Set
10-28-2018, 03:39 PM
" There's a black bird perched outside my window, I hear him calling. I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers. He sees all my sins. He reads my soul. "
He died once.
Perhaps twice, thrice … He’s forgotten how old he is, the piebald mage, how many times he’s knit himself back together. Bone over marrow; organ, blood, flesh. His life, his memories, though … those are firmly entrenched within the folds of his mind. He had dreamt of his mother last night, Starlace. His mismatched lips quirk gently at the thought of her name as he slowly makes his way from the Forest to the Meadow. He draws in a slow breath, nostrils filled with the comforting scents of vegetative death and decay. He shifts, mindlessly easing off the well-worn path he had been following onto a long-forgotten one, overgrown and tangled. The morning’s mist clings to his scar-pocked hide, the low branches reaching out to rope an already dreadlocked mane into intricate knots. The woods around him hum with dawn’s activity, animals unperturbed by the mage that passes quietly through the start of their day. It has been at least long enough that the mention of his mother’s name no longer elicits the visceral sense of loss it once had. Time itself has seen to that, easing over the ache in his soul with a violent, knowing caress. He snorts. Much has changed, indeed.
Ears twitching with the sound of children’s laughter, he swings a little further north, picking up a brisk jog. After leaving Salomea in the Field he had opted to spend the night in the cover of the Forest. Beqanna had changed since he was last here (the Chamber is no more), but her essence is the same. The Meadow was still here, and likely the best place to re-enter society, gain a foothold on what has transpired since he was last home. And let them know that he was back. A wide, rakish grin splits his lips, golden eyes rolling with glee as he sinks back on his hocks, sliding down a steep embankment and splashing through the cold creek at the bottom of it.
With a wild, jubilant shout, he throws himself into a mad run. Few are here at this early hour, the sun just beginning to filter through the eastern trees, but he snakes through those that are, impossibly fluid, ears pinned tightly to his skull. Self-indulgent mirth riots at the base of his throat as he feigns a passing kick at one, a feint of a nip at another. Teeth clacking against one another, he thunders on toward the other end of the Meadow, skunk-tail whipping back and forth, laughter drifting in his wake.
SET
alliance champion, once king, mage