Mission: Loot as much as you canAt the risk of staying longer than he'd wanted, the aegislash had set up a small camp for himself on the outer reaches of Nirmala's fortress. He needed to get back to gathering..stealing, supplies as soon as possible but..the chance of getting anything of worth from that citadel was something he felt he couldn't pass up. Imagine, what just a few golden coins could do for him..for his family, food for a few days was nothing short of normal for some..but back home it meant survival. A good dinner was a rare luxury, and if he could get that somehow..or enough to sate the water auctioneers for a time..it was too priceless to walk away from.Upon the order from Duskim, the thief would be quick to enter the citadel once more, a slight panic to him. If that woman were gone, then others would come here all too quickly, the treasure in their minds as well. He had to be fast, get as much as he possibly could before it was all gone-! Darin would make his way to the treasure room that Act had been
Spirits of OletulGiving a tired sigh, Darin walked through the barren streets of Oletul an occasional sullen face giving the aegislash a glance before going back to their own business. Most people in the general area his parents lived in knew of the sword gijinka, and how he'd typically return with something in tow. Today however, his coat looked particularly flat..so there'd be no interest in causing a stir or bothering him for whatever he may have brought. The thief's gaze would be cast downwards as he moved on, hands in his pockets, and mind preoccupied in thought.After recent events, the sword gijinka thought it fit to visit with his parents. The idea of the islands being threatened had been a disturbing one to say the least..and though he hadn't been able to do much, he'd clutch the small bundle of coins and jewels he'd taken from Nirmala's treasury tightly within his pockets. It'd been all he could leave with without the others coming in to take the treasure not noticing. He'd use some of it to
CoR: Distraction.The Aegislash would be walking through the streets of Ormona, his familiar safely tucked against his back. His scarf would be pulled up over most of his face, and his one uncovered eye watching the crowd around them cautiously. He'd stolen here before..and the last thing he'd want is to be recognized in some way, not before he could make it to the prison. Though the thief had a longing desire to go rushing into the massive building himself..he knew he wasn't capable of doing much once inside. Even if he were able to make it to the innermost depths and to Kamal's prison, he had no powerful moves..and couldn't break the bars that imprisoned him. A small plan had made way to him however, even if the very idea of it had earned high complaints from his familiar. All around them he could spot the faces in the crowds, watching, hiding..looking for some kind of opportunity. He'd stop in place within sight of the guardsmen, steeling himself for what he was about to do. Even if he couldn't fight
The wonder of flightAs the morning sun began to rise over the grand plains, Darin would slowly come to consciousness. Still snugged warmly against the Talonflame, he'd let out a yawn and open his eyes blearily. Slowly blinking away the sleep he'd look upwards, taking a moment to recognize the large bird. It's eyes were closed, the large pokemon breathing softly in it's sleep; placed next to Darin would be his familiar, the sword's eye still shut. Getting up slowly and carefully so as not to wake the two of them, he'd walk a small distance away and stretch, watching the sun as it continued to make it's way through the sky. That had to have been the best he'd slept in a good while..a full stomach, and something warm and soft to sleep against. He'd purse his lips, thinking hard for what to do next..if they were going to have any chance of winning, he'd need to figure out how to ride it somehow. The thief had his doubts that careening through the sky in it's talons would count towards a mount competition.Beg
Learning bit by bitAct would be angrily pacing -or rather floating- in a circle around Darin as he lay in the grass, slowly calming from the flight. Honestly when the bird had come at him in the way it did, he'd thought it was an invitation. His plan was to grab onto it's legs and see if he could climb onto it's back from there as it flew. Little did he expect the large bird to snatch him up like a piece of prey and take off with him-though at least it seemed like it wasn't wholly interested in eating him. It'd just dropped him in the grass, and landed nearby, neatly preening it's feathers as if nothing were out of the norm for it. As startling and scary as the moment had been, he did have to admit a touch of thrill to the little trip..he'd never been that high, or gone that fast before. Sighing, he'd sit up and rub his head, glancing over to the bird. It had chosen to stand in place, sharp eyes watching Act as it circled around him.He'd turn his eye to the agitated familiar, deciding to break whatever
Silence in the midst of screamsTime was running out. He could feel it, screaming, clawing..edging at every fiber of his being. The demon's mentality, his one remaining shard of who he had been lay within his cracked mind. Watching with a dread as everything lined, as his existence would slowly be diminished. If not the next soul devoured, it would be the starvation, that ended him. Any more pressure upon his already shattered mind, would have the shard be no more, a spiraling insanity would only remain. As it were on the surface...anxious, paranoid..fearful of everyone, and thing. Obsessive to the point of compulsion and actions driven by colors and nothing but the remnants of himself. He could only silently guide and hold the hope that his body would comply through his mind's disarray. Yet, as the time passed...he would find no solution to the issue at hand. How, could he survive without consuming the souls of contracted humans? It'd been unheard of by the demon thus far for such a thing to be. His search had been
9 years and 10 monthsConfusion, yelling and fear. Small arms reaching in desperation, a swift and loud CRACK, followed by the thump of a small body hitting the floor. Silence, as the storm slowed and ended, the small form being looked upon in contempt before the assailant would drop the heavy bottle and saunter off, leaving the small boy alone on the floor. As his consciousness left him, and the blood flowed freely from the wound upon his head. Coating and soaking through the already bright red hair darkening it and sinking into the carpet upon which he lay..confusion would riddle the boy's mind..why had this happened..? His consciousness would only return fleetingly as his father would return from work, his worried voice yelling, calling to him..he felt himself cradled up into the man's arms as the older Octillery attempted to get what had happened from the younger boy. The boy's eyes..fogged over and riddled with confusion would only stare back blankly. What happened...a slow blink. His mother had beaten
Tick, tock...goes the clockTick, tock...goes the clockevery day,every night.Tick, tock...goes the clockevery moment,every placeTick, tock...goes the clockit's everywhere,I can't escapeTick, tock...goes the clocka never ending symphonywhy can't it ever leave me be?Tick, tock...goes the clockin the back of my mind,even if my ears cannot hear itTick, tock...goes the clockthere is no place here,that the ticking does not haunt meThe agonizing stress,that SOUND.it makes me a mess,when will quiet be found?Not even away...out there,it's always at playjust..where?try to break them away,remove the battery..but there are too many, the ticks and tocks won't swaythe stress they cause is too much to carryand so...the panic arisesa mess left to be messier,but still...the faint..Tick, tock...of the clock.
