- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Anything that actually has, you know, a good plot. I prefer RPs with fantastical elements, however, so generally, a bit of fantasy goes a long way.
[fieldbox=Lost Girls, #00CED1, solid]
[Month of Origin, 6th / Demon Crown Mountain]
As men, like ants, crawled over the fortifications of Haschou Village, sowing discord and grief, a woman watched, feeling the updraft of flame, the stench of decay, even from such a distance away. As if her wind was biding her to come back, to fight for what she once wished to protect.
But Arara did not leave her hermitage, not for the eighteen years that war had been waged, irrespective of the calamity that she should have been sent to prevent. The world could burn. In the two decades that had passed, there had been no light that have entered her eyes, no greater purpose, no love or affection to spur her on. Gone were the beautiful robes that she had gifted her after the first bleeding. Now, only functional rags clung to her muscled form. Gone was the luscious, raven strands that she had carressed in moments of undue intimacy. Now, it sat necklength, haphazardly chopped by a nicked blade. Gone was the pale, glowing skin, that made her capable of serving both as a handmaiden and a guard. Now, it was but a tapestry of scars, tanned and leathery.
There was still elegance, there was still grace, there was still beauty. But it was not the beauty of a woman. Not anymore.
All that remained of her past was her beloved blade, Sakanade, the Dragon Spear that had never failed her. It was always her own fault. Always her own weakness. Always, always, always.
A wick of flame lit a stick of incense, the sacramental aroma wafting up into the heavens as the earth became hell. While the village that she once lived in faced its direst situation yet, Arara watched.
Prayed.
But that was all.
Her eyes had not changed since that day either.
It was still of coal. The black void of a dead star.
It was then, just behind her, that the quiet sound of footsteps on the rocky ground sounded. Standing there, was a figure totally unfamiliar to her at a quick glance. Where Kiri's hair had once been short, it now fell nearly to the ground. Her clothes were tattered and common, to contrast the luxurious garb she once used to wear. Only when she finally spoke, would there be any hope of recognizing her calm voice.
"You've changed a lot in the past 20 years, Arara. You're not down there aiding in their fight?"
Lightless eyes turned to that familiar, unfamiliar face. What hatred she held for the traitor had long died down in the years, and the gaze she held now was as hollow as her heart.
"I only fought for my Lady."
Simple, blunt truth. But perhaps years of isolation had gotten to her after all.
"You've changed as well."
Kiri didn't laugh, but she did offer a small smile.
"I can't be napping as much as I used to… as far as the wilderness is concerned, I'm just a peasant."
She calmly wandered up to Arara's side to gaze down at the violent turmoil below. Another burst of flames shot up from one of the outlying homes, alongside a great warcry.
"They really are making such a fuss though..."
Kiri glanced over at Arara, looking her straight in the eyes. Those cold, dead eyes that'd had the life sucked out of them nearly 20 years ago on that day.
"She really was important. I didn't realize it back then, but that goal of her's… the 'pilgrimage'... if something's not done, this land will end up consumed in flame."
Stealing a glance back at the village below, she let the thought hang in the air a moment. It was kind of ironic… the mountain was threatening to do what the warring tribes were already doing to themselves.
"It was her dying wish, wasn't it? To save this place? Would you be willing to spend your life for it? To give them a chance to succeed where we failed?"
"What's the point."
That was it, the crux of her curse, the crippling fact that nothing mattered now. Revenge wouldn't bring her back. Salvation wouldn't bring her back. All the akumagraphy in the world would not serve to bring her back.
"She's dead. In a few days, everyone you know will be dead. In a few decades, everyone here will be dead. The planet is dying because they let her die."
Her lips curled back in a snarl, blind in the hopelessness after she had once tasted sunshine.
"Serves them right."
"Hm… maybe so."
Kiri bit her lip. She hadn't forgotten that day either. How she was immediately blamed for the shadow assassins. How that crazy guard had lunged for her without any provocation.
"Really, I should hate them more than anyone. I did for a while. But I got tired of that. Maybe - in his mind - he really did the best he could to protect Cirika."
The name rung out: that one word they'd both avoided using. Dragging up, along with it, memories of the girl it'd belonged to.
"All I know is, I still love that village down there. Mom and Dad. My sisters. Even that stupid maple tree. I was thinking, maybe, you felt that way too. Somewhere, deep down..."
