to be the leader.
“Nice to know you aren’t entirely self-involved”.
Posted on 2008-05-13 at 22:52:42.
Edited on 2008-05-13 at 23:00:27 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Posting
Posting today. I am extremely busy, but I will manage a good post. It will probably be up in a few hours. No worries, but I determined to make my post a post of quality.
Posted on 2008-05-13 at 20:06:11.
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Great!
Just need to remind you that I`m in a bit of a pickle until you post!
And ironically, Septimus ALSO lost his wife and children, they were killed by his vengeful brother, Quintus after Sep murdered his eldest brother Primus as a child. Perhaps the two incidents are connected?
Posted on 2008-05-13 at 14:39:48.
Edited on 2008-05-13 at 14:41:22 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Ah, but...
I actually have no idea of their connection. I`ve been meaning to ask Hammer about that.
Posted on 2008-05-12 at 19:43:28.
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: My Post
Will post after Hammer's reply.
Brilliant post, by the way Glory.
Very well done.
After his little confrontation with Rex, I`ll have him reply.
Posted on 2008-05-12 at 19:29:10.
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: In the Outside Asylum
Apparently it would do to step carefully around his new opponent.
With remarkable poise, he inclined his head towards him, wordlessly reevaluating the situation. He moved cautiously, replying with a noncommittal nod of his head to express his willingness to comply with the odd set of rules he had suddenly been presented with.
It seemed he had no other choice.
Despite having all the logic of a lunatic, it was painfully obvious that the mercenary was an exceedingly dangerous individual, and it was feigned calm that prevented him from murmuring an apology and racing from the room. Calculating emerald eyes tracked him, weighing the importance of each new, bizarre development.
It was with hesitance that he followed him to the cramped table in the corner, and following the impression of his companion, he sat opposite him, folding his long legs gracefully out of sight. Silently, and with total animal watchfulness he followed the larger man’s deliberate movements, unconsciously running his tongue across his lips at the appearance of tobacco. Faintly disappointed, he decisively brought forth his own pipe and light, and offered him a noncommittal, rather charming smile. “No need to trouble yourself”, he retorted dryly, and lit his own device. Contently, he drew the smoke deeply into his lungs, a small smirk across his lips, eyes never wavering.
The tense manner of the encounter electrified him, and his dark eyes lighted at the sight of the alcohol. He tilted his head slightly, declining, his gaze shining murder. Not yet mad enough; perhaps, to take a drink, he egged him on with his silent refusal, sensing that he was in the presence of one who would just as soon sink his teeth into your throat then offer you a drink. He sat back, waiting, the hard line of his shoulders relaxing only when the mercenary had drunk from his own bottle. He received the liquor passed to him with a soft word of thanks and then tipped his head back, taking a long draught. He passed the bottle back, colour back in his cheeks. “It is share and share alike aboard this vessel”, he replied darkly. “A vile mistake”.
“Do you”, he whispered, not entirely surprised. He leaned back in his chair, calling his bluff. His eyes flashed suddenly to the pistol, a dire moment of weakness, and then returned reluctantly to his opponent’s face. “I do not blame her”, he intoned, his movements hyponising, precise. Never averting his eyes, his hand dropped below the table and drew his own weapon, a vision of rosewood and steel. He took another long drag of his pipe, satisfied, placing the pistol on the table within an inch of his reach.
“It is a well known fact that I cannot be trusted”.
In the time it took for the Mercenary to finish his sentence, Septimus was on his feet, and had gotten behind him. A thin trill of metal echoed through the eerie silence as he drew his cutlass, leveling across his opponent’s throat. It stopped a comfortable distance from his skin, a definite threat, albeit a cautious one. He lowered his head to his level, calmly executing the game.
“Recklessness is the precursor for weakness”, he murmured, his voice low and musing in the quiet that followed. “But of course, you would have never given me that impression…my friend”. He chuckled softly. “Next time, I suggest that you do not test me. I do not take well to it”.
