i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
He had loved games once. Not the childish play of youth, but those of fate. The ones where odds tumble in and out of favor and one can never quite be sure of where they’ll land. He had played, believing himself invincible. Then, he had lost.
He remains lost in too many ways, but he won’t bother trying to recount them. Madness lurks on that path. Already the knotted threads of past and future tighten around him, drawing inexorably closer, weaving along the edges of his tattered psyche. His only choice is to ignore it, though it begs him to peek, just once.
His life should have been forfeit the last time he looked. Much like his clarity however, death’s grip on him proved perilously loose. He knew why once. He undoubtedly could again, if he dared but look.
Talons dig into the tender skin below the protruding bone of his armor. When they loosen, the rivulet of blood that follows tickles his skin until it shivers. The pain is a reminder. He tips his head, glaring at the large bird perched on his hip. And there it is, his sanity, glaring right back at him.
A scowl darkening his features, he steps forward and offers a half-hearted buck in response. It’s little more than a crow-hop, considering his under-fed state, but it is enough to draw an indignant shriek and stabilizing wing-flap from the harpy eagle. Ignoring his companion, Reave steps forward into a brisk, all-too-brief, trot. Brief because, only moments later, a dark figure has him skidding to a halt.
He could pretend, even if only to himself, that it had little to do with how quickly he had tired.
Reave eyes the stranger. Though he appears normal enough, something clings to him. The tendrils of it reach towards the armored stallion, begging him to take hold. Imploring him to lose himself to the beckoning madness. The talons prick him again, releasing a fresh trickle of blood.
“That is the face of someone in trouble if ever I’ve seen one,” Reave mutters, mostly to himself, though the stranger could hear if he bothered to listen. He should leave. Immediately. He is in no kind of shape for anything that might prove reckless.
Yet, he doesn’t leave.
@garbage