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LaRPS : Legacies Role Play System » [IC] Character Chronicles
Darkness Take You..
(2 posts)-
K.D Silvansky stared into the darkness of Sanctuary, his blue orbs too like the flames staring out. His wings unfurled, curling around him, as he exhaled a breath that this body did not need. In the wee, small hours of midnight, he could admit what he could not during the so called light of day. Perhaps it was that he was alone. People always said that your life swam before your eyes the moment that you died. He licked his paper dry lips, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping him.
He leaned back into the dark, allowing the shadows to support him, they swirled around his form, engulfing it, welcoming it. His blue orbs gleaming in the last shadow of darkness
of his sanctuary. He searched back, not really sleeping but not really awake, allowing the past to take him, to swallow his mind, to attempt to search out the things that where missing.
He reached for the nearest book, a memory, he knew, an old one by the old worn cover, and the soft ragged tassel.
"Shall we see den, de darkness in a soul, or shall we see 'oy deep de loss has gone.." the sweet, aching irish that he didn't allow himself to speak near others swirling into the Abyss.
He flipped the cover open, and let his fingers touch the first page..the old cracked and broken first page.~The Memory~
He could hear the music, hear it slipping into his soul, taking it for his own, Mikhail's sweet, deep voice swirling into the dark around him. His breath caught, and he surged forward
into the memory desperately. There, there was Mikhail, the beautiful white golden hair, falling in waves around his too handsome face, the silvery eyes catching the light as he played
when he thought that Luciase wasn't near. Luciase was always there, and the music made his heart ache. This time however, was different, the song came to him, swirled around him,
taught and took. He should have listened to the warning.The velvetty tones, the sound of a ghostly lute and flute playing into something that he could not name.
"The wind blows low and mournful through, through the Strathe of Dalnacreche.
Where once their lived a woman, who would a mother be..
For twelve long years, a oo'd man's wife, but never tae cradle filled..
A mother of a changling child, from neath' the Firey Hill..She traveled to tae standing stones, and crossed ito' the green.
Where all the host o' elven folk were dancin there unseen.
Through the night ,Shae bargined, with the queen o' fae an all
Who sent her home at dawnin, with a babe 'neath her shawl..How thaer home wer joyful, with a son to call their own
But soon they saw thae years that passed would never make him grow..
The Fairies would not answer her,The stones were dark an' slept
A babe was all she'd asked fer, and their promises thae kept..The wind blows low an mourn'ful,through thae Strathe of Dalnacreche
Where once thar lived a woman, who would a mother be..
For fifty years she rocked that babe, it's said she rocks him still...
A mother of a changeling child, from neath' the firy hill."He strode forward, and his brother's face caught oddly in the light. Tears that looked like silver leaking from his eyes.
"Oi don't want ter be a kin' Luc...Oi don't want ter, oi want it..I want de music. Oi don't want it..." the desperation of those silver eyes spoke to him,
and both the heads, both in memory and out, bowed beneath that desperation.
"Mik, Ah've been knowin' it...Ah've known it al' along, yer want de crown naw more than oi do lad." his voice held a tone of almost mourning. "We 'owever, 'av never been given a choice.."Mikhail's face tightened, darkening, his silver eyes leaking tears.
"Oi'm gonna make a choice, for even makin' naw choice is a choice Luc, oi will not bea a Kin'."
He drew back, from the memory, from the hurt of it, panting with the pain of it. He shook himself off, closing that book he let his hand fall to rest upon it, fingers gliding over the old pages.
"Oi'm sorry Mikhail, you Oi failed, Failed far more than Oi failed meself."He let his fingers touch the next book, and he drew in air that he never needed.
"Don't be a coward Luc, yer never 'ave been ter afraid ter face it before.." he whispers the words soft, this book was different, shiny, dark. He flung it open.He was bound, feed and hands tied behind the chair, the court around him, glaring down at him. He of course had not been injured, it wasn't the way of Danu.
"Yer Killed Yer Brah'der, Didnae Yer? Answer ME Luciase Crechte!" The voice boomed out, and his head came up, eyes haunted with the song he could never forget.
He licked his lips, glaring out at his Father. Finally, finally he spoke."Killed Mikhail? Naw. Oi wud never 'harm Mikhail. Me Brah'der? Oi would never dream av' doin so. 'E wus me purpose, me call." he glared hard at his father, the tall white haired figure looking so proud and ornate in the court. He looked at the court, and then spoke in a low, venemous tone.
"If anyone killed Mikhail, It wus Yerself, Father." The ruffles and exclamations of shock swept through, the normally quiet tribunal. "Yew took his music away.." the words becoming clear, as his accent faded away as he spoke. "Ye as good as placed a knife in his hart. He no more wanted tae be king than I ever would Father. No, he ran away, Ran away from yer cold. Yer hate."The King's face redenned, and Mac Crechte strode forward, he swung his hand down, before he realized what was happening, and struck Luc aside the face. Both young man and chair fell over with a thump from the force of the blow.
The King's voice was dark. "Oi should 'ave left yer in the forest to die Luciase Crechte. I should have followed tradition, and given yah to the Fairies an wild thin's. I should have left you loike the Bastard that you are Luciase Crechte. Murderer..Murderer av' yer own Brah'der."Luc stared up from the floor, still laying on his side. His voice was low and dark. "Be done wi' den then Father, Yah do what you want, ye never wanted either av' us. Naw Consciquences for a King. Mind."
Shouts raised around the Tribunal as several elves stood. The King's words however, swirled around the room, enforcing order, although at his words, many actually turned away.
"I are Kin' of this Lan', Oi forbid de Tribunal ter speak. Luciase Crecthe. Oi Convict Yer for Treason, You av' killed yer Brah'der, Mikhail Crechte. Yer name will be struck from the rolls
of mae house. I be cursin ya tae hell lad. The curse of a Kin'. May Darkness Take yer As it Broot yer Luciase of No House." the king pauses, then his voice enfolds over the air, swirling over it. "Ye shall be executed whaen de next sun rises."He drew away from the memory now, seperating himself, he clutched the black book to his chest as he sank down on the floor in front of it, the blue flames swirling over the great coat.
His voice seems to draw away from the shadow, as he spoke to himself, clutching the darkest book.
"And everyone says that the Seelie Court is perfect..that it does no wrong..that they are the good elves. Good...they do not recognize the truth. Even good elves can do evil"
he closes his eyes. "They..are fools.." the words whispered.His voice reaches out in the dark, swirling into it. Reaching for that which he no longer felt. Straining for it, but nothing..nothing once more, and so he whispered the words the other would never know.
"In me dreams yer are safe Mikhail, In my Nightmares yer are dead. In me dreams you hate me..Forgive me Brah'der.." his eyes finally slide closed, holding the darkest book, the sweet relief of the high edges, the curled of the dark blue old tassal. He whispers the words that seemed to sit and sing in his chest, a mournful, dead place. "May Darkness take you..as it brought you.." he mutters to himself, the kings words still settled around him like a shroud."Make Darkness Take Yer as It Broot Yer." the last whisper as he falls into his rest, the book sliding to lay on his lap, his back pressed against the stone.
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((Fantastic, Merit Given))
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