Setkun Qarr
08-20-07, 09:37 AM
"...Where you proud turrets crown the rock, seest thou a wander stand? He sighs to hear the castle clock, say midnight is at hand..."
There was only pure black and a silvery circle hanging low in an endless, colourless stretch of night sky in which he, Setkun Qarr, appeared the focal point, sat atop a lone, windcarved dune. The dusty, grainy ground, the atmosphere all felt unreal, invisible, yet tangible as the silver haired mage pressed his cold fingers into the desert sand around him, sitting upright. Then, as the words of his poem drifted in and out of his mind like a lost raft at sea taken on a crest of soft monologue, in what seemed an age, the phantom-esque form of his right hand fell to his side melodramtatically.
“Amid a torrent of tears, the viewless forms of air obey. Fallien has many ghosts, and many more to come."
The words, though not spoken through his half parted lips, were Setkun's own, reflected in the light of his mind, a place alone where he could convey everything he wanted into pictures. Sometimes, he wondered, could he have been dreaming?
If this was a dream, Setkun could not understand how. He could feel the pit of his stomach turning upside down, his heart racing as it pumped blood to his brain, the cool surroundings on the tips of his nerves tingle and heard the words of this mysterious, white veiled figure as reality would have them. Everything seemed so real here.
As he slowly put one bloodied foot in front of the other, Setkun paced towards his Blood Quartz, almost drooling at the mouth. He lusted for it. He obsessed for its power, its gift. It was as if the crystal itself was seducing him, pulling him towards its naked body, ready to take him into a whole world of erotica that he could only dream of. He could feel his loins stirring into a feeling he had never felt before…
Suddenly, as soon as his scarred fingers wrapped tenderly around the husk of the sacred artefact to embrace it, it was all gone. White snapped instantly into black, the cool sensation of the scenery turned into the hammering of the Fallien rain upon his face, the large droplets of water pounding his skin and forming forked rivers down his forehead and over his eyes. Setkun felt the moist, shifting sand underneath his shoulders and every wheezing breath he let out from his body caused him a measure of pain he could not understand. As each sense finally kicked back into life, he opened his eyes slowly and greeted the sky with a scowl. There, where the gods were busy mocking him for his weakness, was where he had been. But now there was a new face, a living one...
There was only pure black and a silvery circle hanging low in an endless, colourless stretch of night sky in which he, Setkun Qarr, appeared the focal point, sat atop a lone, windcarved dune. The dusty, grainy ground, the atmosphere all felt unreal, invisible, yet tangible as the silver haired mage pressed his cold fingers into the desert sand around him, sitting upright. Then, as the words of his poem drifted in and out of his mind like a lost raft at sea taken on a crest of soft monologue, in what seemed an age, the phantom-esque form of his right hand fell to his side melodramtatically.
“Amid a torrent of tears, the viewless forms of air obey. Fallien has many ghosts, and many more to come."
The words, though not spoken through his half parted lips, were Setkun's own, reflected in the light of his mind, a place alone where he could convey everything he wanted into pictures. Sometimes, he wondered, could he have been dreaming?
If this was a dream, Setkun could not understand how. He could feel the pit of his stomach turning upside down, his heart racing as it pumped blood to his brain, the cool surroundings on the tips of his nerves tingle and heard the words of this mysterious, white veiled figure as reality would have them. Everything seemed so real here.
As he slowly put one bloodied foot in front of the other, Setkun paced towards his Blood Quartz, almost drooling at the mouth. He lusted for it. He obsessed for its power, its gift. It was as if the crystal itself was seducing him, pulling him towards its naked body, ready to take him into a whole world of erotica that he could only dream of. He could feel his loins stirring into a feeling he had never felt before…
Suddenly, as soon as his scarred fingers wrapped tenderly around the husk of the sacred artefact to embrace it, it was all gone. White snapped instantly into black, the cool sensation of the scenery turned into the hammering of the Fallien rain upon his face, the large droplets of water pounding his skin and forming forked rivers down his forehead and over his eyes. Setkun felt the moist, shifting sand underneath his shoulders and every wheezing breath he let out from his body caused him a measure of pain he could not understand. As each sense finally kicked back into life, he opened his eyes slowly and greeted the sky with a scowl. There, where the gods were busy mocking him for his weakness, was where he had been. But now there was a new face, a living one...