Avin Starfire
Character
Smoke...
The blue foreend of the cigarra mellowed. The herbal essences of dried leaves smoldering into the stale apartment air. A brown bottle of liquor clinked against the others long emptied. Warm colours of bronzed orange flow cascaded over the rocky cubes of ice that sat pride of place in the opaque glass.
The wall sat cracked, what was left of the insulation within spilled out into the dimly lit space. The board held itself centrally on what was left of a wooden pallet stack. Images ran with string one to another, the hologram resolution projecting out towards space. Faces, images every piece of information that one would need, scrolled below. In the blue fonts casting shadows and rays over the grey room.
He exhaled. Grey and white wisps dispersing to linger upon the ceiling. He rolled the dark bronzed hilt in his palm. The metallic reflection of what light filled the room ran up his arm. The hairs standing on end due to the temperature. Chills of winter left a glaze of condensation along the single glazed pane of glass holding out the harshness of the outside rundown Himalayan streets. The rest of his arm rippled with scars and a flurry of monasterial scribings tattooed into his forearm.
He ran his hand over the last name on the list. An X covering off the face and the light fading to black. Blood still speckling the sleeve of the dim brown coat. Rebels, Terrorists, Anarchists and everything else that stood hard against the state of Imahalayan. Assassination, suicide bombing. All plans all attempts all that come to nothing. Yet here he was, at last, the remnants from the last seven months of hard work fighting watching climbing out of the pit after pit to keep his promise safe even if those he made the promise to forgot of his existence.
Six months, six months he had sat in clinging jungles of humidity and insects. Every day he would wake up at the same time go to the same place with the same people and enact through the same rituals. He had found solace in ritual. The power that didn't exist, a separation of mind from body. A change in time and the current. But now he was back. Last month, he had cleared up some old business. Some dissidents that could not or would not listen to reason had to pay the same price as so many others that had come before them.
Now he could surface again. No more running in the shadows. Avin had done his time for this planet. For this queen. For his master. His journey for true understanding has to end in the same place it had started.
Avin stood, his coat falling to his knees. The muttering of talk came from the family next door. Sounds of jeers and cheers whispered through the alleys as Avin graced the streets. His mindset in one place. The small house a top of the hill. The pit and the tree would be his bed for the night. On the morn, he would greet her once more.
[member="Stardust Raxis"]
The blue foreend of the cigarra mellowed. The herbal essences of dried leaves smoldering into the stale apartment air. A brown bottle of liquor clinked against the others long emptied. Warm colours of bronzed orange flow cascaded over the rocky cubes of ice that sat pride of place in the opaque glass.
The wall sat cracked, what was left of the insulation within spilled out into the dimly lit space. The board held itself centrally on what was left of a wooden pallet stack. Images ran with string one to another, the hologram resolution projecting out towards space. Faces, images every piece of information that one would need, scrolled below. In the blue fonts casting shadows and rays over the grey room.
He exhaled. Grey and white wisps dispersing to linger upon the ceiling. He rolled the dark bronzed hilt in his palm. The metallic reflection of what light filled the room ran up his arm. The hairs standing on end due to the temperature. Chills of winter left a glaze of condensation along the single glazed pane of glass holding out the harshness of the outside rundown Himalayan streets. The rest of his arm rippled with scars and a flurry of monasterial scribings tattooed into his forearm.
He ran his hand over the last name on the list. An X covering off the face and the light fading to black. Blood still speckling the sleeve of the dim brown coat. Rebels, Terrorists, Anarchists and everything else that stood hard against the state of Imahalayan. Assassination, suicide bombing. All plans all attempts all that come to nothing. Yet here he was, at last, the remnants from the last seven months of hard work fighting watching climbing out of the pit after pit to keep his promise safe even if those he made the promise to forgot of his existence.
Six months, six months he had sat in clinging jungles of humidity and insects. Every day he would wake up at the same time go to the same place with the same people and enact through the same rituals. He had found solace in ritual. The power that didn't exist, a separation of mind from body. A change in time and the current. But now he was back. Last month, he had cleared up some old business. Some dissidents that could not or would not listen to reason had to pay the same price as so many others that had come before them.
Now he could surface again. No more running in the shadows. Avin had done his time for this planet. For this queen. For his master. His journey for true understanding has to end in the same place it had started.
Avin stood, his coat falling to his knees. The muttering of talk came from the family next door. Sounds of jeers and cheers whispered through the alleys as Avin graced the streets. His mindset in one place. The small house a top of the hill. The pit and the tree would be his bed for the night. On the morn, he would greet her once more.
[member="Stardust Raxis"]