- Messages
- 55
- Character Biography
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The log splintered under the force of a heavy impact; deep cracks racing along its surface. Bark crunched and flew off in ragged chunks. Light splashes sounded out as they met muddy, pockmarked soil.
Steam rose from flared nostrils, cast out in waves from heaving lungs. The rain came down in torrents, providing a welcomed mask to a pale silhouette that towered higher than three men standing foot to shoulder. A bladed tail twitched like it belonged to one of the great cats, and after another breath, the figure whirled, massive claws burying themselves into the soaked earth and carving wounds over a foot deep as another crash resounded against the log buried in the dirt before it.
The trickle of water mirrored the stringed plink-plink-plink of the top half of the log as, finally weakened enough, the fibers of its heartwood tore, and then pitched sideways into the mud.
She was weak. Inadequate.
Incomplete.
Jaws agape to suck in the cold air greedily, the beast lowered itself to all fours and turned away from the massacred training post with a vicious wrench of her horned skull. She was not made to fight single targets. She was made to fight armies. And yet the thing she wanted to accomplish required her to get the skills to do the former. Required her to excel and grow without being considered more than a dumb brute of an animal. It was the safer route, for her. Nay, it was the only route. If she was exposed, or if she failed, there was the chance of it all being for nothing.
That her entire life would amount to being nothing but suffering. That she would accomplish nothing.
It was all she had left. A low, throbbing growl rippled through her frame and into the soil as if the echo of thunder in the sky. Training wasn't going to help her at this point. Something had to change. And she wasn't going to wait and let the world pass by. Turning, that bladed tail whistled through the air again as it cut a swathe into the muddy soil and grass. Sulfur yellow eyes focused on the wall of the Academy rising far and above her like all the other looming figures had in her life. The Proctors. The Guards.
Her Father.
Images of fire and wrath danced in her thoughts. Of a blackened skeleton crumbling to the ground around her. A woman and a man screaming at each other. The fanged grin carved into the skull of a beast she had never seen before, and then became.
Yes... that is what she would do. She would be completed. The growl slowly faded in her chest, and she began to feel the first twinges of pain setting in. Like knives carving into her flesh all over again. Fists breaking ribs and fingers. Her eyes narrowed contemplatively. She did not know everything, but she knew enough. And that would suit her needs.
Bones cracked and shifted. Flesh sank, and shriveled. Shuddering, the beast collapsed, its bone-white visage fading and turning translucent as the rain pounded it into the soil. And from where its ribcage had been, a much smaller figure stirred, and then limped back into the academy.
It had been three days, and still she couldn't find anything on them. Vasha moved her fingers to her temples and rubbed at them, resisting the urge to slam the book shut and fling it across the library. Instead, she removed her elbows from the table, closed the book with a light but somewhat satisfactory snap, and returned it to the shelf.
She shouldn't be surprised though. Dragons were an old myth at this point. Nothing but a collector's obsession at best. And yet, here she was, chasing myths in her limited free time and trying to find locations tied to them in the hopes that maybe she could get a mission near one of those places. To get answers. To get stronger.
Clawed fingertip trailing over the spines of the books, Vasha paused and read one on an older tome with a red cover. Plucking it, she flipped through a few pages, then made a small noise of disgust and shelved it again. She could feel eyes boring into her back from the Proctor that was managing the library, but so long as she didn't do something stupid and damage a book or make too much noise, Vasha knew she'd be fine. If anything it was funny how she could flaunt such behavior in front of the older ones. Before the New Way, she probably would have been interrogated by now and backed into a corner. Now, the ones who favored the Old Way had to watch their backs, and she could practically do as she pleased by comparison.
Vasha paused, a small frown touching her mouth. How restricted must their lives have been, up to this point, that the simple lack of beatings, brutality and bald-faced murder felt like a breath of fresh air?
Shaking her head to herself, she took the next book off the shelf and sat down to read, trying to stifle the odd nervous feeling fluttering in her gut. She thought back on the conversation she'd had with Caeso. Of how he planned to join the reserves. To go home and work with his family, and even live in luxury. A comfort she only dimly remembered from a time that felt like a fairy tale, and only echoed now as the remnants of a nightmare. Vasha hadn't thought quite that far ahead as to what she wanted to do. Could she have a purpose other than the one carved into her flesh and blood since birth? Was something like that even possible to obtain?