She sighed. Then, an idea came to her… just how much of that old Arara loyalty was still in there…?
"...but I guess your loyalty to her died just as easily as she did, hm? That's a shame."
Pulling the hood of her coat over her head, Kiri turned and began to walk off towards Demon Crown Mountain.
A heart beat.
A flicker of rage.
And then smothered by coal and self depreciation.
"Yeah," she laughed, bitter, "All that effort, all my devotion, upended with a single arrow."
Her grip whiteknuckled over the Dragon Spear.
"Loyalty. Love. Life. All fucking worthless."
"Oh?"
Kiri stopped a moment. Maybe there was hope after all…
"Love, hm? I always thought the two of you seemed closer than just a Warder and her servant."
She let the thought linger.
And it did linger.
Because there was nothing there but a one sided affection. Not when the last thoughts of her Lady was for her brother and not her guard.
"All fucking worthless," she repeated, teeth clenching at the bitter memory. "Twenty years won't change one's nature. You're doomed for failure no matter how much you bleed or cry."
"Is that so? After all, the Arara I knew from 20 years ago wouldn't have said anything like that."
Kiri turned around to give one last look at the woman she once knew.
"You were a lot more than just her servant. Everyone knew it too. Everyone except you, I guess."
She turned back to face her destination.
"If you've really changed into some totally different person, then go ahead and stay here. I'm going to give it one last fight… for her."
"You didn't even know the Arara from 20 years ago."
Venom coated every word, her gaze burrowing into Kiri's own as the once-slothful princess of the Moriya turned for the Crown of the Demon. She wouldn't succeed. Couldn't. Twenty years didn't change people, and even a childhood spent with her couldn't change the base of what Arara was.
There was never change. Only regression.
The black chains and the sharp stains. The straw crate and the fourth birthday. The coals and the shackles, soot-covered wings too broken to extend.
"...don't…"
The flesh was splitting, her beloved naginata, the last treasured memorabilia creaking.
"USE HER TO SATISFY YOUR OWN SUICIDE RITUAL!"
Scarlet flame coated blue-hued steel, a beheading stroke cleaving through the crying winds.
Kiri just barely managed to flip around in time to catch it. That same sword that she'd always used, now headed straight for her neck. With a swift flick, a wall of rock leapt up from the ground, catching the blade just inches from her neck.
"What do you think the Pilgrimage is, Arara? If our world is living on borrowed time, then what can we use to pay for more?"
The questions themselves distressed Kiri. It was like she didn't want to accept the answer herself, but all the pieces of info just… fit.
"Cirika was dead either way."
Those words struck like a hammerblow, the flames snuffed out, leaving only plagued grudges.
"And you'd still fight for this rotten world, built on the corpses of children, while their parents fight meaningless wars?"
"Fight? No. I'm just tired."
"Then go do what you do best. Sleep and let the world kill itself, so everything can finally end."
Kiri just stared back wordless. There wasn't much she could say to that… there wasn't much she wanted to say back. Instead she just turned and walked away, this time at a more brisk pace.
Those eyes, like black holes, followed her as she left.
And then, Arara turned away as well, facing the war in the distance, the bloodshed at the end of the world. So eagerly, how humans tore each other apart. A flicker of regret emerged, but she buried it easily enough, before she could drive another stake into herself.
"Any last words you wish be delivered, Lady Moriya?"
Kiri smiled, tilting her head back just long enough to answer.
"Tell my family to take care of my maple tree for me."
"I'll make sure they install a proper resting place for you there."
Nodding her appreciation, Kiri continued on her way.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. Demon Crown Mountain was still quite the distance away, but it couldn't have been anymore than an hour when the entire land shook with a loud boom. It could easily have been mistaken for a freak earthquake, but it marked the final nap of Kiri Moriya.
And, once the dreamer had put herself to rest, the ember eyed romantic unsheathed her beloved blade. She was always weak, and she could never protect the lives she held close to her chest, for they would all invariably fall apart.
The Spearwoman of the Ikkikari Guard was naught but a living weapon seeped in regrets.
But, incapable, inadequate as she was, she could still do one thing.
Fulfill the last wishes of the dead, and offer vengeance for the grieving.
