What is this place? Nov 29, 2011 22:27:30 GMT -5
Post by Roxilicious on Nov 29, 2011 22:27:30 GMT -5
the 29th day of Consido, 1593 – around 9:00 AM
15 miles northeast of Acerbus UmbraA desolate, barren wasteland. Hope was lost in the grey skies and black earth. Even the most delicate footstep raised waves of ash that slowly settled back down to the lifeless ground. It was a dreary, cloudy morning, even for Pertinax. Any rays of replenishing sunlight that typically reached the cold, unwelcoming soil of the the ashlands were completely absent today.
Darcy Nightingale, so close to what she once called home, aimlessly wandered the open expanse of ashen despair. She walked with a lost gait, as if her mind were not fully connected to her body. Her steps were off-beat and entirely random, and she stumbled a bit like a drunk. Inconveniently adding to her external appearance as an intoxicated lunatic, she was mostly muttering to herself, though no set volume existed in her words. The only thing that appeared to be in sync on her person was the way she talked and the way she walked.
"I miss you I miss you I miss you," she whispered quickly, swinging a bit as she walked. And then she stopped dead in her tracks, turned around with wide eyes, and shouted, "Why?!"
It's not like anyone was listening.
The shapeshifting Nightingale returned on her path in the general direction of Acerbus Umbra and continued to talk to herself. She was mostly hunched over and looking at the ground with frantic eyes, fiddling with the ends of her hair to give her hands something to do.
"Is your daddy home?" Darcy asked aloud. Her voice was kept low, but she stammered and it sounded like she was trying to talk while trying not to cry.
She wasn't crying, though.
A sudden shriek escaped her throat, and she stopped on a dime yet again. "There can't be more than two of you!" she exclaimed loudly, unblinking as she stared straight at the nothingness ahead of her.
And then she looked left and right for a second, lowered her head, and leaned in, as if whispering a secret to someone. "Who are you?" she asked, her breathing interrupted and broken from its regular pattern.
There was a moment's silence as she daren't say another word or even take a small breath. Then she shrieked again, turned around, and a lightning bolt exploded into the sky from her hand. It illuminated the dark, empty morning for a mere second, casting shadows upon her sunken, depraved face. It looked genuinely sad, as if gravity were pulling her mouth into a frown.
"Oh, it has an idea!" Darcy said suddenly, her face lighting up as bright as her electric dance in the sky. A blue light glowed around both of her open hands, and when she put her hands together, the blue light intensified. It wasn't long before the same blue light appeared next to her, about six feet off the ground, and created a figure from top to bottom. She had conjured up a friend.
It was a ghost. A ghost that could not talk. He stared at her blankly, a face so devoid of emotion that it made King Falkor himself look like a hormonal widow.
Upon receiving no response, Darcy grew angry. Her face twisted with rage, and it eerily reflected the faces of her two older siblings quite well. She was growing impatient. "Am I drowning to you?! Answer me!"