*Props to Skid-mun for helping me out as usual!*
Imagine walking in on the aftermath of a massacre in which each trap was triggered one after the other; one where the blood and body parts were scattered and strewn about the deck and corridors of the ship that was supposed to be an easy take. The pungent stench clung to your nostrils with each breath taken. Vile was building up in the back of your throat with the amount of gore you were witnessing. Everywhere around you the last breaths of the ones you loved were being drawn. Gargles from clogged throats, splashing sounds of the dying as they fell into their own blood, arms and legs tossed about as if they were nothing to add to the loss of heads sooner rather than later, and blood was pooling at your feet so that each step you took was aided by the echoing sound of a splash.
No rain would come to wash away the turmoil, but tears would fall to mix and mingle with the crimson below. Your own sobs broke through the silence, shaking as much as your body did when one more corpse was recognized as one of your family. Soon arms would encompass you, pull you away while you screamed violently, madly with ache to die beside those fallen. You reach out and plea with one of the corpses to stand, pretend that this was all a joke, but nothing comes. More and more the reality of being left alone circles around you, teasing and nagging at you until it?s as if chains are binding you from all movements.
The need to cry, to sob, to weep, and to show the grief growing in you, but you have to control it, you have to show no weakness before others. More and more the state of your emotions becomes imbalanced; the more you have to regain control. People begin to question your actions the longer you try to cope with the loss, with the fact that everyone you love (everyone you were raised with) is gone forever. No matter what you do, they?re not going to come back; you can?t afford a Necromancer and even then, the practice of what you would be asking is risky at best.
As time passes you feel more like you?ve lost control of everything, if you couldn?t save them, what makes you think you can do anything? The need to do better, to be the best begins to be seen as a fool?s errand, a waste of time. For appearance sake, you keep hold of your self control, your actions, and your old self. Still you can?t help but wonder; would you have died if you had managed to keep up with everyone else? The more doubts begin to play tricks on your mind, the more the imbalance infects your mind.
You become anxious to the point where you?re always waiting for the next raid, the next chance to see how much longer you can cheat death like they didn?t. Guilt takes hold of you, and you?re blaming yourself for their deaths, ?It shouldn?t have happened. Where were you? How could you leave them to die? You were supposed to be watching!? Those words repeat over and over in your head until they become a constant voice, like a broken record going on and on and on, as your self-torment grows.
It becomes harder to work, harder to breathe in such a toxic environment. You can?t get past your mindset and the fog that is your world, your home, and the barrier protecting it. Everything and everyone begin to look alike, but again you don?t show it, it would be signing your death warrant. Each reaction and action could be your last, could be the end of the person that is you. But no matter how you wish that very fact, you find yourself holding back. There is something in the back of your mind right beside that broken record player, nagging at you to live. Live where they did not.
Each day is hard for you, agony at its best, because everywhere you go and everything you see reminds you of them. It gets harder to stay in one place; you?re constantly moving, constantly awake. Fear continues to play games with you; the fear of it happening again, of finding out you were to blame for 23 deaths, 23 family members you would gladly trade places with (even with them in the grave). As days pass you begin to think, begin to wonder what it would be like to get away. Would you ever get the opportunity?
Once the opportunity comes you take it. Snatch it up without thinking twice. You disappear as fast as you can, knowing deserting could be your death. Running becomes more than psychological, it becomes a reality as you run from the fact that just because you were last to walk through the ship you were spared from an excruciating death. Nothing will ever erase what has just been the cause of strength in self control. Each day you pray that you don?t ever lose that will.
On the run, you find comfort in the sounds of your sobs, of your tears falling over your face. Each grieving moment provides comfort to the souls you left behind. Your world, your home, all of it must be forgotten. New lands have to be breached. Once more, you feel like a child memorizing the world around you again. When you leave the fog, the security of the mask protecting your life becomes more of a comfort, a piece of home you never want to leave behind.
Each step you take becomes more exhausting; the echoing taunts of that bloody anniversary start to gain power for a few more moments every day. Some nights as it rains you remember the drop, drop, drop of blood ringing in your ears. Sleep still eludes you many nights. Emotions begin to dance with and twist and around one another, you find yourself getting confused with what you?re feeling. Your aggravation gets worse, but the reactions that come of it require more and more self control to avoid. The more you let it eat away at your mind, the more you feel like a hair trigger; ready to fire at nothing more than a passing breeze.
Welcome to Kaur Shiza?s world? The last of 24? The one that survived the Navy?s Death Ship and lived to regret it as each day passes by? Welcome to Kaur Shiza?s world? Take a number.
