faust snippet
Oct. 23rd, 2007 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsYou can tell how much time School's been eating up by how much defiant writing I've been doing :V I had caffeine too late last night, and stayed up an hour and a hlaf past my bedtime to write this little interlude between sessions in Faust.
Stjepan glanced around to confirm that he was, more or less, alone. He was feeling a little nervous, and not sure what to make of that. The trip through the city had been fairly unpleasant, sure, but it wasn’t like he really cared what the average Lyrian though of him. Most shut up quick enough when growled at, anyway – or were quickly distracted by Ya Akove. Funny how things worked out, since she’d hired him to guard her…
But now he was here. From what he understood, the area was sort of cared-for by some of the local Armoured Core disciples, but it was pretty informal. There was a sort of shrine and a training ground off to the right, but they were fairly quiet at the moment. Most disciples were off elsewhere, seeing to their charges or keeping watch on the wall. And so here he was.
Stjepan took out the wineskin he’d bought, uncapped it, and took a long, hard, swallow. It was the first drink he’d had since arriving at the outpost, and a voice in the back of his head urged him to keep going, to forget the tin can he stood before, and to lead himself back into sweet oblivion. Lyre was far from a dry city, afterall. No one wanted him here, or anywhere else, afterall…
But no. He knew it was a trick, that the path led nowhere good. Instead he emptied the rest ceremonially on the ground – an offering to his ancient and long immobile companion.
“Didn’t think to bring ya a cup,” he muttered gruffly. Jeph remained as silent as he had been since he sat down on that hill almost a hundred and fifty years earlier. In some versions of the tale, there had been a tree still standing, but Stjepan didn’t buy it. Jeph rested on the stump of a large tree, but that was probably as close as they Lyrians of the time got to allowing the Green inside their walls. Probably the only reason it was allowed to remain now was its association with the founder of the Armoured Core. He’d chosen to pass on his knowledge through his friend, Xanth, and now devoted himself to the protection of all of Faust. Skeptics claimed he was long dead, but Stjepan could feel the spiritual energies swirling around him. Jeph’s armour encased him so completely that not even his face was visible, but the markings that adorned it still glowed with a bright purple light.
The marks weren’t so different from the tattoos that ran down the left side of Stjepan’s face, or that flowed along his own spiritual armour in swirling trails when he donned it. The black gorget that circled his throat now bore them also – black marks on black metal. He considered for a moment, and called the rest on. For a small investment of spiritual energy, his left arm was encased in dark bronze armour, which extended up to meet his cheek so that the swirling tribal marks could merge with the ink on his skin. He felt a little more prepared after that, and crouched on the asphalt beside his hero.
“So,” he began. He tried to recall the calm he’d felt after he’d finished his recent training, but the events of the past few days had disturbed it too deeply. “I don’t know if you’re listening or not, but at least you’re not going anywhere. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I figure maybe you know something about this. Who knows how you got to where you are now, right?”
“My master, Alex Rockbreaker if you keep track of us peons at all, well… He seemed to think I was meant for something grand. Died on account of it, even, though he didn’t see fit to actually give me a fuckin’ clue as to what that was about. Never a word of it before – nothing. Now he’s dead, and no one else seems to know jack, especially me. And the world’s going to right to the trees. Morbid’s attacked Mirth, and Sarcha’s burning from the inside while the Green fuckin’ tears down the wall.
“I can’t imagine you’re happy about any of that, if you are really trying to protect it all. Lyre… Lyre’s never faced a really attack, though maybe if you’re here that’ll be enough. Whatever it is you’ve been doing seemed to have worked for this place so far, at least. If it comes to it, I’ll be up on the wall here with the others. If the assholes will have me. But it’s not where I should be.
“I’ve lost Sarcha. There’s nothing I want more than to go back there, do whatever I can to save her. Anything. I don’t know if anyone can understand what all the city means to me, still. I still feel… hollow, knowing that it’s not my place now. I’m trying to let it all go, but I shit like this isn’t making it any easier. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d still been there when whatever the fuck it was that happened to Cynara happened to everyone else. But ever since that vision or whatever the shit that was I saw in my, uh, spirit world or whatever… I’ve had this feeling since then that something bad would happen, and what if it is my fault for leaving? Sounds like crazy talk, sure but it doesn’t fucking feel that way. Now I’m living a nightmare and there’s fuck all I can do about it.
