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+---- Thread: NEVER MADE A HEART GROW → dagger (/showthread.php?tid=14446)
NEVER MADE A HEART GROW → dagger - Grimm - 03-31-2021
[table][tr][td][/td][td]
ultimum eques
the golden eyes
stoneguard
albino oriental
tags
the golden eyes
stoneguard
albino oriental
tags
[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #664b4a; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]NEVER GETS ANY BETTER, ONLY GETS WORSE
Once a habit ingrained within his very muscle, unassisted the smooth stroke, confident each as edge glided along stone. Mindless those prolonged minutes, the clamour of his thoughts grown still for there was no room for anything except that repetitive motion. Too long had elapsed since necessity had dictated such ritual be performed, forgone for reasons held against his chest, a burning iron he would not allow to fall. He had forgotten much in the years that passed, coalesced until the days seemed too numerous to truly have transpired, this one of few retained.
Too trivial a price for his role, never enough laid out in repentance. Deserved such, his heart weighted beneath guilt, a constant the shame that pulls at the strings of his heart with deft hands. Or he may simply be an old man grown deluded in an age he though never to achieve, his bones aching with a weariness he knew not to attribute solely to the frame of time he had seen come and go.
Deep the breath he drew in, held for a time too long, release bringing no comfort to the brief burn left in his chest. Useless such ponderance, to allow his past once more to hold fast, dictate the progression before, but always he came back to it. Was this why he still carried the dagger worn beneath age and use, before him laid, a shimmering point catching and reflecting the light of the moon nestled in the velvet of the night sky. Reverence seemed almost present in gentle touch, over the blade paw moving, each deeply carved imperfection mapped out. Easy would it be to discard it, allow the aggravated depths of the river he perched before to swallow it.
Supple the old leather beneath his touch, weight imperfect, numerous repairs leaving a mark that might not be removed. For a time it was only held, the constant sound of the water inviting, wishing for that he need only release. Opposite comes to fruition, closer held, blunt edge scraping against his skin. They deserved better, that he was incapable of providing, thus the shackle he must bear had it become, despised and adored for reasons he could not voice.
Maybe such which guided unsure movement, replicated a care he felt not, simply going through that deemed necessary. The locating of a suitable whetstone had been a tiresome affair, though one he would repeat had the need arisen, within his grasp lifted the dark stone once nestled in the grass framing the bank of the river. No longer was there an ease in the strokes, blade scraping against the surface, sparks brief in their existence as angle proved wrong. On continued all the same, assured engaged muscle memory if given a chance.
"Damn it." Sharp the soft words, barely register their use as the blade slid too far. It seemed he had judged wrong and some bite was still present. Wet grown the leather of hilt before it may be dropped, free the flow welling from broken pad, shallow the pool gathered before it spilled over. Deserved for his stupidity, a due punishment for how he had grown careless, all the same displeased the deep breath that escaped his nostrils as he inspected the weeping cut.
[/td][/tr][/table]Too trivial a price for his role, never enough laid out in repentance. Deserved such, his heart weighted beneath guilt, a constant the shame that pulls at the strings of his heart with deft hands. Or he may simply be an old man grown deluded in an age he though never to achieve, his bones aching with a weariness he knew not to attribute solely to the frame of time he had seen come and go.
Deep the breath he drew in, held for a time too long, release bringing no comfort to the brief burn left in his chest. Useless such ponderance, to allow his past once more to hold fast, dictate the progression before, but always he came back to it. Was this why he still carried the dagger worn beneath age and use, before him laid, a shimmering point catching and reflecting the light of the moon nestled in the velvet of the night sky. Reverence seemed almost present in gentle touch, over the blade paw moving, each deeply carved imperfection mapped out. Easy would it be to discard it, allow the aggravated depths of the river he perched before to swallow it.
Supple the old leather beneath his touch, weight imperfect, numerous repairs leaving a mark that might not be removed. For a time it was only held, the constant sound of the water inviting, wishing for that he need only release. Opposite comes to fruition, closer held, blunt edge scraping against his skin. They deserved better, that he was incapable of providing, thus the shackle he must bear had it become, despised and adored for reasons he could not voice.
Maybe such which guided unsure movement, replicated a care he felt not, simply going through that deemed necessary. The locating of a suitable whetstone had been a tiresome affair, though one he would repeat had the need arisen, within his grasp lifted the dark stone once nestled in the grass framing the bank of the river. No longer was there an ease in the strokes, blade scraping against the surface, sparks brief in their existence as angle proved wrong. On continued all the same, assured engaged muscle memory if given a chance.
"Damn it." Sharp the soft words, barely register their use as the blade slid too far. It seemed he had judged wrong and some bite was still present. Wet grown the leather of hilt before it may be dropped, free the flow welling from broken pad, shallow the pool gathered before it spilled over. Deserved for his stupidity, a due punishment for how he had grown careless, all the same displeased the deep breath that escaped his nostrils as he inspected the weeping cut.
