Broken Hearts (closed to shin)
Quote:
And so he spoke and so he spoke the lord of Castamere
but now the rains weep over his hall with no one there to hear
Yes now the rains weep over his hall with not a soul to hear
Rains of Castamere
Lonely. Isolated. Lost.
These were just some of the feelings Philomel's van der Aart felt as she stared into the dancing, obliterating flames in the fireplace before her. Too many things had happened, and many more were to occur. This she knew, and was fully aware of. More trials and sufferings awaited her in the future ahead, more agonies and cries of the dying and the dead. Soon, once again, her ears would be ringing with those horrible screams as she sat atop her dragon, staring into the void and thinking, “how do I become emotionless.â€
Outside of the pub ash fell like rain, coating the streets in days of grey, wintery dullness. It now was so thick that in some areas they had all but given up trying to sweep it away, and it had not bidden to melt into anything but become one with the ground. And thus, in those darker allies of Underwood there was now a fine carpet of ash for the daily striders to look upon, then ignore as they went about their day as if the ominous omen did not exist.
Stories were coming in via the trade routes of towns destroyed. The entire prison of Terrinore, for example, and huge village and farm complexes in Lorenor. When these had started some people had all but given up, saying that life was over and that the world would soon die … yet that had only lasted a few days. Still Philomel had striven on with her endeavour of potential war, building the army of whores within Radasanth to be ready to ride down to Tylmerande. With the mixture of stories flooding in from all over of both the volcano, the apocalypse and the usual failings of man, she had not been able to discern any full news of what had completely transpired there. Thus, she was here now, between cities and staring at a fire as the end of the world reigned around her. Waiting for an emissary to come from Tylmerande and the siege she assumed still ongoing there.
The last she had heard her soul-companion and beloved Veridian had been secured within a cage of ice. As they had made their demands of peace to the marauders of the port city they had been caught within wintery unawares. Ensnaring horse, tera'k, human and elf alike it had kept them at bay until horses did what they did best. Kick.
By the time the ice had splintered, then shattered, the three individuals who had led the siege of Tylmerande had disappeared from sight. And they had not been seen since.
Heavily she leant back in the tall-backed armchair that supported the full weight of her - bosom, hooves and all. Her swords were wound together with her belt and balanced alongside the various other smaller blades against the footstool one hoof was on. In her hands she nursed a steaming mug of winter mulled wine, hot and sweet in an attempt to calm her temper, but in all honesty very little could do that now. Her heart had been pierced, it had been broken. She felt dead within, anger without and what she had once felt for the man who had helped to arrange the attack on her country was slowly fading away.
At least, she wanted it to. She wanted the ire and frustration and ferocity to take over and burn through her. She wanted to wage war, let out all her rage at him into more than what had suffered so far in her wrath (to date, a table, two wooden cups and a rat). She wanted to be like the fire she stared into, have the energy and the will, the drive and vision.
It was not that she lacked these in general. It was that she was fighting still with herself about the fact it was he who had done this. He. Stupid Shinsou vaan damn Osiris. She scowled as she thought his name, narrowed her eyes. Then she drank a long sip of her wine and hoped her contact would come soon.