He suddenly stepped back and sheathed his weapon, nonchalantly walking back around to his chair. He sat down again, a twinkle of humour in his gaze as he regarded him. He positioned himself; his chest completely vulnerable to an sudden rain of fire should his old peer desire. He glanced down to the pistols on the table, shrugged, and placed both hands behind his head, seemly fearless of attack.
“Know thy enemy”, he stated softly, his eyes half-closed. “I do not think that you know me…Rex the Reckless. At least…not to my satisfaction. But are we enemies?” He smiled. “Ah, that is the greater question. You see…I do not think that we are. After all…there were plenty of opportunities for you to eliminate me and yet you did not. Now what is that? Weakness of character? Lack of forethought? Or perhaps an altruistic trait that you were previously unaware of?”
He gestured to himself, and then leaned back, half-closing his eyes again. “Shoot, if we are enemies. I will not think badly of you. But I do say so myself, I believe I am worth much more alive. An idea that you must have had, with your incessant healing. Quite uncharacteristic. “
He grinned.
“But very becoming”.
Posted on 2008-05-11 at 21:16:12.
Edited on 2008-05-11 at 22:55:14 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Somewhat Inept
Dawn broke slowly for him.
Exhaustion had overcome him past the night, and he had spent a day and a morning in morose contemplation. So elusive had he managed to be, that hardly a glimpse was afforded to anyone for the day that he rested. A swirl of onyx past the corner, perhaps, as he took the customary route to deck, a creak on a wooden stair, the firm, defensive slam of a door. He had taken to eating his meals in his cabin, skirting contact with humanity as befitted his solitary disposition.
On the morning of the second day he rose to the accustomed scream of the gull, bowing his head before the harsh sunlight that filtered in uneasily through the small cracked window of his cabin. He stretched leisurely and climbed reluctantly out of the swaying hammock. As he managed to stand to his full measure, the golden light resurrected a definite sallow cast to his pale skin, setting off eyes that imparted a rather melancholy expression. Dark bruised circles skirted the fragile skin beneath his eyes, and the hollows of his cheek seemed particularly pronounced. The thin man had become gaunt.
While the light afforded he inspected his wound and noted the thick knitting of scar tissue had begun to appear. A hint of curiosity inspired a half-imaged recollection, tormented and lunatic as his dreams, that which were but intangible shadows, mercifully vague in the lucidity of his conscious mind. He limped slowly over to the simple wooden chair that served as his dresser, and noted with some amusement and gratitude that new clothes had been given to him, so thoughtfully arranged and nostalgic. A faint smile brushed his lips as he ran his hand over the thin muslin material of the fencing shirt, the inlaid, intricate detail that speckled the belt. Memories reddened and memories hesitant flooded through his mind, bringing a hot burning of pressure behind his eyes.
He shut them, willing the tears away.
Gripping tight his emotions and dismissing them he stripped quickly and changed, finally twisting his head about the door to survey the corridor. Satisfied that he was alone he padded awkwardly down its length, stopping before one of the cabins. He rested his hand on the door knob. Fear gripped his stomach, and he hesitated, eyes half-closed, a thin trail of perspiration running down his brow. Unhappiness and a terrifying uncertainty forced him deeper into depression, and shyness, as always hindered him more than any physical impediment ever did. He paused, absurdly standing there without a word, cursing his inability. Finally, murmuring a rather unconventional word directed towards himself, he slunk away from her cabin, utterly hopeless.
Unhappiness had caused him to become caught in a cycle of self-destruction. Wave after wave of disgust and the fulfillment of prophecy washed over him, completely obliterating all optimism. Silently, he began to question himself in ways he had never explored, seeking answers that were impossibly bleak but possibly true. Miserable, and counting himself obviously unworthy he retreated back down the length of the corridor, eyes riveted stubbornly on the interesting pattern of dust and grime that decked the length of the floor.
He was about to retire, when an idea came to him, and forsaking his own rest, his forced himself to perhaps make one more visit before he denounced the merits of society. Approaching the mercenary’s cabin, he rapped lightly on the door as a courtesy. When he was allowed admittance, he shuffled into the cabin, eyes carefully averted from the stranger. In an attempt to appear friendly he managed a faint smile that in his current condition resembled a grimace more than any apparent gesture of good-will.