© MADI
Re: NEVER MADE A HEART GROW → dagger - aesior - 03-31-2021
AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
space
Soft words as sharp in the quiet murmurings of the river would produce an inquisitive sound of grass crunching under a body's weight. Observant the gaze as scent of iron ichor touched long-dead nose, ears swiveling forward. Alone had he thought his presence, coming upon innocent the scene of a man sharpening his dagger. Scarred the throat that convulsed, wanting to call out from the short bank he stood upon, swallowing dryly as he instead began a descent.
He knew not the emotions held within the other man, but he knew well of sins and repentance that must be paid. Some could be saved and others were forfeit in situations that could not be won. May it bring some peace in another life or branch of time would that the situation be different, that the lost and loved be with the ones who desired them once again. Numerous the possibilities each spurned and spun by each passing second and ticking of the clock that none could hear. Lonely the battle-scarred and seeking of quaint companionship the mute. Coming to his side with press of pads upon stone and muck, grass caught in stages of decay between toes tired of travel.
Close came the nose, sniffing at the cut that wept from the other's pad, his intentions innocent and of concern. he knew the pain of moments like these, though one could not say that the pain itself was within or outside of the body. Gentle the paw that attempted to gently withdraw cotton fibers from within satchel upon hip and press to soothe the crying ichor. He knew his presence might not be warranted but commotion was unnecessary for injury, he had not lost a limb, there was no need for screaming or fanatics. Simply the blades bite was more than thought, a slip-up made many times in the past and yet to occur within future. Remained the dagger where it had fallen, not wanting to further intrude upon memories delicate and maintained in each's own method or crux.
He knew not the emotions held within the other man, but he knew well of sins and repentance that must be paid. Some could be saved and others were forfeit in situations that could not be won. May it bring some peace in another life or branch of time would that the situation be different, that the lost and loved be with the ones who desired them once again. Numerous the possibilities each spurned and spun by each passing second and ticking of the clock that none could hear. Lonely the battle-scarred and seeking of quaint companionship the mute. Coming to his side with press of pads upon stone and muck, grass caught in stages of decay between toes tired of travel.
Close came the nose, sniffing at the cut that wept from the other's pad, his intentions innocent and of concern. he knew the pain of moments like these, though one could not say that the pain itself was within or outside of the body. Gentle the paw that attempted to gently withdraw cotton fibers from within satchel upon hip and press to soothe the crying ichor. He knew his presence might not be warranted but commotion was unnecessary for injury, he had not lost a limb, there was no need for screaming or fanatics. Simply the blades bite was more than thought, a slip-up made many times in the past and yet to occur within future. Remained the dagger where it had fallen, not wanting to further intrude upon memories delicate and maintained in each's own method or crux.
space
Re: NEVER MADE A HEART GROW → dagger - Grimm - 04-15-2021
[align=center][div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 7.5pt; max-width: 400px; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Gentle the rise, a flow without conclusion, gentle ebb that woven in the wake of departure, fleeting the tail of anger upon which he clasped with futile want. Never was it to over extend a stay that had wound down in the span of moments, replacement poor, held for better an ill fit than the empty echo of hollow space ringing with silence. There it in pools hued akin to clustered petals, seeking and thus found, a fragment of light supposedly carved from the gentle cascade and given breath, life both terrible and beautiful.
For a moment it is not him caught in stilled vision, different the identity placed against his skin, a replica made as the moment grew still, time frozen for the span of an unsure heartbeat. Realisation a cruel strike, akin to the arc of lightning splitting the dark belly of roiling storm clouds, such made his thoughts, a contained disaster wound about the ache of budding pain. Attention turning, rejection a barb pressed against his tongue, edges coming together. Release never permitted, dwindling until purpose taken from the muscle pressed to the roof of his touch, the light graze of barely present touch straightening curled spine.
Met the other, useless the wish to find grey, anything found in those cool depths to explain. The chance no presented, study taking attention unneeded, pressed down the desire slow to grow, tremor enveloping out stretched extremity all the same. Undeserved the practiced motion, the retrieval and subsequent press of entangled fibres more than deserved, better accepted his slip and the outcome produced. Still he would not withdraw, silent as ivory slowly changed, mouth silent in movement, grown difficult the once simple task of speaking.
Maybe better this way, vision averted, his mind prepared to pull forth an instance when upon the ragged peaks of thickened tissue had he gazed, silenced the quiet doubt that inoperable a voice once thought merely underutilised. Understood his folly, despised it even as it played at the edge of his mind, built up too many queries that pressed against his clenched teeth. "Why… you don't know me and yet you waste your supplies on me." Strained his hushed voice, alight the shift of lips, wished taken back his words even as they hung heavy in the air.
A truth in it, his time among these people who deemed themselves protectors of a land barren and laced with crags, not enough to account for the care Aesior offered as though it were but a facet of his nature. Maybe this the purpose of such community, the shared expertise and supplies, simply too low his opinion of himself, a weight that he could not shift even as he wished to be rid of it.
