and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Truthfully, Loess has always been a strong and active kingdom. It possesses an air of power and wealth that so few other lands can attain. Quietly to himself, Castile chuckle . Nerine under mother's rule wasn't even quite so formidable.
And with strength and power, of course, comes responsibility. Much to his relief, however, Castile is able to share the weight.
There have been many nights since the destruction of Tephra. Admittedly, he could have addressed each and every one of them immediately following, but instead he withdrew to his cavern to mend his wounds. It allowed their numbers to recover and cope. It was time to heal.
But the hump of time has passed and Castile has slipped from his mountainous home multiple times to visit their neighbors and to see Loessians still holding true. Today, as the sun kisses the sentinel, he once again descends from the cliff ledge with his draconic wings spread wide. Autumn has finally appeared, cooling the warm, summer temperatures. There’s a subtle briskness in the air that fuels an additional wave of energy as he eventually descends adjacent to a cactus. The moment he balances and touches down, his wings shed away leaving him bare of his predatory shell.
”Bane,” his voice is gravelly and low as he takes a few final steps toward the male, ”I’m sorry.” For his loss, for the war that threw a wrench into his life. ”I’ve refused peace with Tephra. They don’t deserve to relax after the death of an innocent, Loessian child.” Leliana admitted she wanted no further bloodshed or tension, but Castile openly – coldly – confessed that he will not stand in the way of vengeance. She started a war she thought herself in control over, but it slipped from her fingers and escalated. The memories still frequently flash across Castile’s dreams as he sleeps nestled against his family. It could have easily been Reia the plunged to her death.
He shudders at the thought.
With pursed lips, he contemplates the progression of their conversation. There is a motive, of course, but his thoughts cannot help to dance around Wolfbane’s silent suffering. ”How is Lepis?” He can’t expect her to be well, not after losing a child, but it’s a tentative question taking the place of quiet hesitation.
And with strength and power, of course, comes responsibility. Much to his relief, however, Castile is able to share the weight.
There have been many nights since the destruction of Tephra. Admittedly, he could have addressed each and every one of them immediately following, but instead he withdrew to his cavern to mend his wounds. It allowed their numbers to recover and cope. It was time to heal.
But the hump of time has passed and Castile has slipped from his mountainous home multiple times to visit their neighbors and to see Loessians still holding true. Today, as the sun kisses the sentinel, he once again descends from the cliff ledge with his draconic wings spread wide. Autumn has finally appeared, cooling the warm, summer temperatures. There’s a subtle briskness in the air that fuels an additional wave of energy as he eventually descends adjacent to a cactus. The moment he balances and touches down, his wings shed away leaving him bare of his predatory shell.
”Bane,” his voice is gravelly and low as he takes a few final steps toward the male, ”I’m sorry.” For his loss, for the war that threw a wrench into his life. ”I’ve refused peace with Tephra. They don’t deserve to relax after the death of an innocent, Loessian child.” Leliana admitted she wanted no further bloodshed or tension, but Castile openly – coldly – confessed that he will not stand in the way of vengeance. She started a war she thought herself in control over, but it slipped from her fingers and escalated. The memories still frequently flash across Castile’s dreams as he sleeps nestled against his family. It could have easily been Reia the plunged to her death.
He shudders at the thought.
With pursed lips, he contemplates the progression of their conversation. There is a motive, of course, but his thoughts cannot help to dance around Wolfbane’s silent suffering. ”How is Lepis?” He can’t expect her to be well, not after losing a child, but it’s a tentative question taking the place of quiet hesitation.
castile
@[Wolfbane]