“I wish to thank you, though perhaps you would have it otherwise”, he murmured quietly, with a curt little nod in his direction.
“If it was not for your healing prowess I would almost certainly have died”. He smiled at the absurdity in that statement. “Not that that would not have solved quite a few things in the eyes of society. Wars, crimes. “He shrugged. “You do know the risks involved with aiding fugitives from the law, my anonymous friend?” He finally made eye contact, his gaze twinkling with sardonic humour and curiosity.
“You are one of us now, are you not?”
He bowed very slightly.
“Captain Septimus Sandalwood, at your service, sir”, he introduced himself softly.
“For what it is worth, I am quite glad to be alive”.
Posted on 2008-05-07 at 23:28:30.
Edited on 2008-05-07 at 23:41:14 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Riders Swift, Riders Unseen
He started morosely at the ceiling.
Throughout the night he had tossed, restlessly, unable to keep the dread from icing over his heart, immobilising it. He toyed with the idea of abandonment, an idea that was as cold and emotionless as it was filled with fear. He closed his eyes as he thought back, played with this consideration, the darkness in him, summoning,resurrecting a past scented with a drift of wood-smoke, the citrus scent of uncertainty, almonds in the dusk. The tired pallor of dust on window shades, like creepers.
Opening his exhausted, red-rimmed eyes he noted a spider weaving gossamer poetry in the corner of his room, and smiled faintly. The drag of death near, unexplained always pulled at him, relentlessly driving, welcomed. Guilt and self-loathing followed him like malign specters, reminding him that he had not the bravery to shed his own blood, not to mention the blood of others. Weak.
Groaning slightly, he sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side. He held his head in his hands for a moment, biting back a splitting headache and then with a smooth sweeping movement kicked the empty tray beneath the bed and out of sight. He snarled into the light of day that came whispering in through the window, mindless of his current situation. Grabbing up the disguise ring he slammed the door back on its hinges and made his way sullenly down to breakfast.
Noting Zara and Oko, as the latter was clearly unmistakable he grimaced, an unpleasant expression that looked entirely out of place on his disguise’s clean-cut, boyishly handsome features.
Noting there was no way to avoid them, he stalked unwillingly over to Zara, grumbling a half-meant greeting.
He looked like death.
Dark shadows curved in half-moons under his sunken eyes, his complexion was rather pallid, like sallow, fragile parchment, as was suiting his condition. He nodded towards Oko, a sarcastic smile snaking across his lips at their obvious surprise at his appearance.
“So”, he murmured, his eyes, shifting, hovering on Zara.
“We ride today, I gather”.
Posted on 2008-05-06 at 20:54:53.
Edited on 2008-05-06 at 20:59:57 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: ^^
Can`t wait for your post.
Posted on 2008-05-05 at 22:18:49.
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Topic: What is your Favorite Character Class and Why?
Subject: Hmmm...
Rogue, probably. Always fun for a gamble. Like Eol, my first character was a theif.
Second probably ranger or druid.
Posted on 2008-05-05 at 10:22:36.
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: What in a Name...
He lost himself in her.
A communion like dying, a flash. And then exhaustion, settling bone-deep into his body. He supported himself on the palms of his hands and withdrew slightly, breathing coming in short hard gasps. He rolled onto his back, ignoring the insistent sting as the hard wood paneling slapped against his wound. His eyes swerved over to her, hooded and impossibly dark, full black in the light of the waning moon. A smile touched his lips at her words, crookedly, endearingly, and he entwined his fingers in hers, tugging her gently to him, against him. No words, he communicated completely in silence. He rested, enchanted by the warmth of her body, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Thoughtless.
Her fingers lightly traced the scars that lashed across his alabaster flesh, his stories. His eyes closed and he recalled the origin of each one. The faded slice-marks from prison, where he had been cut by the iron bars in his escape, the jagged, healed wounds from a dozen failed battles. Twin gunshots, blistered. An odd burn that skated his thin wrist, visible as he moved in the shadows. A mark that looked almost like a brand. Painful memories tore his breath from his throat and unable to bear it, he reached for her, drew her, his lips crashing securely, fiercely against hers, all tenderness forgotten.