How he won his homeWhispers were carried on the wind that night...whispers of the king and his tree. "The king is getting old..the king may die soon." "Who will get his home when he's gone?" the many voices of the forest's inhabitants asked one another quietly, careful not to disturb the old Nidoking in his place. "That tree is the best in the forest...it has many places to hide, many places to live." the voices would continue on, very well aware of the one listening in the shadows beyond the bushes, but paying no mind to the worthless scrap. HE certainly wouldn't be a threat to their plotting or planning, the runt couldn't fight and didn't have the bravery to go against king. They, on the other hand...or anyone else here could contend this treasure. "Should we challenge him now, while he is weaker in age? Or wait until he simply dies of his own?" they would question, each inhabitant in this place wanting that tree as their own, each determined to obtain it.Listening intently from where he hid, the youn
Ugly Scars“Why do you cut, dear?”“Doesn’t it hurt?”Of course it does –It hurts more than I’m worth“Why do you cut, dear?”“Aren’t you ashamed?”Of course I’m embarrassed,But I’m used to the blame.“Why do you cut, dear?”“Why don’t you stop?”Can you stop a dead bodyFrom starting to rot?Because, darling, you see,I’m not even here.I’m only a corpseWith no hope, and no fear.“Why do you cut dear?”Well, don’t you see?There’s a pain insideSo deep within meAnd it’s coming to the surfaceBut no one understandsSo I put that painInside my hands.And I lay it outFor all to seeOn wrists so redAnd forearms that bleed.“Why do you cut, dear?”“It’s ugly, you know.”Ha.“ugly” is exactlyWhat this is meantTo show.
bullets in a shot glassAgain the archers are aching,again their bones are breakinglike the cracks in the Colosseum.Death does not defendeager-eyedfighters; he does not fulfillgodly goals ofheaven and halos.I am inverted, introverted,a jester jeeringat kids who kisslike life is long enough to fall in love.my mouth is a machine,a new nightfallordering our soldiers outinto pits where they pray for peace.the quirks of ourridiculous readings rule us,sand us into sculpturesthin and tall, trembling.our universe is built on uncertaintyand vicious virtueswritten by long-dead warriors whoexpected to live forever, andI do not yield to yourwell-read zombies.
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
Self-Harm Isn't a HandbagPick at the scabs of the ghosts of scarsOn the insides of my wrists,White hot pain memories shoot up my veinsAnd the tear vapour creates mistsIn the lenses of my glasses.My world narrows down to thoseWhite stitch marks that keep thePatchwork of my forearms and thighsTogether,Keeping the dark ugly hurtOn the insidesForever.How could I have done this to myself?Could I blame you?And him?And her too?No.I’m a big girl now,And the blame rests on my wrists,That flicked the bladeAnd sprayed the blood,And the mind that forbadeMe to ask for help.I’ve said it beforeAnd I’ll say it again;It isn’t beautifulTo put yourself through such pain.When your head is buzzingFrom the hit of the highOf a new cut on your thigh,Or your mind is lost in a mistOf ecstasy from a new sliceOn your wristAnd you’re dependent on itA junkie needing a hit,It isn’t pretty or cute or special.No amount of kissesWill undo the cutsOr absorb the scars.No
Anxiety attackAs the attack begins,I feel myself slipping away again.And I question things that are better left unsaid.And contemplate if I am better off dead.My anxiety is killing me,I feel my hands shaking.And I am sobbing.And am I dying?I am just trying,To get a grip.But I feel my reality slip through my finger tips.Nothing is real,Except every bit of pain my mind forces me to feel.Every memory that I had shoved away.Is now racing around my brain.It's driving me insane.And my limbs turn to jello.Every time my head hits the pillow,Before I go to bed.I start to panic and I am wide awake instead.More thoughts are swarming around like a hurricane.Please,Make it stop!And just like that,The attack is gone.
The Wrong Side Of MidNightOn The Doctor's TrainI Met The Princess Of The Dawn,But We WereOn The Wrong Side Of MidNight.
Heart strings.The lines,that connect our hearts.through them we feel,something very real.The bonds.Of love, life, friendship...these tender lines...that joy defines.