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+--- Thread: BELIEVE IN GRACE AND CHOICE ; private (/showthread.php?tid=1625)
BELIEVE IN GRACE AND CHOICE ; private - Thomas - 05-28-2018
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Thomas' dark eyes examined the sword in his hands. It was clean and sharp, and the metal of its blade burned brightly in the half light, illuminated by the moon that peaked through his window. Its hilt was crafted from the finest of golds, and it shined as though it had been made yesterday and not generations ago. The weapon was a family heirloom. His father had given it to him when he joined the royal army just as his father's father had done years before. The tradition traveled as far back as their kingdom's history could say. He turned over the aged sword, examining the lion's head pommel. It was the seal of their family. It was strength and courage. It was his most prized possession.
"Father, forgive me, I know not what to do. I cannot understand what has happened to our family much less this world. I am far, far from home now as well," Thomas said, weariness within his voice. "Does your spirit reach this place...? Does Mother's? I was once able to sense you both, I believe. You are gone from me now." His voice grew weaker as he continued to speak - a combination of his exhaustion and his longing to be home. There was so much he did not understand, and there was so much he would never understand. He let a sigh roll passed his parted lips, waiting and searching for some answer from his dead father, his death mother, the sword. There was nothing. "I am trying, Father. I know you will not be proud of me for being here as I was the next in line for your throne, but, Father, I was... I did not believe that to be my fate. I ran from it. I am still running from it. Father, I know I have failed you in countless ways, and I know I am the chief cause of your death, but please... Please do not leave me in this way. Though I am grown, I am still in need of you. I need your guidance, for I am lost."
But he was just speaking to a ceiling. The only answer that greeted him was the whispering breeze, and even then, it offered him no answer. It was not his father's gruff rumble that he knew so well. And though it was soft like his mother's voice, it was not nearly as warm and welcoming. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly then, an anger flaming inside of him. Rage wreathed around him, and he shook in fury. He was so tired, however, that it dissipated with ease. The only thing left was the hollow frame of a young man that bore no resemblance to the lionheart he claimed to be.
He sighed once more, and halfway through, it morphed into a yawn. He needed sleep. He found himself laughing darkly at his ramblings. "Perhaps I am the mad one, not my dear sister." He shook his head as he laid the weapon on the table. It was almost alive in the moon and starlight, but he knew better. His hand lingered on the lion's head pommel for a heartbeat before he moved away from his table and toward his bed. Thomas would then lie down, murmuring something inaudible before drifting off to sleep.
Re: BELIEVE IN GRACE AND CHOICE ; private - Amren - 05-28-2018
[color=#414a4c]✴ ✴ ✴
Amren's relationship with her own father was one that could not be more different than Thomas'. To the woman, he was not so much her father but instead, her creator and in that, came his restraints and rules on what she could and could not do in her home dimension. He had delegated her the task of death angel all of those thousands of years ago and gave her strict instructions: deliver the souls to purgatory, no more, no less. Amren had not been interested in that though, not when she was much too fascinated by the stories they had to share as well as their own usefulness to her. She began stealing the souls for her own purpose, successfully enraging her father and forcing him to exile her from their dimension. In retrospect, her banishment had been a gift. He knew his daughter, his creation of fire and electricity and rage and smoke, needed bigger things. Better things. And she knew her father could not operate knowing that someone in his direct ranks was so effortlessly disobeying him.Thomas' gift had been a sword.
Amren's had been freedom.
She still missed home though. Or perhaps she missed her raw, unfiltered power, the light that burned her soul and the fire she wielded so effortlessly. She knew she could never return and so, she resigned to not thinking or wishing for any other alternative. She was happy here. She had food (she still hated how weak mortal bodies were- to rely so heavily on substances for energy was such a human thing). And most importantly, she had a small treasure trove of expensive jewels, gemstones, and jewelry that she hoarded more furiously than a firedrake. What more could a girl want?
Oh she knew.
She knew the moment she saw it gleaming through an open window.
Amren had displayed particularly dodgy behavior before but this... this was a new low for her. Regardless, she balanced precariously on tip toes and attempted to grab the hilt of the sword transfixed by the brilliant golds. The weapon itself looked only to be a few days old and yet, she could feel its history just as she felt its weight in the palm of her hand. Interesting.
She peered into the moonlight-illuminated room for a brief moment, searching for its owner and releasing a frustrated sigh as she realized it was Thomas. He'd probably gut her if he discovered she stole the thing. She'd have to barter for it then. [b][color=#414a4c]"Boy, boy wake up," The wicked beast hissed into the darkness, [color=#414a4c]"I want to buy your sword."
Re: BELIEVE IN GRACE AND CHOICE ; private - Thomas - 05-29-2018
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Forever a knight, skilled in combat and defense, taught to always be on guard, Thomas easily heard her as she crept up to his window. He heard the soft sounds of her lithe hand as it groped for the sword, weighing it in her hand. His dark eyes had opened, and he lie motionless in the dark. He silently dared her to take his sword. He wished and begged someone would give him a reason to fight. He stayed quiet, choosing to barely breathe as he did so. If he tried hard enough, he might have faded into the dark shadows of his room.
But then she called to him.
He recognized it as the voice of Amren. He sat up, immediately, swinging his long legs over the side of his cot. Hands gripped the side of his bed, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to rush forward and secure his precious weapon. The object between them was the only remnant of his former life. The crown of their kingdom went to Faye, and Thomas was left a sword. How fitting. Regardless, he loved the weapon more than anything at current. It was like a lifeline to his home. If it were gone, he would be lost.
"I have a name, Amren. I quite like it. Perhaps you could use it sometime," he began, pushing himself off of his cot and strolling forward. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He did it not to threat Amren (no, he saw no need yet), but to assure himself that it was still there, that Amren would not be able to pull it away. "And pity for you. It is not for sale." There was something dangerous in his tone that suggested his words were final. This heirloom would never be sold. If she wanted it, she would have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.
"Pardon my asking, girl, but what compels you to posses it?" He arched a dark eyebrow as he spoke, eyes shifting from the blade to the ancient creature. [color=#987A65][b]"You may enter, if it pleases you, Amren."