He was a boy again.
In the lucid caverns of his mind an image was conjured, of the dank and the dark. He could smell again the scent of stale urine and desperation that clung hopelessly to the walls of the forgotten place. He could feel the planks of the makeshift cot beneath him, the chill of the stone, the pain of metal clamped too tightly around his wrists. He fixed his gaze resolutely to the blankness of the ceiling, his eyes enormous and speechless in his pale, gaunt face. He closed his eyes, panting, fear and defiance registered in the tense posture of his body.
“Hold him”.
Two words, that ricocheted eerily against the stone walls of his cell, unfeeling as the latticed bars. He felt two heavy, callused hands grab his slight shoulders and slam him back against the wall. Pain burst in his head sending a wave of white noise, obliterating all senses. He was still aware as a hot trickle of blood dripped down his cheek, heard it with insane clarity as it struck stone. More movement around him now, he was being unshackled. Air caressed his bleeding wrists and instinctively he winced, drawing his limbs away from his tormentors. He was slammed back against the wall again, his head cracking against the stone. Dimly, he felt his left wrist being held, positioned, heard his brother’s voice, soft and indistinct, felt a sudden heat, felt fear.
Agony that he had never known existed blazed through the cage of his mind. He could smell burning flesh, feel it as the white-hot brand dug deeper into his skin. He screamed, and when the hands holding him up relinquished their hold he fell to his knees, holding his injured wrist and quietly sobbing. His eyes were open now, fixed on the clear brand of a seven seared into the scant flesh of his arm.His eyes flew towards the world outside his chamber as soft laughter reached his ears, mild and unrelenting.
His brother stood before him in full militia uniform, weak blue eyes swimming with contempt and perhaps even satisfaction. Septimus bowed his head, cowed. He had no strength left to fight the man he once sprang at whenever he glimpsed him near his cell. He merely held his wrist, whimpering. “You”, Quintus said lightly, “are going to die”. He was met with a weak snarl in reply. “You do know that, don’t you? “ He inspected his nails in boredom. “The hangman has already been scheduled, the public, notified. “
Septimus continued to sob. Quintus gestured towards his wounded arm. “Seven for the seventh son of a seventh son. Quite appropriate wouldn’t you say?” His eyes hardened into chips of glacial ice. “Pirate”.
The youngest of the brothers trembled under his elder brother’s hatred. He already understood the subtle meaning of this final humiliation, his last despair. Symbolic agony. Branding was for animals. He had been dehumanised. He would not even be granted the death of a man. Branding was for owned livestock. Hanging was for dogs. His carcass would be cut down and burned, even in death he would be consumed in fire.
He was left to lick his wound until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
He broke the kiss, his pained, somehow ancient eyes locking onto hers for a split second before he embraced her slight frame, his head over her shoulder, their hears pounding in communion. “Why do you love me”, he whispered brokenly, memories of what had just been accomplished trailing through his mind like smoke. He broke off again, breathing hard, and kissed her urgently and when he pulled back, his eyes were wild. He smoothed back her dark red hair that glowed like embers in the moonlight, traced the perfect curve of her jaw. The brand stood, stark and sinister, red against his white flesh. A bitter expression turned down the corners of his mouth.
“Come with me back to my cabin”, he murmured breathlessly. He stood and grabbed his ragged cloak, wrapping it around himself. Shivering in the cold, he held out his hand. “Help me forget”. He smiled suddenly, startlingly innocent and heartbreakingly sad.
“I’m terrified of the dark”.
Posted on 2008-05-01 at 00:44:53.
Edited on 2008-05-01 at 10:38:12 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: The Morbid Nature of Man
Sleep never did come easy for Septimus.
Through the windswept depth of night, the rosettes of darkness swirled in lunatic patterns along the wall. Ever twisting, ever hovering lower, lighter, against the dreaming face like bats or maybe moths, something from a nightmare, brushing his thoughts with pale, dusty wings. And then to the whitewashed wall, pinned there like insects, or perhaps roses. Yes, perhaps that was more apt, pinned like dying roses in the dark. He tossed, tousled hair veiling his features, ever so often his outstretched hand striking against the woven cocoon of his hammock. And then stillness and settled breathing, a dead face, all of alabaster skin, hollowed cheeks, eyelids stained the delicate lilac colour of exhaustion.