“I still can’t talk about… Tihana. Now more than ever, just thinking about her, I can feel that angry fire in my spine. Rage in battle, fine. Rage all the time’s a little wearying. I don’t think I’m *wrong* to be angry. This was, what, a month ago? Maybe two? And now that seedy cunt is letting my city burn! I bet the hole in the chain of command after I, ah… killed… Seric didn’t help much either. Fuckit!”
He paused his ramble, trying to regain his calm, and wishing he hadn’t emptied out *all* of the wineskin. It was futile, really. There were a dozen other things getting under his skin – he’d barely touched the big ones. But he wasn’t here to dwell on it, was he? There wasn’t any time for it.
“Well, you see how it goes. I am trying, really. But there ain’t no landmarks here to navigate by. If I’m supposed to do something great, what’s wrong with *now*? Seems like we could fucking use it. But no – no matter what progress I made with Fang, I ain’t a shadow of who I was before. What good am I like this? Not bloody much, that’s what.
“But here’s how it goes. I don’t *want* to be like this – so angry I can’t even think straight, and so empty I feel like if someone pushed me the wrong way I might just fall in on myself and let out some psycho monster. I’ll try and look for the right path, and any influence you got over that would be nice. I’ll give it a little longer. But if I don’t feel like I’m winning this fight, I’m going to give back what I can. I’ve been marking the new moons when they pass since this shit started. I need to find my way, but if I can’t do this – I can’t let this shit go on.”
Stjepan crouched there a moment longer, then stood, looking down at Jeph. Nothing had changed – the energies around him were the same. He hadn’t expected any different. The pilgrimage itself, though, made him feel a little better. There wasn’t anyone he dared to unburden himself to, and even just speaking the things that were on his mind, even if his company wasn’t really all that attentive gave him a little release.
Jeph was, in his mind, the closest thing they had left to a god. He was certainly a great hero, by his deeds and his dedication. Everyone who learned the ways of the Armoured Core was ultimately striving to reach his level of spiritual power and influence. As Stjepan turned to go back down the hill, he felt that he’s at least found the strength to strive a little harder.
Stjepan glanced around to confirm that he was, more or less, alone. He was feeling a little nervous, and not sure what to make of that. The trip through the city had been fairly unpleasant, sure, but it wasn’t like he really cared what the average Lyrian though of him. Most shut up quick enough when growled at, anyway – or were quickly distracted by Ya Akove. Funny how things worked out, since she’d hired him to guard her…
But now he was here. From what he understood, the area was sort of cared-for by some of the local Armoured Core disciples, but it was pretty informal. There was a sort of shrine and a training ground off to the right, but they were fairly quiet at the moment. Most disciples were off elsewhere, seeing to their charges or keeping watch on the wall. And so here he was.
Stjepan took out the wineskin he’d bought, uncapped it, and took a long, hard, swallow. It was the first drink he’d had since arriving at the outpost, and a voice in the back of his head urged him to keep going, to forget the tin can he stood before, and to lead himself back into sweet oblivion. Lyre was far from a dry city, afterall. No one wanted him here, or anywhere else, afterall…
But no. He knew it was a trick, that the path led nowhere good. Instead he emptied the rest ceremonially on the ground – an offering to his ancient and long immobile companion.
“Didn’t think to bring ya a cup,” he muttered gruffly. Jeph remained as silent as he had been since he sat down on that hill almost a hundred and fifty years earlier. In some versions of the tale, there had been a tree still standing, but Stjepan didn’t buy it. Jeph rested on the stump of a large tree, but that was probably as close as they Lyrians of the time got to allowing the Green inside their walls. Probably the only reason it was allowed to remain now was its association with the founder of the Armoured Core. He’d chosen to pass on his knowledge through his friend, Xanth, and now devoted himself to the protection of all of Faust. Skeptics claimed he was long dead, but Stjepan could feel the spiritual energies swirling around him. Jeph’s armour encased him so completely that not even his face was visible, but the markings that adorned it still glowed with a bright purple light.
