09-17-2009, 09:26 AM
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500+
The black fae saw the wicked glint within the golden boy’s eyes. The white orbs held the golden gaze, a mild curiosity moving across her eyes. She wondered at that wickedness, wondered if he had allowed it to taint his soul. She remembered.... She remembered when they had first met. His soul had been pure, and he had been civil, well raised. The black warrior had not departed from the younger Ezekiel’s side, and instead they had created a relationship of mentor and disciple. That relationship had caused the golden boy to suffer at her father’s jaws. They had not met often since then to practice. Then she had been confined within the Dahlian boarders by the wounds that marred her own body and by the burden of life that she had carried within her. And now, seeing him, she knew that something was different. It was expected, for surely no creature remained constant, and if consistency was held, then Death had gripped the soul. But the change, the wickedness, within the Inferni Prince was different. Should she continue to train with him, the warrior would observe the manner of his soul and discern whether she would or not. Regardless of skill, not all creatures were meant to be within the circle of war.
A soft smile moved across her maw at his assuring words. She did not think that he could fear Death. Warrior did not fear death, and Soldiers and Knights did not either. "You do not fear Death," the soft melody confirmed with an imperceptible nod. There was a brief silence before she spoke again. "And what of existence after Death?" The woad-marked fae did not forget the religious piety of Gabriel de le Poer. The black fae was familiar with such religion only through occasional observation, but she did not doubt that Ezekiel had been raised beneath the hand of that single, Christian deity. She knew of their judgment, of their hell and their heaven, and of their purgatory too. Ezekiel may not fear Death, but did he fear the judgment that followed?
The wickedness in the boy’s eyes were not yet cruel, but soft still as the coming twilight. Would he allow them to harden? The woad warrior expected that he was strong enough, that he had been trained enough, but also that he himself could recognize his own Self. The woad bound ears lifted at his words, catching the silence and the nature of that silence. She, too, allowed the silence to persist for a moment longer, listening to where his voice had been and where the forest now filled that place. "You will meet them someday," the alto melody sang in reply. She felt, then, his hesitation within the air. The Raven Dreamer was silent then, as if expecting him to speak, but, when silence ensued, the black fae said, "You are leaving now...?" His words implied that he would not stay, and the warrior did not know when he expected that ‘someday’ to be. The question hung in the air with the lightness of an autumn seed, needing only for the other to grasp it.
500+
The black fae saw the wicked glint within the golden boy’s eyes. The white orbs held the golden gaze, a mild curiosity moving across her eyes. She wondered at that wickedness, wondered if he had allowed it to taint his soul. She remembered.... She remembered when they had first met. His soul had been pure, and he had been civil, well raised. The black warrior had not departed from the younger Ezekiel’s side, and instead they had created a relationship of mentor and disciple. That relationship had caused the golden boy to suffer at her father’s jaws. They had not met often since then to practice. Then she had been confined within the Dahlian boarders by the wounds that marred her own body and by the burden of life that she had carried within her. And now, seeing him, she knew that something was different. It was expected, for surely no creature remained constant, and if consistency was held, then Death had gripped the soul. But the change, the wickedness, within the Inferni Prince was different. Should she continue to train with him, the warrior would observe the manner of his soul and discern whether she would or not. Regardless of skill, not all creatures were meant to be within the circle of war.
A soft smile moved across her maw at his assuring words. She did not think that he could fear Death. Warrior did not fear death, and Soldiers and Knights did not either. "You do not fear Death," the soft melody confirmed with an imperceptible nod. There was a brief silence before she spoke again. "And what of existence after Death?" The woad-marked fae did not forget the religious piety of Gabriel de le Poer. The black fae was familiar with such religion only through occasional observation, but she did not doubt that Ezekiel had been raised beneath the hand of that single, Christian deity. She knew of their judgment, of their hell and their heaven, and of their purgatory too. Ezekiel may not fear Death, but did he fear the judgment that followed?
The wickedness in the boy’s eyes were not yet cruel, but soft still as the coming twilight. Would he allow them to harden? The woad warrior expected that he was strong enough, that he had been trained enough, but also that he himself could recognize his own Self. The woad bound ears lifted at his words, catching the silence and the nature of that silence. She, too, allowed the silence to persist for a moment longer, listening to where his voice had been and where the forest now filled that place. "You will meet them someday," the alto melody sang in reply. She felt, then, his hesitation within the air. The Raven Dreamer was silent then, as if expecting him to speak, but, when silence ensued, the black fae said, "You are leaving now...?" His words implied that he would not stay, and the warrior did not know when he expected that ‘someday’ to be. The question hung in the air with the lightness of an autumn seed, needing only for the other to grasp it.