Intoxicated by the sweetness of his own madness.
Dreams. For him, sleep was never dreamless. In rapid succession one after the other, always terrifyingly alike. A stumble. A step. Fighting. Now that was something that did not terrify him or even truly concern him. The smell of death, quietly cloying. Soldiers. He impatiently batted them away, they were not his quarry. Ah. Their leader. He crept towards him as he had been taught, body close to the ground, a tight coil of frantic energy. Blood pounded through his ears like a tribal drum, fueling his muscles. He could see the delicate pulse in his throat, smell the scent of his sweat and fear, hear the frenetic beat of his heart. He was stag-like. Weak.
And as always, he leapt at him, a blaze of fury and unleashed steel. He could taste the blood of his enemy, hot and vital, a scent like freshly shorn copper. He could see it. And then, again, was the shocking sensation of surprise, the horrifying, deep burn, the searing heat of the bullet striking and then lodging itself into flesh. The odour of blood in his nostrils, the knowledge that it was his own. And then the disbelief that flooded through him, swept through him, sending him crashing unceremoniously to his knees, crashing and bleeding. Dark forest green eyes glazing over from shock as he collapsed, his weapon falling uselessly from his nerveless fingers.
He was nothing.
Meat.
Septimus jerked himself from sleep, his breathing coming in short hard gasps. He winced, registering the pain as real, and shifted off his injured leg. The night terrors faded, burying into his subconscious, he never did remember them. Only a sense of foreboding remained, he thought drowsily as he gazed up into the ceiling, a sensation that did not quickly dissipate. Hoping for a chance to ease his spirits he climbed out of the hammock, maneuvering himself with an awkward grace, and limped over to the door. He glanced quickly to make sure that he was alone and then shuffled softly down the corridor, ignoring the pain that resulted from his efforts.
Mounting the stairs and opening the door to the deck, he was rewarded instantly with a gust of sea air. He smiled in spite of himself, falling at ease once again to the rhythm of the ship, her moods, her ways. Forcing himself to the rail, past the ghostly, desolate plane of the deck, he supported himself heavily on it, scanning the stars, listening to the playful slap of the waves against the ship’s hull. Alone, and in spite of himself he turned his head to regard the waves, their grey-green friendliness turned almost ebony by moonlight, like shimmering oil. He shivered as the wind tore through the thin material of his cloak and felt an inexplicable desire that made his stomach turn with dread. Looking away from the beguiling sea he wondered faintly of the morbidity of man, that he had felt a strong need to jump into their welcoming embrace, to swim in them, to drown…
He stood, his eyes drawn again to the water, his hand on the rail. Perhaps, he thought, without the slightest idea that he had thought it, perhaps it was for the best. A low sound cut through his morose thoughts, his head turning sharply to search for the source of the noise. There. Blended in with the shadows Evani lay still on the deck where he had left her all those hours ago. Endeared, but fearing for her safety he limped over to her crumpled form. He knelt beside her and brushed a strand of her fine auburn hair from her eyes, all the while murmuring soft, soothing nothingness. He gently woke her from sleep, and smiled at her, his eyes fine jade in the moonlight.He drew closer to her, acutely aware of the bare skin of his chest beneath his cloak, his shirt sacrificed to save them, to save him.
“It’s not safe alone out here, love”, he whispered quietly, thoughts far away.
“At least let me stay out here with you”.
Posted on 2008-04-28 at 22:31:02.
Edited on 2008-04-28 at 22:49:33 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: ^^
Your post, I believe, George.
Posted on 2008-04-27 at 23:16:12.
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Posted
Got a post done.
No idea who is to post next.
Posted on 2008-04-27 at 12:59:29.
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Atonement
A sickening sensation as he fell.
