Post by Buthaleirus on Apr 24, 2006 13:43:48 GMT -5
((this is an old series of posts I have found and wanted to be saved))
Buthaleirus woke early this morning. The dawn had not yet broken through the night sky. His sleep was restless. His dreams agitated. Sleepily, he walked to the mailbox, and smiled. His love, Alabaster, made him his purple shirt. The letter, dotted with kisses, was short and sweet much like it's sender.
Checking his guild stone, he searched to see if any were awake. His tired eyes scanned the listings.
Then, at the same mailbox where he was "hearted", he fell to his knees and roared. Tears fell like stones as he lost the strength to stand. Falling to his knees, the rogue wept.
Alabaster's name was absent.
His soul grew black. Hate, raw like the putrid flesh of dying humans, erupted within him. He would kill today.
Slowly, through teary eyes, he looked to the sky. Buthaleirus searched for his guides. There with a feint, desperate twinkle, they sat, seemingly higher, further from reach.
Shaking, he rose and called Vexi forward. Moments later, he was at the water's edge, watching and waiting.
The stars gave way to the dawn as the sun broke the horizon. The water lapped at his feet. He could feel it pulling at him, urging him to swim one last time.
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He watched the sun break the horizon, pushing the stars further from sight. He used to love mornings. Memories of hot milk, laughter and silliness, filled his head and drowned his heart.
His love had left. Pushed away by the some of very ones he called family. Hate, dark as the night that had just receeded, filled in him again.
"click-click-clattah-clattah" A scorpid, no match for one his season, approached Buthaleirus seemingly without fear. He giggled.
Like a wave that builds far out at sea, it came, emotion. The shadowmaster's shoulders tensed with focused rage. His mouth filled with saliva. He spat at the Great Sea. It would not take him this day. This day no saving letter was needed. This day he had his salvation...himself.
An anger he had not felt since the burning of the Hexfires, drove this troll as he moved away from the water towards the fearless scorpid.
Nodding to the beast, he raised his great hammer, and with a speed unknown to any, he brought the weapon to bear.
Snarling, Butha growled low and gutteral,
"Witout fear der be no hope."
Buthaleirus woke early this morning. The dawn had not yet broken through the night sky. His sleep was restless. His dreams agitated. Sleepily, he walked to the mailbox, and smiled. His love, Alabaster, made him his purple shirt. The letter, dotted with kisses, was short and sweet much like it's sender.
Checking his guild stone, he searched to see if any were awake. His tired eyes scanned the listings.
Then, at the same mailbox where he was "hearted", he fell to his knees and roared. Tears fell like stones as he lost the strength to stand. Falling to his knees, the rogue wept.
Alabaster's name was absent.
His soul grew black. Hate, raw like the putrid flesh of dying humans, erupted within him. He would kill today.
Slowly, through teary eyes, he looked to the sky. Buthaleirus searched for his guides. There with a feint, desperate twinkle, they sat, seemingly higher, further from reach.
Shaking, he rose and called Vexi forward. Moments later, he was at the water's edge, watching and waiting.
The stars gave way to the dawn as the sun broke the horizon. The water lapped at his feet. He could feel it pulling at him, urging him to swim one last time.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He watched the sun break the horizon, pushing the stars further from sight. He used to love mornings. Memories of hot milk, laughter and silliness, filled his head and drowned his heart.
His love had left. Pushed away by the some of very ones he called family. Hate, dark as the night that had just receeded, filled in him again.
"click-click-clattah-clattah" A scorpid, no match for one his season, approached Buthaleirus seemingly without fear. He giggled.
Like a wave that builds far out at sea, it came, emotion. The shadowmaster's shoulders tensed with focused rage. His mouth filled with saliva. He spat at the Great Sea. It would not take him this day. This day no saving letter was needed. This day he had his salvation...himself.
An anger he had not felt since the burning of the Hexfires, drove this troll as he moved away from the water towards the fearless scorpid.
Nodding to the beast, he raised his great hammer, and with a speed unknown to any, he brought the weapon to bear.
Snarling, Butha growled low and gutteral,
"Witout fear der be no hope."