Hotsuma
07-31-11, 05:30 AM
Lines of light played along the stream, a strong southerly wind casting the light across the water at random. The sun fell further down in the sky, angling its light just right, making it so the stream seemed to ignite into gentle flames.
Griever knelt down slowly, resting his arms on his thighs and held his hands over the running water. Lines of blood fell from his fingertips, instantly carried away, cleansed.
The hunger ate at his soul, never truly sated.
“Cast thy agony before me, thy grief and thy despair, ” he whispered.
The curse residing within Griever like a sword through his heart flared again. It called to him for more, never satisfied, it’s thirst never slaked.
A call for pain.
The water was cool to the touch when Griever sunk his hands down into it. A moment later he withdrew them and stood. Turning he dropped his gaze to the scene before him. The failing sunlight threw a molten haze over the world. If beauty existed, it was born again in that moment.
A dozen bodies stared up at him, their faces locked into masks of horror, hands clenched into feral claws. He closed his eyes, tasting the memory of their deaths still fresh in his soul. Savoring the immediate exhilaration he found moments after he stole the pain of another was a brief pleasure, as he knew that it would fade as quickly as it had come.
Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head slightly and took two deep breaths. He would have to clear his mind and move on before long if he wanted to find a meal and bed before too much of the night had passed.
He paused just before leaving, looking back once more at the men who had trusted him so implicitly. Fellow deserters of a defeated army, Griever had led them to safety, taking the men along in case a force too large for him to handle alone had stumbled across their path. He felt a final whisper of pleasure brush along his soul.
They had served their purpose.
Underwood lay a few hours to the east, Griever would make the journey before midnight. Offhand knowledge gifted him with the town’s famous tavern, the Peaceful Promenade. There he would find a brief rest and a new path.
The same path he had followed his entire life, the path of pain.
Griever knelt down slowly, resting his arms on his thighs and held his hands over the running water. Lines of blood fell from his fingertips, instantly carried away, cleansed.
The hunger ate at his soul, never truly sated.
“Cast thy agony before me, thy grief and thy despair, ” he whispered.
The curse residing within Griever like a sword through his heart flared again. It called to him for more, never satisfied, it’s thirst never slaked.
A call for pain.
The water was cool to the touch when Griever sunk his hands down into it. A moment later he withdrew them and stood. Turning he dropped his gaze to the scene before him. The failing sunlight threw a molten haze over the world. If beauty existed, it was born again in that moment.
A dozen bodies stared up at him, their faces locked into masks of horror, hands clenched into feral claws. He closed his eyes, tasting the memory of their deaths still fresh in his soul. Savoring the immediate exhilaration he found moments after he stole the pain of another was a brief pleasure, as he knew that it would fade as quickly as it had come.
Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head slightly and took two deep breaths. He would have to clear his mind and move on before long if he wanted to find a meal and bed before too much of the night had passed.
He paused just before leaving, looking back once more at the men who had trusted him so implicitly. Fellow deserters of a defeated army, Griever had led them to safety, taking the men along in case a force too large for him to handle alone had stumbled across their path. He felt a final whisper of pleasure brush along his soul.
They had served their purpose.
Underwood lay a few hours to the east, Griever would make the journey before midnight. Offhand knowledge gifted him with the town’s famous tavern, the Peaceful Promenade. There he would find a brief rest and a new path.
The same path he had followed his entire life, the path of pain.