Instinctively he thrust his hands out in front of him to catch himself, in spite of himself watching his old friend’s every move. A pair of strong hands caught him and he fought against their hold for a split second, flailing, and then went limp, allowing Shaben to help him recline against the deck. He seethed, breathing in sharp gasps of air sucked from between clenched teeth. Feral eyes tracked him, softening slightly, unwillingly. An incredible gust of relief swept through him, filling his mind with blessed white noise.
“Thank you”, he managed brokenly, his eyes suddenly deep set and very very dark, a split second of emerald swimming in a sea of black. He shifted onto his side, their close proximity suddenly uncomfortable. He bowed his shaggy head, listening to the pacifying whisper and draw of the waves, pounding in rhythm to the ominous reminder that their peace was inherently doomed from the start. He glanced up, ears cocked for information, a clear expression of displeasure flickering across his visage.
“How noble”, he murmured morosely. He smiled a crooked smile. “You know Shaben”, he whispered, “I had never before had any intention of being a hero.” He sighed. “And all this time I was under the impression that I was only saving our skins…but hundreds? Your soft heart belies you, my friend”.
He fell into silence, electric fear pulsing through his blood, invigorating him. Atonement for the cruelties of the sea, a kinder sacrifice. The gifts of life, swiftly stolen, returned. In his heart there was a certain sweetness in the memory of heroics, the popularity, the settlement. Love, from a far greater endeavour. And as he wrapped his arms around Evani in a desperate attempt to dispel the heaviness, the terrible finality of his friend’s words, he wondered if he so needed love after all.
How easily, he thought drowsily, the heart dictated the course of action. The shear power of love, that brought him entirely under the power of this slight female’s hand. For love, he knew that he was weak, and powerless, entirely willing to grant her anything and everything.
And so he would cut off his very life if she only requested it.
“I love you”, he whispered with as much tenderness as his voice would allow, and rested his head against hers. Friendship rested in his heart, settled with compatibility. He felt the sheer strength of the emotion overtake all logic, all better judgment, loving without judgment. Nothingness but her.
The fearful beauty of the blankness.
The complex simplicity of his world.
Exhaustion quickly reminded him of his dire condition and he gently unwrapped his arms from about her. He apologised briefly and stumbled to his feet. Supporting himself on the rail, he hesitated, his wounded leg useless, aching with a deep primitive agony. Managing by a bout of rather undignified hopping, he made his way to the door, back straight, cursing his appearance. After a perilous journey down the stairs, he searched for an unoccupied cabin and finding one by sheer luck, he limped precariously into it, collapsing into the strung hammock. He gritted his teeth against the pain, shutting his eyes to the light, the impossibly uncertain words echoing mercilessly in his brain insuring only one conceivable outcome.
He laughed heartlessly into the dark.
Posted on 2008-04-26 at 19:36:14.
Edited on 2008-04-26 at 21:05:12 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: ^^
Exhausted. If I write today I am sure that it will be terrible. Tomorrow, it will be of much better quality. Posting tomorrow, I promise.
Posted on 2008-04-24 at 20:46:50.
Edited on 2008-04-24 at 20:48:47 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: The Last Sail
His mind reeled, unable to process the words spilling restlessly, without cease, mercilessly.
Professed secrets followed immediately by confession.
He cocked his head up to look at him, his dark matted hair falling unceremoniously over his brow. His eyes narrowed into gems of crystalline beauty, pure and cold. No words. His heart pounded in the silence, threatening to break free of its confines. Unable to bear the tension any longer, he grabbed for his tattered cloak, and fished through its deep, hand-sewn pockets, never taking his eyes off Shaben. He grabbed for his pipe through the speech, lit it with a rather soggy match and drew the smoke far into his lungs.
They locked eyes, Shaben adamant, still noble even with a few pitiful scraps of fabric blinding his flesh together, Septimus the picture of nonchalance, calming destroying the remainder of his lungs, anything to restore even a hint of normality. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and tapped off the ash, coughing violently, once, twice, and stowed the pipe away again. In spite of the nagging pain it generated he managed to turn his back to him, hot anger pulsing through his blood.
The faces of his crew flashed into his minds’ eye, the desperate men, the pull of the sails. Hard faces, weathered faces. Young faces with native, knowing eyes. The drink. The drive. The drag. Men who had waited for him in spite of their better judgment.
