Darth Calliope's Creative Journal.
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March 2015
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Darth Calliope's Creative Journal. [userpic]

“Burn the sky down!”

It remembered the sky. It remembered how the sun never fully rose nor set, how the stars always shown through the shade of the sky. It missed it. The Rune Phoenix had seen many things: entire nations collide and fall and from the ashes a tree or luscious greenery would unfurl. It had thought that the race’s greed and strife would never reach its lands, but yet here it was, buried underneath the earth, long since forgotten. Now the sky was blindingly white with rainbow interspersed throughout with every flick of its wings. It hated them all: the humans, tide born, elves, and the untamed; all were capable of such ferocity and destruction.

In a way, it was somewhat ironic: it wanted to be free and forgotten, but instead all it got was to be captured underground, forgotten, and no longer able to see the sky. So, if it couldn't see the sky, it wouldn't exist anymore.

"Burn the sky down"

A swipe of a talon and a fuzzy paw fell to earth with a dull, meaty, thud. A peck of its beak dislodged an eye from some unlucky cleric's socket. Chew, chew, crunch, crunch, the assassin's bones were so crunchy and had a nice bit of marrow between its bones. The Blade Master's skin sizzled underneath the armor and put forth the delightful aroma of burned flesh. They all lay at its feet, blood tainting the snow and turning it pink before crystallizing and weaving into the snowy ground.

Now they were forgotten, too. Until the next group came and the next one, and the next one, and the one after that one, too. It was a Phoenix, after all, and Phoenixes always rose from their ashes, the mortal races did not.


It longed for a sky no longer coated with snow and blood. All it wanted was to burn the sky down, melt through the ice, and rise into the sky that was truly its own: the sky perpetually painted with every color of the spectrum. It wanted freedom and it was going to fight its way to the heavens, one or the other.


"Burn the sky down"-FIN

It wasn't unusual to feel bad about taking another life, in fact, it was quite normal to feel remorse. However, sometimes the line between normal and abnormal are blurred, smudged, and marred. He didn't feel "remorse", he didn't understand the concept of "being kind" or "doing the right thing." It swung its spear and things died. That's all there was to it. He figured that there was nothing more to life until he met his "friends", well, as close to "friend" as one could get. They were in the same boat: they were all trapped in a perpetual limbo, they were always being pursued by "well meaning" and "wholesome" "warriors. He was sick of it and he was quite sure they were sick of it, too.

Nob was bored and started to spar with Pole.
"What the hell is up with the titles these idiots give us? I mean, who comes up with "Damned Gaurnob" or "Cenneuques Polearm"? We're us, damn it!"
Nob narrowly missed the weapon Nob swung at him and leaped backwards.
"Hey, I'd appreciate you NOT trying to give me new piercings; I've had far too many to count and.." Nob looked around before continuing "in places I'd much rather not talk about...."
"Oh, come on, man! Surely you know what I'm talking about?!"
"...Um, no?"
Nob looked down and looked back up at Pole.
"...Huh? OH! OOOOOOH! Oh my god, what the hell?"
"Yeah, so..."
Nob looked ashamed.
"It hurt."
Pole was, understandably, sympathetic.

"That must've been rough..."
Nob looked back up, his stony face turned down into a pout.
"You have no idea..."
"LOOK! It's our bounty..."
Pole and Nob looked at each other and shrugged. They saw a yellow, fat, man rushing towards them, pure malice in its eyes.
"Oh well, we shall have pork tonight."

The whole damn world sweat dropped.

Current Mood: wtf did i just write? wtf did i just write?
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