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+--- Thread: [Journal, Balmung] Recall (/showthread.php?tid=12626)
[Journal, Balmung] Recall - Zephyo - 07-17-2015
(I've been mulling over how to get my character into the mix of things, and while I have the concept of a story and events therein...the character in question has been more a name doing things than an actual character. So this is some creative writing that I hope you all find an enjoyable read as I make this name into something more. Comments and critiques are most welcome.)
The den of chaos about him was the only thing he could recall.
With labored breathing, he opened an eye, struggling to lift his head out of the dirt to observe his place. The air was thick with brimstone, and he coughed as he pulled himself together. The bite of a wound seared his right eye closed, and wiping away blood he gazed about himself in befuddlement.
Fire and brimstone rained from the sky, and masses of people fled in panic, swarming over themselves in outright terror. The lad blinked in confusion as he turned to the sky...and the holocaust above harrowed him down to the tip of his tail.
Death incarnate had hatched from the moon.
~~~
The Rhotano Sea beat against the cliffs of La Noscea, and a fine mist filtered the sunrise as it climbed forth from its foamy bed. The world slowly stirred from its stupor, and the wildlife began to roam across the plains.
Amidst the weather-worn crags  burst forth an azure light, and the unconscious form of a miqo'te collapsed onto the ground. Clad in bloodied and battered armor, he lied unceremoniously upon the ground, so still that even the lambs gathered about him. And then, an ear twitched.
"...spirit of wind...child of Oschon, head my plea...and ply this coil..."
The wind whipped around him, and Cure's light enveloped his form. Coughing, the lad struggled to his knees as he choked out the healing invocation, each passage bring steadiness to his voice and color to his face. And when he felt vigor in his veins once more, he stood up uneasily, holding a hand to his throbbing head.
"Well...that was an exceptional sensation to come around to," he muttered with muted sarcasm, his dictation precise and cultured. "Probably the worst pain since," he continued to himself, brow furrowing. "Since..."
Nothing. There was nothing to remember.
Panic set in and the miqo'te began to rub his head impulsively, squatting down and scavenging his thoughts. 'Easy, take it easy. So you hit your head wrong, not a big problem, you're not dead. Start small, insignificant. Oschon the Wanderer, the wind spirit- you are not completely blank-headed.'
With that he sighed, falling onto his rump before yelping in alarm, having jarred his long, fluffed tail beneath his armored ass. "By the Twelve, the tail! I have this damnable tail! Of all the foolish things to forget," he hissed, delicately squatting on his haunches as he assessed the latest injury. He eyed his silvered appendage with annoyance, and then confusion. "Weren't you red, before...?"
Red E'rynth.
The name burned in his mind, but it brought annoyance, frustration to mind. It was a name. It belonged to him, but...he had chosen another. 'E'rynth, E'rynth...Rynth...'
"Rynathan...Elurhandir."
The name rolled off his tongue, and he purred at the familiarity. He muttered it again and again, sighing in relief as he accepted his own name. "Good...good. Nothing to get worried over. Now...what am I," he asked the air, rummaging around his person and finding a weather-worn satchel nearby. "Now let's see here," he remarked as he flipped it open and poured out its contents...and watched in awe as he deposited what appeared to be a small feast at his fee. Â The bag must have been Goblin'd at some point, for the quantity and freshness was truly absurd against its unassuming appearance."Hungry. Apparently, I was very hungry."
A low, long growl churned in his gut.
"Glad to see I haven't changed too terribly much," Rynathan remarked with a smile as he reached for the first of many mystery meals.