Recent Statuses

6 mos ago
Current Ever wish life was a game, and you could delete your save?


Most Recent Posts

What's with all the ancient, thousands year old characters?
Loved the new post @Shard

Thanks, love!

One calm breath, after the other. Willow sought to center himself within the hellscape that was this chapel, the holy ground on which he resided until given leave. Not one action was his own, not one thought came to bear without permission. The boy attempted to silence the lingering and ever audible presence within his skull, something which came to be in an age old past. A focus, he needed to have something on which to lay his eyes, and occupy his mind. Though, the scent of pine and a forest's warm embrace did manage to bring an ember to life within the boy's heart. Growler, a creature mocked and shunned within the confines of their prison. The two had a relationship considered silent by any measure, but present, all the same. In a way, Willow viewed the beast with a light of understanding. They were all outcasts, but Growler and Willow, they had grown closer throughout the boy's shackled time within the care of the Holy. 

One could perhaps draw the conclusion that the hairy beast found a sense of care, for those smaller and weaker. Despite a lack of words shared between the cursed human and the faltering link in evolution, their friendship had been forged throughout a year, and was reminiscent of a child's bedtime story. A vicious creature from within the dark depths of a forest came to befriend a boy cast out and shunned. Indeed, Growler had managed to aid Willow in silencing the voices, if ever so slightly. Had things been different, perhaps the two would have known a more comfortable happiness, one without chains at their ankles. 

Of course, there were others present within the chapel, each and every presence offering an opposite sensation than that of the tree creature's embrace. A dark, desert night emanated from the ebony skinned man standing tall and proud a short distance from where Willow had planted his feet. A creature of death, indeed. Willow could sense the passing of life which had left the man's frame, drawing him an undead abomination. Though the boy was a herald of death itself, though the strangulation of life burned like a prism within his heart, there was a respectable caution present between the two. Willow did not know this man well enough to dot his motives, and it would be a fool's choice to trust one whom had lived through life, and returned in death, without a moment's thought. 

This was however drowned out by the beauty which came to join this group of unholy abominations. Willow had not seen her, before. She was a new addition, for sure. What lurked beneath that porcelain skin? There was one truth which bubbled to the surface very quickly in that chapel. Nothing was, as it appeared to be. Nothing, at all. Beyond that beauty, Willow would not deny a darkness which waited to engulf the fair woman. It remained to be seen.

Finally, the presence which brought Willow's heart into a pit within his chest. He had seen this figure before, known as Abel. Ironic, to be sure. Abel? The lamb of God? This thing reeked of a presence comparable to hell, beyond a grave's cold confines. What was there to say about a presence which forced the boy's gaze in another direction, at a mere glance? There was something else there, as well. Midnight had warned Willow not to wander too close to this poisoned fruit, this forbidden nectar. If there was a presence darker than that of which Willow gazed upon, it resided within the shell he viewed. An evil as old as time, itself. The boy would be wise to count his steps, and remain a distance from this abominable mockery of the name Abel. Yes, Willow had managed to pick up a few things about the religion which whipped at his skin, on a daily count. Abel, the one outside of scripture, he fit into the story quite well.
@T Risket Sorry for the double post, but I am sure Willow and Growl would know each other fairly well, due to their stay there.
@T Risket Willow has been in the unit for about a year.
@The Narrator, I took some liberties with describing the cell Willow had. Hope it was okay. I thought it would be fitting to have a more proper and noble interior, given the Knights’ culture.
@Dawnscroll, I love how you added actual mythological weaknesses to your character.
@Loki Odinson, deep breath, my arachnophobia is screaming, XD.

@Milkman, I think there is. Last time someone joined, the DM said that there was room for one or two more. You can make that an 'or two', I am sure.

Hah, found a song that fits Willow perfectly if he ever turns to the dark side, xD. And, Jeebus. My reply had a bunch of spelling mistakes. Should have fixed all that, now. Have to re-read my stuff before posting.

