fat specter

if you blog about:

  • never mind the buzzcocks
  • QI
  • bad education (waaaah)
  • would i lie to you
  • 8 out of 10 cats
  • suits
  • castle
  • david mitchell, jack whitehall, rhod gilbery, henning etc
  • suits
  • my mad fat diary
  • kodaline
  • hurts
  • danisnotonfire
  • amazingphil
  • any sort of british comedy/show

then like or reblog this please so i can check your blog out! my dash needs some mixing up and i need to follow more blogs :D

Prompt #1: Specter

Mor Dhona.  It was as he’d remembered it.  The air thick like honey with corrupted aether and ceruleum, the earth crystallized and barren, scarred both physically and aetherically from years of battle.  Years of pain.  While the inhabitants of Revenant’s Toll were fewer now, there still remained refugees too old or sick to travel back to their now liberated homeland.  It was here they would likely die, as no doubt so many had.  Mythka had not returned to this place in moons and moons.  The mere memory of it was too painful.

But now he walked the streets slowly once more, his long skirts brushing his ankles.  Occasionally he would glimpse a friendly face, ones he’d seen on his last visit.  A shop owner, the elderly man who’d told him of the Gubal Library, the old Raen woman who had bested him at Triple Triad more than a time or two.  She in particular gave him a knowing nod and he misliked it. Dusk was approaching, the stars beginning to glitter their way out of a bruised sky.

He sought out the same noodle shop he’d frequented the time before and found himself alone with only the owner.  It was an odd hour, after all.  Not quite dinner.  No small conversation was made, and he instead sat by himself as he ate… and ate.  Mythka hadn’t realized his hunger from the journey, and he let himself sate it.  He visited the elderly lady and the old man afterward, leaving them with a fair portion of his money for their skill at cards and their stories, respectively.

When he emerged back out into the night, he found the bell late.  The moon silvered the streets with its light, and the night air beckoned to him.  He answered, followed it.  Step after step, out of the settlement and into the wilds.

Nature sang to Myth wherever he went, no matter the state of the land.  It was no different here, a gentle hum and chatter, a blending of energies from plants and animals alike.  From the very earth itself, in fact.  He could have closed his eyes and walked listening to the melody, despite the fact that pain drummed thickly underneath.  It was that pain that he followed, subconsiously, until he came to see the outline of The Keeper Of The Lake in the distance.  The Agrius jutted out from the water like a fractured bone, out of place and horrific, and the wyrm’s body coiled around it only served to sicken the sight.

Mythka’s pale mint eyes wore sadness like a shroud, and he drew his eyebrows together as he washed his gaze over the land.  Caught between the rhythm around him and the remembrance of his last visit, he stood.  Minutes passed, perhaps nearer a bell, and he simply stood.  He felt, he absorbed, he listened.  So deep in his reverie he was that the chill that had begun to swirl around him went unnoticed.  It was a flash of blonde that snapped his gaze to the side.

He knew the hair in an instant.  The face, the stature, the horns.  A sick, anxious rage welled up inside Myth in an instant, and heat tore up his spine.

“No,” he said, his voice quiet, anger barely restrained.  He curled his hands into fists by his side.

“Mythka…”  The form spoke with an unearthly echo, matching the diaphanous quality of his body.  He stepped closer with more of a glide than a walk, and the corporeal Raen stepped back.

No.”  His hands clenched harder into fists, but instead of running he lifted a fierce gaze to the ghost.  "You do not get to speak my name.  This one or any other.  You have no right.“  Mythka licked his lips and swallowed.  He forced himself to stare at the vision, so familiar and yet… wholly unconnected to him any longer.  It was anger he felt, not devastation.  Pity, not attraction.  Sadness.  No longer for himself.

He took a step closer this time, regaining the ground he’d given up.  Then another.  "You are nothing.  A selfish coward at your very best.”  Mythka shook his head, silken russet ponytail sweeping gently over his back.  "I was a fool to admire you.“  Another step closer.  "A fool to want your love.”  And another.

“A fool to try and save you.”  He leveled his eyes at the apparition and watched the sadness etch onto his face.  Mythka had changed since the other Raen had killed himself.  It took a toll on him emotionally, mentally, physically.  Even aetherically.  But he had come out on the other side stronger and wiser in so many ways, and he was not returning to those dark days.

“You’re gone,” Mythka whispered.  "Stay gone.“  His eyes were steely and strong, and they held the gossamer gaze of the other man for a long while before his eyelids slid shut.  He breathed in the sharp, chilly air and exhaled it as warmth… and when he opened his eyes, the night presented only stars and that fat waxing moon.  The specter, along with the baggage he carried, was gone.

(This was quite a bit longer than I intended, but thank you for reading!  I’m rusty af, but hopefully through this month of prompts I’ll improve!  Thank you so much for starting this, @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast ! )


Favorite Donna Paulsen Scenes [no order]: 9/10

3.3 Unfinished Business

“I told him what I thought, and then I tried to help you move on because their truth wasn’t mine to tell you.”