Amongst the flames of war, that maple tree still stood strong and proud, beauty found in its unyielding, steadfast nature.
[/fieldbox]
[Month of Origin, 6th / Demon Crown Mountain]
As men, like ants, crawled over the fortifications of Haschou Village, sowing discord and grief, a woman watched, feeling the updraft of flame, the stench of decay, even from such a distance away. As if her wind was biding her to come back, to fight for what she once wished to protect.
But Arara did not leave her hermitage, not for the eighteen years that war had been waged, irrespective of the calamity that she should have been sent to prevent. The world could burn. In the two decades that had passed, there had been no light that have entered her eyes, no greater purpose, no love or affection to spur her on. Gone were the beautiful robes that she had gifted her after the first bleeding. Now, only functional rags clung to her muscled form. Gone was the luscious, raven strands that she had carressed in moments of undue intimacy. Now, it sat necklength, haphazardly chopped by a nicked blade. Gone was the pale, glowing skin, that made her capable of serving both as a handmaiden and a guard. Now, it was but a tapestry of scars, tanned and leathery.
There was still elegance, there was still grace, there was still beauty. But it was not the beauty of a woman. Not anymore.
All that remained of her past was her beloved blade, Sakanade, the Dragon Spear that had never failed her. It was always her own fault. Always her own weakness. Always, always, always.
A wick of flame lit a stick of incense, the sacramental aroma wafting up into the heavens as the earth became hell. While the village that she once lived in faced its direst situation yet, Arara watched.
Prayed.
But that was all.
Her eyes had not changed since that day either.
It was still of coal. The black void of a dead star.
It was then, just behind her, that the quiet sound of footsteps on the rocky ground sounded. Standing there, was a figure totally unfamiliar to her at a quick glance. Where Kiri's hair had once been short, it now fell nearly to the ground. Her clothes were tattered and common, to contrast the luxurious garb she once used to wear. Only when she finally spoke, would there be any hope of recognizing her calm voice.
"You've changed a lot in the past 20 years, Arara. You're not down there aiding in their fight?"
Lightless eyes turned to that familiar, unfamiliar face. What hatred she held for the traitor had long died down in the years, and the gaze she held now was as hollow as her heart.
"I only fought for my Lady."
Simple, blunt truth. But perhaps years of isolation had gotten to her after all.
"You've changed as well."
Kiri didn't laugh, but she did offer a small smile.
"I can't be napping as much as I used to… as far as the wilderness is concerned, I'm just a peasant."
She calmly wandered up to Arara's side to gaze down at the violent turmoil below. Another burst of flames shot up from one of the outlying homes, alongside a great warcry.
"They really are making such a fuss though..."
Kiri glanced over at Arara, looking her straight in the eyes. Those cold, dead eyes that'd had the life sucked out of them nearly 20 years ago on that day.
"She really was important. I didn't realize it back then, but that goal of her's… the 'pilgrimage'... if something's not done, this land will end up consumed in flame."
Stealing a glance back at the village below, she let the thought hang in the air a moment. It was kind of ironic… the mountain was threatening to do what the warring tribes were already doing to themselves.
"It was her dying wish, wasn't it? To save this place? Would you be willing to spend your life for it? To give them a chance to succeed where we failed?"
"What's the point."
That was it, the crux of her curse, the crippling fact that nothing mattered now. Revenge wouldn't bring her back. Salvation wouldn't bring her back. All the akumagraphy in the world would not serve to bring her back.
"She's dead. In a few days, everyone you know will be dead. In a few decades, everyone here will be dead. The planet is dying because they let her die."
Her lips curled back in a snarl, blind in the hopelessness after she had once tasted sunshine.
"Serves them right."
"Hm… maybe so."
Kiri bit her lip. She hadn't forgotten that day either. How she was immediately blamed for the shadow assassins. How that crazy guard had lunged for her without any provocation.
"Really, I should hate them more than anyone. I did for a while. But I got tired of that. Maybe - in his mind - he really did the best he could to protect Cirika."
The name rung out: that one word they'd both avoided using. Dragging up, along with it, memories of the girl it'd belonged to.
"All I know is, I still love that village down there. Mom and Dad. My sisters. Even that stupid maple tree. I was thinking, maybe, you felt that way too. Somewhere, deep down..."