They were considered cells, something one would feel safe knowing harbored creatures of the dark depths. A beast, a creature of legend, a man risen from the dead and even a mythological construct of an ancient time, all found home within the confines of these rooms known as hearth, and home. There was however comfort in knowing that rooms were precisely what they were. Decorated with a certain form of extravagance, each prisoner would come to know a sense of comfort within the locked confines of their quarters. Reminiscent of the Victorian era, these abysmal beasts knew mercy in form of respectable decor, where the alternative was a cold, sterile and unforgiving steel cell. Willow had come to know that cell, in the past. A young teenager at sixteen years old, the boy was no older than fifteen when his powers left his body without permission, where they proceeded to nearly destroy a Knight of the Holy Presence. Unacceptable, for sure. Death was a response which would have come swiftly, but again, there was mercy in the action of those doing God's work. A month in solitary confinement did the boy well, they reasoned. Indeed, the scenario had not come to repeat itself. 

Willow was no stranger to abuse, nor was ruthlessness unknown to him. Indeed, it had come to draw his life a norm, one of misery and destruction. A Holy Knight would however not deny this sentence, considering it just. Willow was, after all, given the mercy of life by those who would otherwise unmake his existence. 

Dark, raven eyes stared into the mirror they had seen so many times in the past, a pale figure meeting Willow's gaze in turn. "You ready, hun'?" An all too familiar voice trickled down the boy's ear, as his attention slowly shifted towards the feline presence gently licking its paw upon the desk otherwise harboring Willow's books, and notes. He had been allowed the freedom to draw, something keeping him calm.

"They won't be silent," a weak voice returned, tired eyes moving to the reflective surface of that mirror. "They never do." Generally, Willow placed a pair of headphones upon his ears and drowned the voices out with music. Often, the Devil's very own rock, but there were things considered below even the Knights' attention. They often found resolve in that the luxuries they offered, gave them more leeway in the ruthlessness afforded the boy. 

"You'll do fine, babe'." The cat winked, a feline known as Midnight who had made sure to keep Willow on the path of sanity, "just keep calm, yeah? Don't want an incident to make things awkward, love." 

"I know," Willow finished silently, his raspy voice filling the upcoming silence for but a moment before it was drowned out by the door unlocking. Quite difficult to express, the boy had grown jaded to the treatment, a feat he had acquired before ever appearing within the halls of the Holy. A common form of punishment Willow has not been able to withstand however, was meeting the presence of holy ground which proceeded to torture his soul. Without a word, strong arms grabbed hold of the scrawny gestalt and dragged him along before he was tossed into the chapel. Clenching his teeth, Willow was starting to feel that hellishly uncomfortable sensation wash over him from having to maintain his stay within those blessed walls. Quite ironic, to consider the burn one of holy nature. 

Willow never chose to be touched by the Devil, neither did he ask for these powers. His soul was his own, and his body the very same. However, as he ascended to his feet, meeting the eyes of the man he would know as his warden, Willow remembered all too well that it mattered not. "Hey..," he forced out, keeping the torturous air surrounding him, at bay. The screaming voices within his skull however, they were wearing him down constantly. 

'Kill them all! Willow! Like mother and father, kill them! Rot them! Raise them, make them your puppets!', the screeching wail of a banshee filled his mind, clawing at the fabric of his sanity. 'It burns! This place, this fucking place, it burns! Burn it, Willow! It burns, burn it! Burn it with darkness! Raze it! Raise it! Make it yours!' Balling his hand into a fist, Willow felt his short nails digging into the pale surface of his palm, the presence of another man barely noticed, besides him.  

"I'm here, hun'." A soft, soothing voice strangled the screams for a moment, before Willow finally managed some comfort in the only voice within his mind, that brought safety, rather than insanity. 

"Thanks..," Willow finished, his words aimed at the familiar indivisible to others. However, it was easy to mistake these words for appreciation towards the empty gift offered by the Knights.

Buncha' folk have done that, go for it.
Also, I am going to write a thought sheet related to everyone, when I have the energy.
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet