Nebula Gravis
04-11-2012, 09:21 AM
Zackwell's theme 1
Rain falls thick and fast on the small port town.
Not a soul in site, they all have taken refuge in their houses.
Zackwell leans up against the wall of a house, breathing deeply.
"What kind of poison did that guy use...?"
Every fibre in his being aches with pain.
He coughs hard into his hands.
"And why can't I remember his name...?"
As he thinks, a pain shoots through his skull.
He coughs again.
Splatter.
His hands are coated with blood.
It is gently washed away by the rain as Zackwell stares.
He slumps to the floor, leaning up against the wall.
The cold, hard air rips at his throat, like the very jaws of death were clasped about him.
As he feels his vision grow faint, he sits, resigned to his fate.
Would the gentle sound of rain be his final lullaby?
Though his vision has gone, he lays still in the rain, every drop that touches him ebbs away at his conciousness.
To die such a lonely death here. So far away from friends, family and home.
Would he find himself in an unmarked grave here?
Anguish overtook him. The thought of his entire life and memory being washed away as if by the rain, was an unthinkable and haunting idea.
Pick yourself up, he says to himself in his mind.
But no matter how hard he tries, it's as if his soul has gone from his arms and legs.
"Is this... Hopelessness...?" He says, in but a whisper to himself.
He falls to his side and coughs once more, blood trickles out from his lips.
"What... is this...? No poison could do such a thing..."
He stares blankly out into the rain, seeing nothing. He doesn't even have the energy to close his eyes, it seems.
A dark, sweeping cold begins to sweep over his body as the rain grows quieter, and eventually silent...
Bang!
He sits bolt upright.
Where is he...?
He looks around. Somehow he is in an unfamilliar room, in an unfamilliar bed.
Suddenly his back aches painfully, so he lays back down.
What could this be...? Is this the land beyond the clouds...?
"Am I dead...?" he speaks, in a hoarse whisper.
The door opens and a silhouette appears amidst the bright light.
Now that he thought about it. This room is incredibly dark.
The silhouetted figure comes into sharp contrast.
It seems to be... a woman.
A particularly fine woman. At first glance, Zackwell can see her shocking green eyes and delicate figure.
She steps over and sits on the bed beside Zackwell. She has a delicate face... One that could instill all the comfort and courage in the world.
"You okay there, boy?"
Zackwell tries to speak, albeit clumsy.
His words are no less clumsy.
"A-are you an... Angel...?"
The woman falls off of the bed laughing.
"Ohoho! Man! You really thought you' had it! Didn't you!"
She stands, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
"Aaaah. Forgive me. That's the first time anyone has called me an angel."
She pulls the sheets off of Zackwell and places her hands on his bare chest. Before her hands go down, he can see an ominous black bruise over his heart.
"What the...?"
Her hands glow with a light blue aura, and the bruise disappears. Her expression is a stern one as she surveys his 'injuries'.
"You're lucky I found you when I did. It's a particularly nasty curse, this one."
Zackwell's mind boggles.
"C-curse...? No no no... I was poisoned."
"It's a curse," she says. "Curse of a thousand swords. Linked to a memory..."
She stares pensively at the place where the bruise was.
"H-hey..." Zackwell interrupts her thoughts. "Mind explaining that to me in simpler terms?"
She stands up and rolls her eyes. "Fine."
She pulls a chair closer and sits on it.
"One. The curse of a thousand swords. A curse that threatens to impale it's victim with spiritual swords. It's a powerful one, nigh unbreakable. Not by me at least."
She crosses her thin, feminine legs.
"Two. It's linked to a memory. Whatever it was, you tried to remember something that someone doesn't want you to remember. Lucky you didn't actually remember it, else you would have kicked the bucket there and then."
Zackwell's stare returns to the ceiling. Furrowing his brow, he feels a strong anger deep within him. "So I was cursed... Great..."
He sighs.
How is he supposed to find this guy if he can't remember his name or appearance...?
"Who can break this curse...?" Zackwell asks, staring into her deep green eyes.
"Only three creatures can break this curse..." She says, still bearing a serious expression.
"The caster. An angel... Or..."