He shut his eyes against a thousand torrid recollections, the gallantry of crimson sails brushed against the midnight sky like insect wings in the dark. The feel of his first love, his own, her deck slick with rain, with blood, with oil. Death to those who defend her. Insane, fractured thoughts plagued him, he muttered into the growing cloudiness of his own lunacy. The soft wood of the rail. The feel of the wheel against his callused palm. The knowledge of his kingdom, gone. Nothing was worth that, not even to his own life.
He saw the betrayal written on fifty faces.
Dark eyed.
Poor fools. Poor brave fools who understood nothing of justice. Who understood nothing of Shaben. Fire. Loyalty written in blood. The great dying groan of the magnificent Acheron as she submitted to the waves. The screaming of the men, going down, going home.
His eyes snapped open, a terrible emptiness resonating inside him. He forced himself to rise, pain jolting throughout his body at the quick movement. He balanced himself precariously on his uninjured leg, despising himself in his ridiculousness. He limped forward a step and almost crumpled, his entire body trembling. Tears poured down over the slopes of his cheeks, the echo of Shaben’s indifference poisoning his conscience, eliminating it.
He turned to face him.
“How many of my men did you kill, Shaben”, he whispered hollowly, his eyes frighteningly black holes.
“But tell, me how many?”
He laughed, a haunting, bloodcurdling sound that mixed, swerving with the seagulls. “How many…did you slaughter…to save your own skin?” He reconsidered. “Or should I say, our skins.” He managed another step, and stopped, panting. “Would that I would have died! They were my men. They would have died for me, and I for them.” He lifted his head to look at him, and smiled humourlessly. “Kill me now, Shaben, now that I have nothing to live for. I thank you for your loyalty”. He locked eyes with him, his manner bitterly sarcastic.
“ I thank you for, ah, believing in me…”
Suddenly he lunged forward in his fury towards Shaben, enraged at his nonchalance, his confession towards the destruction of his home, his kingdom, his freedom. He felt himself buckle to the ground instantly and caught himself on the palms of his hands before his wound came in contact with the deck. Low noises of agony came from his throat, red fury burst behind his eyes. Despising his weakness he managed to sit up, his eyes instinctively flashing to the mercenary, expecting him to have come to his employer's rescue. Now he would understand. He would know....that...
Evani’s voice cut through the crimson blindness and he glanced to her with wounded eyes. He professed his love solely with his eyes, eyes dark with tears and pain and regret. The red cloud abated somewhat and he moved towards her, drawing her into his arms, his heart tight with the fullness of his emotion. This was what he had to live for, he thought fiercely.
This was his family, and this was his home.
Posted on 2008-04-23 at 01:00:11.
Edited on 2008-04-24 at 10:13:35 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan Q&A
Subject: Hello!
Keeping to my absolute policy of high quality posts, I have decided to reply tomorrow.
Posted on 2008-04-22 at 21:27:49.
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Topic: Blatantly Obvious Lies
Subject: Hmmm...
They go into the 15th dimension ruled by strange toe-shaped beings who worship socks as their demi-gods.
Why are Lucky Charms so magically delicious?
Posted on 2008-04-22 at 15:04:46.
Edited on 2008-04-22 at 15:33:08 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rememberance for my Grandmother
Subject: DM and Brianna...
Her name was Agnus Healy.
Posted on 2008-04-22 at 10:33:33.
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Topic: Rememberance for my Grandmother
Subject: Thanks.
I just want to tell you how much it means to me, that I can escape to the inn at this difficult time. It really is like a second home and is one of the places I feel truly welcome.
Posted on 2008-04-21 at 23:38:45.
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Topic: Rememberance for my Grandmother
Subject: Thank You
Thank you Kaelyn. It means a lot to me.
Posted on 2008-04-21 at 23:12:32.
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Topic: Rememberance for my Grandmother
Subject: Rememberance for my Grandmother
I just got the news today that my grandmother died today of cancer.
I would appreciate it if you keep my grandmother in your prayers, or at least in your thoughts today.
Posted on 2008-04-21 at 23:06:40.
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