She sighed. Then, an idea came to her… just how much of that old Arara loyalty was still in there…?
"...but I guess your loyalty to her died just as easily as she did, hm? That's a shame."
Pulling the hood of her coat over her head, Kiri turned and began to walk off towards Demon Crown Mountain.
A heart beat.
A flicker of rage.
And then smothered by coal and self depreciation.
"Yeah," she laughed, bitter, "All that effort, all my devotion, upended with a single arrow."
Her grip whiteknuckled over the Dragon Spear.
"Loyalty. Love. Life. All fucking worthless."
"Oh?"
Kiri stopped a moment. Maybe there was hope after all…
"Love, hm? I always thought the two of you seemed closer than just a Warder and her servant."
She let the thought linger.
And it did linger.
Because there was nothing there but a one sided affection. Not when the last thoughts of her Lady was for her brother and not her guard.
"All fucking worthless," she repeated, teeth clenching at the bitter memory. "Twenty years won't change one's nature. You're doomed for failure no matter how much you bleed or cry."
"Is that so? After all, the Arara I knew from 20 years ago wouldn't have said anything like that."
Kiri turned around to give one last look at the woman she once knew.
"You were a lot more than just her servant. Everyone knew it too. Everyone except you, I guess."
She turned back to face her destination.
"If you've really changed into some totally different person, then go ahead and stay here. I'm going to give it one last fight… for her."
"You didn't even know the Arara from 20 years ago."
Venom coated every word, her gaze burrowing into Kiri's own as the once-slothful princess of the Moriya turned for the Crown of the Demon. She wouldn't succeed. Couldn't. Twenty years didn't change people, and even a childhood spent with her couldn't change the base of what Arara was.
There was never change. Only regression.
The black chains and the sharp stains. The straw crate and the fourth birthday. The coals and the shackles, soot-covered wings too broken to extend.
"...don't…"
The flesh was splitting, her beloved naginata, the last treasured memorabilia creaking.
"USE HER TO SATISFY YOUR OWN SUICIDE RITUAL!"
Scarlet flame coated blue-hued steel, a beheading stroke cleaving through the crying winds.
Kiri just barely managed to flip around in time to catch it. That same sword that she'd always used, now headed straight for her neck. With a swift flick, a wall of rock leapt up from the ground, catching the blade just inches from her neck.
"What do you think the Pilgrimage is, Arara? If our world is living on borrowed time, then what can we use to pay for more?"
The questions themselves distressed Kiri. It was like she didn't want to accept the answer herself, but all the pieces of info just… fit.
"Cirika was dead either way."
Those words struck like a hammerblow, the flames snuffed out, leaving only plagued grudges.
"And you'd still fight for this rotten world, built on the corpses of children, while their parents fight meaningless wars?"
"Fight? No. I'm just tired."
"Then go do what you do best. Sleep and let the world kill itself, so everything can finally end."
Kiri just stared back wordless. There wasn't much she could say to that… there wasn't much she wanted to say back. Instead she just turned and walked away, this time at a more brisk pace.
Those eyes, like black holes, followed her as she left.
And then, Arara turned away as well, facing the war in the distance, the bloodshed at the end of the world. So eagerly, how humans tore each other apart. A flicker of regret emerged, but she buried it easily enough, before she could drive another stake into herself.
"Any last words you wish be delivered, Lady Moriya?"
Kiri smiled, tilting her head back just long enough to answer.
"Tell my family to take care of my maple tree for me."
"I'll make sure they install a proper resting place for you there."
Nodding her appreciation, Kiri continued on her way.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. Demon Crown Mountain was still quite the distance away, but it couldn't have been anymore than an hour when the entire land shook with a loud boom. It could easily have been mistaken for a freak earthquake, but it marked the final nap of Kiri Moriya.
And, once the dreamer had put herself to rest, the ember eyed romantic unsheathed her beloved blade. She was always weak, and she could never protect the lives she held close to her chest, for they would all invariably fall apart.
The Spearwoman of the Ikkikari Guard was naught but a living weapon seeped in regrets.
But, incapable, inadequate as she was, she could still do one thing.
Fulfill the last wishes of the dead, and offer vengeance for the grieving.
Amongst the flames of war, that maple tree still stood strong and proud, beauty found in its unyielding, steadfast nature.
[/fieldbox]