Thistle
Journeyman Roleplayer
ANGRY
Posts: 194
|
Post by Thistle on Jun 3, 2014 1:07:49 GMT -6
Thistle hoisted his bag, laden with scrolls, books, quills and various artefacts over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold into the basilica's main room. His weapons, grindstone, and beddings had already been moved to his new home. He paused, reflecting on what this building had meant to him.
Thoror, wounded, lying on the church floor...
Starfire, out of her mind, fighting ghosts and her own delusions...
Thoror, held captive for hours on end as he raged and raged and raged...
Destael, tied up and beaten...
Destael, no longer tied up and nowhere to be found...
Brom, losing his mind and torturing Des...
Starfire, on deaths doorstep,(again) struggling to breathe...
Harkat, making a fool of himself...
Thistle sighed heavily as he trudged out the door. They weren't happy memories, but they were his memories. And in Wilgard, there are no happy memories.and the Thistle knew it was just a building, just a name. It didn't make leaving it behind any easier.
More flashbacks.
Drethiel and Rook, broken beyond repair, stumbling into the church...
Nabbi, loyal to a fault, living in the rafters for who knows how long...
Starfire, half mad, half insane, coerced into joining me...
Destael, the shock of finding her alive, and human, in that tavern...
Combat drills outside the building...
The feeling of belonging to a family...
Thistle walked out the large double doors and away from the Church of the Rosewood Basilica, ready to start a new chapter in his life.
|
|
Nabbi
Apprentice Roleplayer
Posts: 93
|
Post by Nabbi on Jun 3, 2014 23:49:54 GMT -6
Nabbi watched her Marshal exit from the rafters, his baggage heavier than usual. His head bowed and steps slow, this was not his usual exit. Nabbi knew what this meant, it had been coming for a while. But she didn't speak up. She never spoke up. Thistle was cold, more so than when they first met. It was always best to leave him alone.
She wondered what was going through his head. She wondered if he would have said anything. She wondered if he noticed her, watching him pack each book and pen. She wondered if he would have cared if he did. He was out the door now, and Nabbi realized just how empty the Church felt. The shelves, once lined with books and weapons were bare now, their contents stored away in the historical society or elsewhere. The rooms held no purpose, and the armory door was unlocked, no longer leading into a gleaming hall of weapons but to a cobweb-covered stone room.
The Raccoon dropped down into what was once Thistle's room, and pondered her situation. She was alone now. Destael wouldn't follow her, Starfire wouldn't think of coming back, Rook couldn't help if she wanted to... She had the weight of Wildgard on her shoulders now, and no one to catch her if she fell. She was almost certain she would fall.
In a corner there was a badly-burned book and a worn out pair of boots. The book, while scorched in zig-zags across the cover was still readable. It was a book on Stilettos, the techniques used to forge them and their proper use. She had thrown it to save her life, sacrificing the cover. It was the first book she had read on her own with Thistle's teaching. Thistle taught her a lot of things.
A thought crossed her head. If she climbed to the top of the tree, she could probably still see Thistle. She could still follow him, she could still have something worth fighting for, something worth more than impermanent peace and false hope. After all, it was he who taught her how to fight. But would he want to fight for her?
She climbed the tree anyway, looking at the small figure of what was once her Marshal shrink. Maybe, she thought. Humans were social creatures, they kept in packs called families and held bonds tight. Nabbi had come to like this pack, but maybe she couldn't have a family here either.
Maybe it was time to run away again. Maybe she could only ever be a Raccoon.
|
|