Post by Baldric on Oct 2, 2013 0:51:36 GMT -5
freedomsite.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=dagypsy&thread=3295&page=1#14946
Even through his inner vision was the sight of blood and pain and mindless slaughter.
Frightened children crying their little hearts out as they watched their families being violated and murdered by enemy soldiers. Young boys yet to become men dying in the feeble attempt to protect their mothers and sisters.
The bravest, most foolhardy put themselves in front of a sword to buy others time to escape, but alas, what time they'd ever gain by such boldness was just too short.
Blood drenched the ground. And then; darkness. Cold, hard darkness surrounding him, but offering him no comfort.
Even in his consciouslessness he could not escape the repeated vision, nor the smell of blood lingering in his nostrils. And he knew then the terror of what he had done.
Again. Cries, blood, abuse, death. One dream sequence followed another. They seemed to repeat one another again and again, when in truth each sequence differenced ever so slightly from the one prior, though Baldric didn't notice it at first, so subtle were the changes.
It slowly changed focus, until Baldric eventually did notice.
Eventually it was not the plight of the shoemaker's wife or the town's children he watched, or even the cruel fate that had befallen Lady Isabella.
A black-clad person, insignificant at first, and appearing to be just another one of the townswomen, had begun to make her way towards him. Every sound bleakened, as did all colors besides grey. And red, always the red. This dark individual, barely the shape of human hid her face underneath a black veil as she moved closer; slowly, taking one step at the time.
One dream sequence ended, another began.
She stood beside him now, her malicious presence filling Baldric with nameless dread as she turned her face upwards to him, as if to look him in the eye. She was so much shorter than he was, reaching barely above his elbow. yet his heart raced with fear even before she reached her hand up to remove the veil covering her face.
She let it fall, looking up at him with a face much younger than he remembered. Even so, that face still carried a striking familiarity that brought forth a stench of old prunes to fill his nostrils.
The serf almost wished the smell of blood could return; it stank far less of death than the noxious "perfume" surrounding aunt Grimaulde.
As he gazed down at her unpretty face, undoubtedly with a grimace of utter terror, she smiled at him.
That ghastly smile he remembered all too well made her appear like a vengeful spirit, ready to prey on his living heart.
He woke up with a scream loud enough to awaken the dead.
(That ended up surprisingly dark. And vague. I didn't quite know where to post so I ended up here; Though I'm willing to relocate the thread to make it easier on a specific character wanting to join. Just let me know.)
Even through his inner vision was the sight of blood and pain and mindless slaughter.
Frightened children crying their little hearts out as they watched their families being violated and murdered by enemy soldiers. Young boys yet to become men dying in the feeble attempt to protect their mothers and sisters.
The bravest, most foolhardy put themselves in front of a sword to buy others time to escape, but alas, what time they'd ever gain by such boldness was just too short.
Blood drenched the ground. And then; darkness. Cold, hard darkness surrounding him, but offering him no comfort.
Even in his consciouslessness he could not escape the repeated vision, nor the smell of blood lingering in his nostrils. And he knew then the terror of what he had done.
Again. Cries, blood, abuse, death. One dream sequence followed another. They seemed to repeat one another again and again, when in truth each sequence differenced ever so slightly from the one prior, though Baldric didn't notice it at first, so subtle were the changes.
It slowly changed focus, until Baldric eventually did notice.
Eventually it was not the plight of the shoemaker's wife or the town's children he watched, or even the cruel fate that had befallen Lady Isabella.
A black-clad person, insignificant at first, and appearing to be just another one of the townswomen, had begun to make her way towards him. Every sound bleakened, as did all colors besides grey. And red, always the red. This dark individual, barely the shape of human hid her face underneath a black veil as she moved closer; slowly, taking one step at the time.
One dream sequence ended, another began.
She stood beside him now, her malicious presence filling Baldric with nameless dread as she turned her face upwards to him, as if to look him in the eye. She was so much shorter than he was, reaching barely above his elbow. yet his heart raced with fear even before she reached her hand up to remove the veil covering her face.
She let it fall, looking up at him with a face much younger than he remembered. Even so, that face still carried a striking familiarity that brought forth a stench of old prunes to fill his nostrils.
The serf almost wished the smell of blood could return; it stank far less of death than the noxious "perfume" surrounding aunt Grimaulde.
As he gazed down at her unpretty face, undoubtedly with a grimace of utter terror, she smiled at him.
That ghastly smile he remembered all too well made her appear like a vengeful spirit, ready to prey on his living heart.
He woke up with a scream loud enough to awaken the dead.
(That ended up surprisingly dark. And vague. I didn't quite know where to post so I ended up here; Though I'm willing to relocate the thread to make it easier on a specific character wanting to join. Just let me know.)