Re: NEVER MADE A HEART GROW → dagger - FRAGGLEROCK. - 04-19-2021
Weapons. Despite having no memory of using a weapon in his short life thus far, the sight of one set off some sort of tingle in the back of Fraggle's mind. The gleam of a blade was unbearably familiar, although he couldn't figure out why. Perhaps one of his parents had used one? That seemed unlikely, though, considering how difficult it would be for a rabbit to wield a blade effectively. A dagger was small enough for them, he supposed, but was it really worth it? Besides that, such an assumption doesn't didn't seem right to him. Vincent's dagger was causing something to go off in his mind, but he couldn't figure out what, and it was such an annoying feeling. For a moment he simply stared at the blade, not fully sharpened and slightly wet with the other's blood. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch it, as if that would somehow awaken him to whatever his mind was so desperately trying to remind him of. He decided against that, however. He was just a child, with no idea how to wield a blade. Trying to pick it up would probably only lead to him getting injured as well.
Ah, injured. Right. Vincent was injured. That thought was enough to break Frag's focus from the dagger, his blue gaze moving over to Vincent himself. Thankfully, it seemed as though the other wasn't too hurt, and Aesior was doing a good job of patching him up. Upon hearing what the other had to say, the rabbit didn't hold back the small bout of laughter that left him, his head shaking from side to side. As he hopped a bit closer to Vincent, he spoke warmly, "It's not wasting supplies to help you! You're a member of The Golden Eye, which means that you deserve help just like the rest of us. Besides, just because you don't know someone doesn't mean you shouldn't help them out. After all, people you don't know are just potential future friends." Of course, the boy knew that not every stranger was friendly, and that not everyone would be glad for the help. He had to learn that quickly when he had been traveling alone, considering his prey animal status. However, he always preferred being kind to being cruel, since it meant that there was at least a chance of forming a new friendship, rather than a new enemy.
With his short friendship speech over with, Fragglerock found himself glancing back over at the dagger, a thoughtful expression on his face. Not wanting Vincent to focus too much on the fact that he was being helped – and not wanting the other to consider himself a burden, Frag questioned lightly, "Hey... where'd you get that dagger, anyways? I bet there's an interesting story behind it." And he wanted to hear it, if there was one. Both out of his own childish curiosity, and because he wanted to see if it would set off some sort of memory in his mind. Anything to stop that annoying and unexplained feeling of deja vu.
Ah, injured. Right. Vincent was injured. That thought was enough to break Frag's focus from the dagger, his blue gaze moving over to Vincent himself. Thankfully, it seemed as though the other wasn't too hurt, and Aesior was doing a good job of patching him up. Upon hearing what the other had to say, the rabbit didn't hold back the small bout of laughter that left him, his head shaking from side to side. As he hopped a bit closer to Vincent, he spoke warmly, "It's not wasting supplies to help you! You're a member of The Golden Eye, which means that you deserve help just like the rest of us. Besides, just because you don't know someone doesn't mean you shouldn't help them out. After all, people you don't know are just potential future friends." Of course, the boy knew that not every stranger was friendly, and that not everyone would be glad for the help. He had to learn that quickly when he had been traveling alone, considering his prey animal status. However, he always preferred being kind to being cruel, since it meant that there was at least a chance of forming a new friendship, rather than a new enemy.
With his short friendship speech over with, Fragglerock found himself glancing back over at the dagger, a thoughtful expression on his face. Not wanting Vincent to focus too much on the fact that he was being helped – and not wanting the other to consider himself a burden, Frag questioned lightly, "Hey... where'd you get that dagger, anyways? I bet there's an interesting story behind it." And he wanted to hear it, if there was one. Both out of his own childish curiosity, and because he wanted to see if it would set off some sort of memory in his mind. Anything to stop that annoying and unexplained feeling of deja vu.
[glow=#4c2c1c,2,300]YOU CAN WRAP MY BRAIN IN PLASTIC[/glow]
Re: NEVER MADE A HEART GROW → dagger - aesior - 04-27-2021
AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
space
The question came to him, his gaze picking up from where it had landed upon ivory fur. Wasting their supplies? Humor trickled through him as he watched the trembling jaw. Words were fine and all, but actions meant the most. Shaking his head as he made contact with lavender orbs, nodding as he heard Fraggle's words. Vincent was a part of the golden eye, the people and place he called home. It didn't matter if he didn't personally know him - that could always be remedied with time
Pulling away dyed cotton, he would gently sniff at the wound, investigating the wound with his nose and eyes. It should heal alright, no matter how sore it was. Away would he turn once more, retrieving a small glass bottle. Within it was a sort of balm, one he would carefully attempt to spread across the cut. It was meant to help hold it together and keep out an infection. He would rummage through his bag for a moment before producing a strip of fabric to lie about his paw.
Pulling away dyed cotton, he would gently sniff at the wound, investigating the wound with his nose and eyes. It should heal alright, no matter how sore it was. Away would he turn once more, retrieving a small glass bottle. Within it was a sort of balm, one he would carefully attempt to spread across the cut. It was meant to help hold it together and keep out an infection. He would rummage through his bag for a moment before producing a strip of fabric to lie about his paw.
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