Zackwell listens apprehensively.
"... Death."
Rain falls thick and fast on the small port town.
Not a soul in site, they all have taken refuge in their houses.
Zackwell leans up against the wall of a house, breathing deeply.
"What kind of poison did that guy use...?"
Every fibre in his being aches with pain.
He coughs hard into his hands.
"And why can't I remember his name...?"
As he thinks, a pain shoots through his skull.
He coughs again.
Splatter.
His hands are coated with blood.
It is gently washed away by the rain as Zackwell stares.
He slumps to the floor, leaning up against the wall.
The cold, hard air rips at his throat, like the very jaws of death were clasped about him.
As he feels his vision grow faint, he sits, resigned to his fate.
Would the gentle sound of rain be his final lullaby?
Though his vision has gone, he lays still in the rain, every drop that touches him ebbs away at his conciousness.
To die such a lonely death here. So far away from friends, family and home.
Would he find himself in an unmarked grave here?
Anguish overtook him. The thought of his entire life and memory being washed away as if by the rain, was an unthinkable and haunting idea.
Pick yourself up, he says to himself in his mind.
But no matter how hard he tries, it's as if his soul has gone from his arms and legs.
"Is this... Hopelessness...?" He says, in but a whisper to himself.
He falls to his side and coughs once more, blood trickles out from his lips.
"What... is this...? No poison could do such a thing..."
He stares blankly out into the rain, seeing nothing. He doesn't even have the energy to close his eyes, it seems.
A dark, sweeping cold begins to sweep over his body as the rain grows quieter, and eventually silent...
Bang!
He sits bolt upright.
Where is he...?
He looks around. Somehow he is in an unfamilliar room, in an unfamilliar bed.
Suddenly his back aches painfully, so he lays back down.
What could this be...? Is this the land beyond the clouds...?
"Am I dead...?" he speaks, in a hoarse whisper.
The door opens and a silhouette appears amidst the bright light.
Now that he thought about it. This room is incredibly dark.
The silhouetted figure comes into sharp contrast.
It seems to be... a woman.
A particularly fine woman. At first glance, Zackwell can see her shocking green eyes and delicate figure.
She steps over and sits on the bed beside Zackwell. She has a delicate face... One that could instill all the comfort and courage in the world.
"You okay there, boy?"
Zackwell tries to speak, albeit clumsy.
His words are no less clumsy.
"A-are you an... Angel...?"
The woman falls off of the bed laughing.
"Ohoho! Man! You really thought you' had it! Didn't you!"
She stands, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
"Aaaah. Forgive me. That's the first time anyone has called me an angel."
She pulls the sheets off of Zackwell and places her hands on his bare chest. Before her hands go down, he can see an ominous black bruise over his heart.
"What the...?"
Her hands glow with a light blue aura, and the bruise disappears. Her expression is a stern one as she surveys his 'injuries'.
"You're lucky I found you when I did. It's a particularly nasty curse, this one."
Zackwell's mind boggles.
"C-curse...? No no no... I was poisoned."
"It's a curse," she says. "Curse of a thousand swords. Linked to a memory..."
She stares pensively at the place where the bruise was.
"H-hey..." Zackwell interrupts her thoughts. "Mind explaining that to me in simpler terms?"
She stands up and rolls her eyes. "Fine."
She pulls a chair closer and sits on it.
"One. The curse of a thousand swords. A curse that threatens to impale it's victim with spiritual swords. It's a powerful one, nigh unbreakable. Not by me at least."
She crosses her thin, feminine legs.
"Two. It's linked to a memory. Whatever it was, you tried to remember something that someone doesn't want you to remember. Lucky you didn't actually remember it, else you would have kicked the bucket there and then."
Zackwell's stare returns to the ceiling. Furrowing his brow, he feels a strong anger deep within him. "So I was cursed... Great..."
He sighs.
How is he supposed to find this guy if he can't remember his name or appearance...?
"Who can break this curse...?" Zackwell asks, staring into her deep green eyes.
"Only three creatures can break this curse..." She says, still bearing a serious expression.
"The caster. An angel... Or..."
Zackwell listens apprehensively.
"... Death."