We?ll be with you shortly.
Imagine walking in on the aftermath of a massacre in which each trap was triggered one after the other; one where the blood and body parts were scattered and strewn about the deck and corridors of the ship that was supposed to be an easy take. The pungent stench clung to your nostrils with each breath taken. Vile was building up in the back of your throat with the amount of gore you were witnessing. Everywhere around you the last breaths of the ones you loved were being drawn. Gargles from clogged throats, splashing sounds of the dying as they fell into their own blood, arms and legs tossed about as if they were nothing to add to the loss of heads sooner rather than later, and blood was pooling at your feet so that each step you took was aided by the echoing sound of a splash.
No rain would come to wash away the turmoil, but tears would fall to mix and mingle with the crimson below. Your own sobs broke through the silence, shaking as much as your body did when one more corpse was recognized as one of your family. Soon arms would encompass you, pull you away while you screamed violently, madly with ache to die beside those fallen. You reach out and plea with one of the corpses to stand, pretend that this was all a joke, but nothing comes. More and more the reality of being left alone circles around you, teasing and nagging at you until it?s as if chains are binding you from all movements.
The need to cry, to sob, to weep, and to show the grief growing in you, but you have to control it, you have to show no weakness before others. More and more the state of your emotions becomes imbalanced; the more you have to regain control. People begin to question your actions the longer you try to cope with the loss, with the fact that everyone you love (everyone you were raised with) is gone forever. No matter what you do, they?re not going to come back; you can?t afford a Necromancer and even then, the practice of what you would be asking is risky at best.
As time passes you feel more like you?ve lost control of everything, if you couldn?t save them, what makes you think you can do anything? The need to do better, to be the best begins to be seen as a fool?s errand, a waste of time. For appearance sake, you keep hold of your self control, your actions, and your old self. Still you can?t help but wonder; would you have died if you had managed to keep up with everyone else? The more doubts begin to play tricks on your mind, the more the imbalance infects your mind.
You become anxious to the point where you?re always waiting for the next raid, the next chance to see how much longer you can cheat death like they didn?t. Guilt takes hold of you, and you?re blaming yourself for their deaths, ?It shouldn?t have happened. Where were you? How could you leave them to die? You were supposed to be watching!? Those words repeat over and over in your head until they become a constant voice, like a broken record going on and on and on, as your self-torment grows.
It becomes harder to work, harder to breathe in such a toxic environment. You can?t get past your mindset and the fog that is your world, your home, and the barrier protecting it. Everything and everyone begin to look alike, but again you don?t show it, it would be signing your death warrant. Each reaction and action could be your last, could be the end of the person that is you. But no matter how you wish that very fact, you find yourself holding back. There is something in the back of your mind right beside that broken record player, nagging at you to live. Live where they did not.
Each day is hard for you, agony at its best, because everywhere you go and everything you see reminds you of them. It gets harder to stay in one place; you?re constantly moving, constantly awake. Fear continues to play games with you; the fear of it happening again, of finding out you were to blame for 23 deaths, 23 family members you would gladly trade places with (even with them in the grave). As days pass you begin to think, begin to wonder what it would be like to get away. Would you ever get the opportunity?
Once the opportunity comes you take it. Snatch it up without thinking twice. You disappear as fast as you can, knowing deserting could be your death. Running becomes more than psychological, it becomes a reality as you run from the fact that just because you were last to walk through the ship you were spared from an excruciating death. Nothing will ever erase what has just been the cause of strength in self control. Each day you pray that you don?t ever lose that will.
On the run, you find comfort in the sounds of your sobs, of your tears falling over your face. Each grieving moment provides comfort to the souls you left behind. Your world, your home, all of it must be forgotten. New lands have to be breached. Once more, you feel like a child memorizing the world around you again. When you leave the fog, the security of the mask protecting your life becomes more of a comfort, a piece of home you never want to leave behind.
Each step you take becomes more exhausting; the echoing taunts of that bloody anniversary start to gain power for a few more moments every day. Some nights as it rains you remember the drop, drop, drop of blood ringing in your ears. Sleep still eludes you many nights. Emotions begin to dance with and twist and around one another, you find yourself getting confused with what you?re feeling. Your aggravation gets worse, but the reactions that come of it require more and more self control to avoid. The more you let it eat away at your mind, the more you feel like a hair trigger; ready to fire at nothing more than a passing breeze.
Welcome to Kaur Shiza?s world? The last of 24? The one that survived the Navy?s Death Ship and lived to regret it as each day passes by? Welcome to Kaur Shiza?s world? Take a number.
We?ll be with you shortly.