Everclear
EVERCLEAR
The meddle of age and time have fallen away like wilted leaves on the naked tree that Everclear’s life seems to have become. Such a relatively unremarkable existence he has borne, a steady pillar unwilling to wane or crumble amid a tempestuous ocean. He knows with clear certainty that he is by no means the only immortal roaming the lands, but he has never met one who rivals him in true age.
Assailant dismisses the coincidence of their having any prior encounter and the gray nods again in silent agreement. While the other’s name sounds familiar, Everclear does not recognize his face outright, nor his voice or even the most primal identifier of his scent. It must have been from some long-ago passing, some distant tale or rumor that the name had touched upon his ears.
“I have lived much longer than I likely deserve,” he admits with a veil of sobriety that masks his near-disdain for the fact. This momentary consideration of his immortality finds him confronted with the recall of his solitary brush with death in a flicker-still flash of memory. Perhaps he should have accepted it then, that resolute punishment at the hands of an indomitable adversary armed with a metal wing. The feathers like blades had sliced his throat, had carved sanguine paths into his flesh, and yet the assassin’s vigor had been in vain.
It had been hope, then, that had kept him alive.
The act had been swift and largely unseen during the throes of upheaval in Heaven; he’d been on his way to this very Meadow, having abdicated in what he’d hoped would be a peaceful turnover only to be met with more rejection and fury. Perhaps his unknown attacker had been among those angered by his choice of successor, perhaps it had been a mere random act goaded by the turmoil of the world at the time. Everclear will never know, and would be happy to shrug away such an abrupt and brutal memory.
But Assailant goes on to mention the past, painting a fuller picture into the gray’s mind just as he’d attempted to shut it out. The kingdoms of old, their monarchies and allegiances… the Chamber of Evil.
Its name still churns his stomach, raising a taste of bile to his throat. Despite having once declared himself a denizen of the Valley and thus aligning himself with the more evil-at-heart, in the eyes of everyone around him, Everclear had never quite felt any such dark devotion as seemed to be required of his home or its sister. He knows now that it had been some folly, or perhaps a wandering heart, that had led him to that place. It had been family that had kept him there.
And it had been love that rescued him from it.
But he cannot begrudge this unlikely stranger his past, just as he has always desired that others overlook his own mild transgressions.
“I remember those days,” he responds rather plainly, his eyes clearing from their briefly clouded state. “All too well, sometimes,” he adds with an almost sheepish smile which attempts to ward away the ghosts that had just passed through his mind once more. “I was born in the Amazonian Jungle, long before they allowed men to live there.” His gaze wanders over the Meadow again as he swishes his tail gently against his hocks. “My mother Alex served two queens but was still made to raise me outside of her own home. Seems a bit foolish now, given how readily Beqanna seems to accept change now.
“How do you find it, now that some of the old kingdoms have been returned?” he goes on, curious to know what another ageless soul like himself must think of this rebirth. “Although they are not the same as before… and I must wonder what will become of them next.”
Assailant dismisses the coincidence of their having any prior encounter and the gray nods again in silent agreement. While the other’s name sounds familiar, Everclear does not recognize his face outright, nor his voice or even the most primal identifier of his scent. It must have been from some long-ago passing, some distant tale or rumor that the name had touched upon his ears.
“I have lived much longer than I likely deserve,” he admits with a veil of sobriety that masks his near-disdain for the fact. This momentary consideration of his immortality finds him confronted with the recall of his solitary brush with death in a flicker-still flash of memory. Perhaps he should have accepted it then, that resolute punishment at the hands of an indomitable adversary armed with a metal wing. The feathers like blades had sliced his throat, had carved sanguine paths into his flesh, and yet the assassin’s vigor had been in vain.
It had been hope, then, that had kept him alive.
The act had been swift and largely unseen during the throes of upheaval in Heaven; he’d been on his way to this very Meadow, having abdicated in what he’d hoped would be a peaceful turnover only to be met with more rejection and fury. Perhaps his unknown attacker had been among those angered by his choice of successor, perhaps it had been a mere random act goaded by the turmoil of the world at the time. Everclear will never know, and would be happy to shrug away such an abrupt and brutal memory.
But Assailant goes on to mention the past, painting a fuller picture into the gray’s mind just as he’d attempted to shut it out. The kingdoms of old, their monarchies and allegiances… the Chamber of Evil.
Its name still churns his stomach, raising a taste of bile to his throat. Despite having once declared himself a denizen of the Valley and thus aligning himself with the more evil-at-heart, in the eyes of everyone around him, Everclear had never quite felt any such dark devotion as seemed to be required of his home or its sister. He knows now that it had been some folly, or perhaps a wandering heart, that had led him to that place. It had been family that had kept him there.
And it had been love that rescued him from it.
But he cannot begrudge this unlikely stranger his past, just as he has always desired that others overlook his own mild transgressions.
“I remember those days,” he responds rather plainly, his eyes clearing from their briefly clouded state. “All too well, sometimes,” he adds with an almost sheepish smile which attempts to ward away the ghosts that had just passed through his mind once more. “I was born in the Amazonian Jungle, long before they allowed men to live there.” His gaze wanders over the Meadow again as he swishes his tail gently against his hocks. “My mother Alex served two queens but was still made to raise me outside of her own home. Seems a bit foolish now, given how readily Beqanna seems to accept change now.
“How do you find it, now that some of the old kingdoms have been returned?” he goes on, curious to know what another ageless soul like himself must think of this rebirth. “Although they are not the same as before… and I must wonder what will become of them next.”
@assailant sorry it's kinda rambly x.x