The marks weren’t so different from the tattoos that ran down the left side of Stjepan’s face, or that flowed along his own spiritual armour in swirling trails when he donned it. The black gorget that circled his throat now bore them also – black marks on black metal. He considered for a moment, and called the rest on. For a small investment of spiritual energy, his left arm was encased in dark bronze armour, which extended up to meet his cheek so that the swirling tribal marks could merge with the ink on his skin. He felt a little more prepared after that, and crouched on the asphalt beside his hero.
“So,” he began. He tried to recall the calm he’d felt after he’d finished his recent training, but the events of the past few days had disturbed it too deeply. “I don’t know if you’re listening or not, but at least you’re not going anywhere. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I figure maybe you know something about this. Who knows how you got to where you are now, right?”
“My master, Alex Rockbreaker if you keep track of us peons at all, well… He seemed to think I was meant for something grand. Died on account of it, even, though he didn’t see fit to actually give me a fuckin’ clue as to what that was about. Never a word of it before – nothing. Now he’s dead, and no one else seems to know jack, especially me. And the world’s going to right to the trees. Morbid’s attacked Mirth, and Sarcha’s burning from the inside while the Green fuckin’ tears down the wall.
“I can’t imagine you’re happy about any of that, if you are really trying to protect it all. Lyre… Lyre’s never faced a really attack, though maybe if you’re here that’ll be enough. Whatever it is you’ve been doing seemed to have worked for this place so far, at least. If it comes to it, I’ll be up on the wall here with the others. If the assholes will have me. But it’s not where I should be.
“I’ve lost Sarcha. There’s nothing I want more than to go back there, do whatever I can to save her. Anything. I don’t know if anyone can understand what all the city means to me, still. I still feel… hollow, knowing that it’s not my place now. I’m trying to let it all go, but I shit like this isn’t making it any easier. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d still been there when whatever the fuck it was that happened to Cynara happened to everyone else. But ever since that vision or whatever the shit that was I saw in my, uh, spirit world or whatever… I’ve had this feeling since then that something bad would happen, and what if it is my fault for leaving? Sounds like crazy talk, sure but it doesn’t fucking feel that way. Now I’m living a nightmare and there’s fuck all I can do about it.
“I still can’t talk about… Tihana. Now more than ever, just thinking about her, I can feel that angry fire in my spine. Rage in battle, fine. Rage all the time’s a little wearying. I don’t think I’m *wrong* to be angry. This was, what, a month ago? Maybe two? And now that seedy cunt is letting my city burn! I bet the hole in the chain of command after I, ah… killed… Seric didn’t help much either. Fuckit!”
He paused his ramble, trying to regain his calm, and wishing he hadn’t emptied out *all* of the wineskin. It was futile, really. There were a dozen other things getting under his skin – he’d barely touched the big ones. But he wasn’t here to dwell on it, was he? There wasn’t any time for it.
“Well, you see how it goes. I am trying, really. But there ain’t no landmarks here to navigate by. If I’m supposed to do something great, what’s wrong with *now*? Seems like we could fucking use it. But no – no matter what progress I made with Fang, I ain’t a shadow of who I was before. What good am I like this? Not bloody much, that’s what.
“But here’s how it goes. I don’t *want* to be like this – so angry I can’t even think straight, and so empty I feel like if someone pushed me the wrong way I might just fall in on myself and let out some psycho monster. I’ll try and look for the right path, and any influence you got over that would be nice. I’ll give it a little longer. But if I don’t feel like I’m winning this fight, I’m going to give back what I can. I’ve been marking the new moons when they pass since this shit started. I need to find my way, but if I can’t do this – I can’t let this shit go on.”
Stjepan crouched there a moment longer, then stood, looking down at Jeph. Nothing had changed – the energies around him were the same. He hadn’t expected any different. The pilgrimage itself, though, made him feel a little better. There wasn’t anyone he dared to unburden himself to, and even just speaking the things that were on his mind, even if his company wasn’t really all that attentive gave him a little release.
Jeph was, in his mind, the closest thing they had left to a god. He was certainly a great hero, by his deeds and his dedication. Everyone who learned the ways of the Armoured Core was ultimately striving to reach his level of spiritual power and influence. As Stjepan turned to go back down the hill, he felt that he’s at least found the strength to strive a little harder.
