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paixaorpg2008-07-04 12:53 pm
venit-ex-silva.livejournal.com) wrote in paixaorpg2008-07-04 12:53 pm
Death and sorrow consume me [complete]
Character(s): Fran
Content: The pyreflies claim their first victim
Setting: Wherever the pyreflies are the thickest
Time: The same time as this thread
Warnings: Fran goes a little feral, woops.
Despite what she might have mentioned to Balthier, Fran hadn't exactly set out to get an idea of the strength of the monsters in the city. Rather, she'd headed out to find out just what was causing the strangeness she'd sensed in the air. After all, best to know what they were up against. Monsters they could deal with, but this was new to her and more than a little unsettling.
The fact that what few monsters she had run across seemed to be increasing the feeling didn't really help in the long run, either. Nor did the fact that she could have sworn that she heard cries of sorrow in the hollow fluting of whatever it was that they kept disappearing into. Hardly the Mist-spawned fiends of Ivalice, these. Something was very sorely out of joint here (her ears twitched towards another faint whisper of something), and she meant to find out what.
Besides, it wasn't really hard to feel out the path towards what seemed to be the epicenter of all this. As a matter of fact, it was fairly easy - the remains of the monsters she'd killed seemed to almost be pointing the way, eerie as it was to be following the screams of the dead. Nor was it comfortable; the sorrow of the left behind pulling at her as she drew closer. Rage and pain and sorrow pulling at her and getting in under her skin, in her ears, making it hard to focus, especially when the feelings pulled into almost words pulling and whispering and cutting across one another. They spoke of death and sorrow, lives pulled cruelly from the world and denied all rest, agony and sharp pain.
And amidst it all, a vague lingering sense of who had done it. A man, as Hume as those who lived in Ivalice's cities. Cities like this one, treeless and closed in with the pain and the sorrow. They would die for what they'd done, but first she had to get away, fly away, be not-here. But where to run to? There were no trees to hide behind and under here.
But there were shadows, and those would do for now as she half stumbled and half lurched towards the safety of one of the alleyways, wild-eyed and skittish. The fact that she was supposed to return to speak with Balthier? Unfortunately forgotten amidst the whispers that followed her as she went.
Content: The pyreflies claim their first victim
Setting: Wherever the pyreflies are the thickest
Time: The same time as this thread
Warnings: Fran goes a little feral, woops.
Despite what she might have mentioned to Balthier, Fran hadn't exactly set out to get an idea of the strength of the monsters in the city. Rather, she'd headed out to find out just what was causing the strangeness she'd sensed in the air. After all, best to know what they were up against. Monsters they could deal with, but this was new to her and more than a little unsettling.
The fact that what few monsters she had run across seemed to be increasing the feeling didn't really help in the long run, either. Nor did the fact that she could have sworn that she heard cries of sorrow in the hollow fluting of whatever it was that they kept disappearing into. Hardly the Mist-spawned fiends of Ivalice, these. Something was very sorely out of joint here (her ears twitched towards another faint whisper of something), and she meant to find out what.
Besides, it wasn't really hard to feel out the path towards what seemed to be the epicenter of all this. As a matter of fact, it was fairly easy - the remains of the monsters she'd killed seemed to almost be pointing the way, eerie as it was to be following the screams of the dead. Nor was it comfortable; the sorrow of the left behind pulling at her as she drew closer. Rage and pain and sorrow pulling at her and getting in under her skin, in her ears, making it hard to focus, especially when the feelings pulled into almost words pulling and whispering and cutting across one another. They spoke of death and sorrow, lives pulled cruelly from the world and denied all rest, agony and sharp pain.
And amidst it all, a vague lingering sense of who had done it. A man, as Hume as those who lived in Ivalice's cities. Cities like this one, treeless and closed in with the pain and the sorrow. They would die for what they'd done, but first she had to get away, fly away, be not-here. But where to run to? There were no trees to hide behind and under here.
But there were shadows, and those would do for now as she half stumbled and half lurched towards the safety of one of the alleyways, wild-eyed and skittish. The fact that she was supposed to return to speak with Balthier? Unfortunately forgotten amidst the whispers that followed her as she went.