Description
As thin as a bamboo reed is this arial. The iris' of his eyes are dark,
almost appearing to be black, and are large leaving very little white
showing. There is a large crack on the left side of his beak and he can be
caught touching it from time to time. His feathers, where they are not burned
away from his body, are of a darker gray coloration. His wings appear to have
been mangled in a like manner to the various parts of his body with fire, the
feathers sparse at best, his flight appearing to strain him greatly.
Role
Choices.
Added Mon Feb 6 15:32:12 2006 at level 20:
A multitude of pinpoints slowly creep towards you in an eternally slow
spiral. As you realize that these flickering faint points of lights are not
creeping towards you, but rather you are sinking towards them, the blackness
lessons and it becomes evident that this darkness is smoke. Your vision drops
out of the swirling fire born smoke and embers and a village caught in the
ravages of war or raiding takes the place of embers and smoke. As the whole
village is lost to your sight because of the continued sinking a single house
catches your attention, the door whether it is front or back bursts open.
Scrambling out of the fire ladden structure is a winged creature obviously
deep in the clutches of terror and panic. She, as you can now see as you view
draws closer, stumbles and stops just outside the domicile, staring at
something across the street, which moments later presents itself as an armed
band of orcs that advance with suprising speed as though they lust for this
arial, not for her touch but for her blood. Just before they reach the terror
frozen winged woman your view shifts past her and the sights are lost as more
events of greed and ravaging flicker past you. The view speeds and suddenly
you realize that this sight is moving circularly around this village,
drifting inward at an increasing pace in the maddening swirl of violence. The
spin quickens, the swirl tightening until it seems so very near to merely
twirling in place and then everything stops, everything is frozen in your
sight for nothing around you moves, the fires are lost to the surrounding
houses which must rock on the verge of total annihilation... do they know
that their existance is near to an end, does it matter if they know, if they
could know would it change? In this frozen moment of contemplation the door
opening of this house that rests in the center of your view almost escapes
notice. But the solitary figure slinking forth, bundles clutched protectively
against his chest, and moves away from the house looking back only once in
longing and then stepping so very close to you. You watch his eyes sweep
around the area, weighing, judgeing and finally arriving at a decisive
verdict and stepping past you without hesitation to move on to what ever
might be in his future.
Past and future.
Added Mon Mar 13 23:31:28 2006 at level 40:
He sits silently, unmoving, barely breathing if even at all... the only thing
that moves aside from the slight flutter of feathers that still show on his
partially burned body, is the so dark iris' that seem to try to catch and
take note of everything about him. The wind picks up and this bird stretches
his wings suddenly, a sharp breeze that whips about the room after it enters
through the open window pushing against them.
The wintery breeze, so cold it almost feels calculated, I do love it so.
The words, nearly broken and shrill enough to almost hurt the ears, are the
only things uttered this entire day but the winged magistrate. He has sat,
long, longer, almost too long, staring out this solitary simple window into
the stretching streets below. He sits and watches, he watches and waits, he
waits and remembers. And as he remembers all that he has seen and been, all
that he has been taught and shown, all that once was and might again be, He
realizes the emptyness inside is growing. As he remembers his fathers last
words, and the teachings before the nearly silent utterance, a swift sharp
pain twists at his heart for the last time... or so he tells himself. He
remembers all the endless lessons his father and mentor put him through,
nearly endless until the end, and he realizes that he must do something more.
The first step, to erase the last of his emotions except anger, it after all
has a purpose. To be truly empty of emotion one must have something to rely
on, and the this anger can be emptied easily enough by simple actions so that
I once again there is no emotion and the justice can truly be accurately
dispensed. The first step in this uphill climb is now known to this scarred
being.