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Vasha reminded herself with a singular 'no' and focused once more on the pages before her.
She'd have to give up too much for even a farce of it.
Silas Artesto
Steam rose from flared nostrils, cast out in waves from heaving lungs. The rain came down in torrents, providing a welcomed mask to a pale silhouette that towered higher than three men standing foot to shoulder. A bladed tail twitched like it belonged to one of the great cats, and after another breath, the figure whirled, massive claws burying themselves into the soaked earth and carving wounds over a foot deep as another crash resounded against the log buried in the dirt before it.
The trickle of water mirrored the stringed plink-plink-plink of the top half of the log as, finally weakened enough, the fibers of its heartwood tore, and then pitched sideways into the mud.
She was weak. Inadequate.
Incomplete.
Jaws agape to suck in the cold air greedily, the beast lowered itself to all fours and turned away from the massacred training post with a vicious wrench of her horned skull. She was not made to fight single targets. She was made to fight armies. And yet the thing she wanted to accomplish required her to get the skills to do the former. Required her to excel and grow without being considered more than a dumb brute of an animal. It was the safer route, for her. Nay, it was the only route. If she was exposed, or if she failed, there was the chance of it all being for nothing.
That her entire life would amount to being nothing but suffering. That she would accomplish nothing.
It was all she had left. A low, throbbing growl rippled through her frame and into the soil as if the echo of thunder in the sky. Training wasn't going to help her at this point. Something had to change. And she wasn't going to wait and let the world pass by. Turning, that bladed tail whistled through the air again as it cut a swathe into the muddy soil and grass. Sulfur yellow eyes focused on the wall of the Academy rising far and above her like all the other looming figures had in her life. The Proctors. The Guards.
Her Father.
Images of fire and wrath danced in her thoughts. Of a blackened skeleton crumbling to the ground around her. A woman and a man screaming at each other. The fanged grin carved into the skull of a beast she had never seen before, and then became.
Yes... that is what she would do. She would be completed. The growl slowly faded in her chest, and she began to feel the first twinges of pain setting in. Like knives carving into her flesh all over again. Fists breaking ribs and fingers. Her eyes narrowed contemplatively. She did not know everything, but she knew enough. And that would suit her needs.
Bones cracked and shifted. Flesh sank, and shriveled. Shuddering, the beast collapsed, its bone-white visage fading and turning translucent as the rain pounded it into the soil. And from where its ribcage had been, a much smaller figure stirred, and then limped back into the academy.
It had been three days, and still she couldn't find anything on them. Vasha moved her fingers to her temples and rubbed at them, resisting the urge to slam the book shut and fling it across the library. Instead, she removed her elbows from the table, closed the book with a light but somewhat satisfactory snap, and returned it to the shelf.
She shouldn't be surprised though. Dragons were an old myth at this point. Nothing but a collector's obsession at best. And yet, here she was, chasing myths in her limited free time and trying to find locations tied to them in the hopes that maybe she could get a mission near one of those places. To get answers. To get stronger.
Clawed fingertip trailing over the spines of the books, Vasha paused and read one on an older tome with a red cover. Plucking it, she flipped through a few pages, then made a small noise of disgust and shelved it again. She could feel eyes boring into her back from the Proctor that was managing the library, but so long as she didn't do something stupid and damage a book or make too much noise, Vasha knew she'd be fine. If anything it was funny how she could flaunt such behavior in front of the older ones. Before the New Way, she probably would have been interrogated by now and backed into a corner. Now, the ones who favored the Old Way had to watch their backs, and she could practically do as she pleased by comparison.
Vasha paused, a small frown touching her mouth. How restricted must their lives have been, up to this point, that the simple lack of beatings, brutality and bald-faced murder felt like a breath of fresh air?
Shaking her head to herself, she took the next book off the shelf and sat down to read, trying to stifle the odd nervous feeling fluttering in her gut. She thought back on the conversation she'd had with Caeso. Of how he planned to join the reserves. To go home and work with his family, and even live in luxury. A comfort she only dimly remembered from a time that felt like a fairy tale, and only echoed now as the remnants of a nightmare. Vasha hadn't thought quite that far ahead as to what she wanted to do. Could she have a purpose other than the one carved into her flesh and blood since birth? Was something like that even possible to obtain?
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Vasha reminded herself with a singular 'no' and focused once more on the pages before her.
She'd have to give up too much for even a farce of it.
Silas Artesto
