August 25, 2005
Petitioning
I don't know how long I remained there. Certainly it was morning before seemed to become more aware of my surroundings, the smell of blood high on my senses and of course the shroud of invisibility having worn off some several hours prior. I felt ill, the sight of it. So much red, all over me and the ground. How hard had it been to not step forward, to not aid, to not prevent and let him commit his sacrifice? My magic could of saved him, I know healing is not my best area, but I know I could of. He would of hated me for it though. Well.. perhaps not hated me, but I think forgiveness would of been a long time coming.
So, this small thing was all that I could do. My pleads offered to Morhiag on his behalf, petitioning her for his return, her light filtering through the corpse of trees that surrounded the clearing. The clearing.. why here of all places? Should he not of known better?
But at least, my prayers had been answered. Or I believed so, a small sign given just as her light faded and Cymur's started to fill the sky. Perhaps my sacrifice some time past in her name maybe had not been for nougth. Perhaps she did remember me.
August 24, 2005
Sacrifice
Venice falls back against her haunches, kneeling behind the svelte young man. She remains still, so much so that given the fevor of worship about her, she is soon forgotten. And for her, she is pleased enough with this. As a slash of blood cuts across her right cheek, mirroring the scar that also adorns the skin, she starts to murmur, her words barely audible along side the pitch of the man in front of her. Few noticed her presence, and it seems even few noticed her disappearance. Though yet she remained. Droplets of blood soon staining both her skin and her golden outfit.
A long breath, shuddering as it passes her lips is released and for a moment her eyes close. Her fingers coming up to clutch at her face and her head dipping down to press against her thighs. Her fingers conceal the sight of the blood letting in front of her for only a few seconds before she forces her face to lift and forcing upon her hidden eyes upon the sight, herself almost as bloodied as the man before her.
It is only when he falls upon the weapon that she finally looks away once more, her shoulders shuddering as she presses her face into her thighs and cover her ears to the pleadings, to the last words uttered, to everything.
Even, when everyone has gone, she remains. The bloodied moon high in the sky, and her spell having long since worn off.
July 06, 2005
Lazy
Okay, the weekend didn't quite go as planned, and as a result, things here are looking much the same unfortunately. Maybe I shall have more luck in the coming days.
I did do a little roleplay though, which felt kind of good. No IC posts from me yet, though I am half eager to. Want to test out this protection system 'properly' with a real post that does need some protection. Have to think of something nice and juicy :)
June 30, 2005
A little adjustment
Got something resembling my old style up and running now. Not quite right, and I do plan on totally redoing it this weekend, just couldn't stand to leave it at the default for any longer. That and I was bored at lunch time at work. Probably more the latter actually.
June 29, 2005
Protection!
After about 2-3 weeks, I've managed to get blog protection working finally thanks to the very informative blog Musing, Meandering and also the help of the writer, Meathe. Thank you again, no doubt without your aid I would of given up again semi indefinitly.
Unfortunately as a side effect of adding the new plugin in, I need to update my style. What you see now is one of the default ones... I'm not sure I'm going to get a chance to update it properly till the weekend, so you're stuck with this. It looks a little antiquated in a strange sort of way.
June 21, 2005
Bloodied
These are not the words of a poet. But then again, I have never claimed to be one. By my mouth, words mutilated. By my hand, flesh sundered. By my breath, hearts bleed.
My fingers are bloodied. Figuratively as much as literally. More so than any Commander that has sent a nation to war. More than any King that has watched a nation starved whilst he sat on thrones of gold. I watch now the thin rivulets of blood cross curve around my fingers, each drop taking a different path till my palm is painted red. The pain of the grazes and the gashes and the cuts not even felt any more. I wish I could feel it, a part of me linking the desire and need for pain with the peace that inflicted punishment brings.
My nails tap against the edge of the bowl, the sides slick from the streams of blood that run down to collect within. Careful to avoid tainting the sheets and bedding, but not quite careful enough my eyes say as they spy a few drops. I'll have to see to that tomorrow says the logical part of my mind, distant and not quite connecting to the actions and the emotions and the horror and the stress.
Where are you now..?