Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2018 7:17:35 GMT
Vladimir looked as antsy as he felt while standing on the edge of a cliff. Somehow, staring into the deep abyss below him made him feel a little better, but it wasn't enough. He was out here to intentionally pick fights with the undead. Hyrule has a history that is bathed in blood and misery, and it was beyond palpable in the air. What people would see as beautiful forests all around, Vladimir could feel a weight on his chest to contradict the beauty of life in the place.
Other saw the life but were completely incapable of feeling the death. Where life blooms, there was once death, as they always told him. There literally couldn't be life without death following. They were companions, one and the same, kin until the end of time from the beginning of time and every second in between. They never fought among one another, life always willingly gave up her own to death when death told life that it was their time.
Turning away from the ravine, he looked back into the dense trees, the twilight hour's light barely strong enough to peek through the trees as the sun set itself to rest. It was almost time. He needed to learn how to combat the undead without falling to pieces. He didn't want to fight them and he wasn't entirely sure what the biggest reason was. Was it because he felt pure empathy for them or was it because he had seen his own life flash before his eyes as several Gibdo reminded him of his mortality?
The well was horrible. There was so much malice in the air, the hatred and rage of those long since dead was palpable. He remembers everything so vividly, and even now as he put his button up shirt into his back pack, he looked down at his bandaged chest and hands peeking out from under his black long sleeve. He decided to leave them on once again, flexing his arms and hands to feel where his marred skinned was numbed in numerous spots thanks to the scar tissue. They wouldn't get in the way, and he'd prefer to not have to look at his self.
Staring into the woods, he hesitated even longer as he saw the flicker of a Poe's scythe in the distance, glimmering from the lantern it's feet were so brutally stitched to, carrying the light of it's own soul. Was it blue because it was sad? Would it be hostile because it thinks he's there to take it from him? He didn't want to do it, but he had to. Due to his own apprehensions about fighting them, he was heavily disadvantaged against the ethereal simply because of an emotional wall. Where he understood them more than most people, he was the least helpful against them because of that damned hesitance.
Other saw the life but were completely incapable of feeling the death. Where life blooms, there was once death, as they always told him. There literally couldn't be life without death following. They were companions, one and the same, kin until the end of time from the beginning of time and every second in between. They never fought among one another, life always willingly gave up her own to death when death told life that it was their time.
Turning away from the ravine, he looked back into the dense trees, the twilight hour's light barely strong enough to peek through the trees as the sun set itself to rest. It was almost time. He needed to learn how to combat the undead without falling to pieces. He didn't want to fight them and he wasn't entirely sure what the biggest reason was. Was it because he felt pure empathy for them or was it because he had seen his own life flash before his eyes as several Gibdo reminded him of his mortality?
The well was horrible. There was so much malice in the air, the hatred and rage of those long since dead was palpable. He remembers everything so vividly, and even now as he put his button up shirt into his back pack, he looked down at his bandaged chest and hands peeking out from under his black long sleeve. He decided to leave them on once again, flexing his arms and hands to feel where his marred skinned was numbed in numerous spots thanks to the scar tissue. They wouldn't get in the way, and he'd prefer to not have to look at his self.
Staring into the woods, he hesitated even longer as he saw the flicker of a Poe's scythe in the distance, glimmering from the lantern it's feet were so brutally stitched to, carrying the light of it's own soul. Was it blue because it was sad? Would it be hostile because it thinks he's there to take it from him? He didn't want to do it, but he had to. Due to his own apprehensions about fighting them, he was heavily disadvantaged against the ethereal simply because of an emotional wall. Where he understood them more than most people, he was the least helpful against them because of that damned hesitance.
- It here. I need it revived plz. ... also. here a tag Josh Dragelion
