Post by petepyroaer on Mar 13, 2004 22:57:04 GMT -5
~OOC, this post is simply a single-post account of an event put forward in a much more exciting form then the actual log which mainly consists of Peter, drunken, singing "Bonny Barbara Allan" ~
~IC Down~
Pete was returning from a journey.
How would one know? He had never announced his departure.
His attire said it all. He was dressed in his black robe again for the first time in weeks, the enchanted shadow-hood drawn over face to make darkness that even the keenest elf-archer couldn't see through. But if they could they would see the iron mask that Peter had worn when he stumbled into the castle in August. He had despised it in August but he had, for some unknown reason, placed it on his head again, securing the halves it was broken into with two new removable clamps under the mouth and near the bottom of the back. His skin was completely covered in leather armor down to the neck gorget and at his side he carried the great long, plain and undecorated silver scepter, easily mistaken for a halberd from the castle towers through the rain.
Them were travelin' clothes.
The black unicorn, whom he was mounted upon, was tired. He had trekked all over the world with him in the past week or so. Peter couldn't travel very much these days...had to attend to the vineyard.
Which made Peter's visit all the more unusual.
It was difficult to see Peter from the castle. Thick rain is like that, it really sets your vision off. But as he approached, it would seem that something was happening to his back. Yes, his cloak was ripping up and some sort-of wing was folding out of it. A rather pathetic looking half-wing, admittedely, however it was certainly a half-wing. It looked like it would have one resembled a bat's wing...now it was too torn up to identify. It truly looked almost like a skelton, only a few shreds of flesh still dangling from it.
Even so, it managed to make quite a bloody mess out of his back and cloak when it ripped through his flesh and outside of his back.
When Peter finally reached the gates he quickly jumped down and headed into the castle, moving up to main room. As he walked he could feel the flesh above his wrist splitting, just as if a invisible knife was cutting it. Indeed, now that one could see him in the light one could tell that Peter was bleeding from several parts of his body.
When he made it into the main room, growling like a wolf under his breath, he quickly looked around, scanning the room for anyone. Sister Kia, Nicho, even Paul which he hadn't truly spoken with for years, Aya, Des're...
...Des're?
What was he thinking? She left a long time ago. Peter reached a bloody hand up to his forehead, rubbing it and fighting off the pain. Not the friendly pain he was so used to from the bottle...this was something different. Not natural.
But there was nobody waiting for him in the main room. They were all gone from the main room at this time of night, sleeping or living their own lives. There was never anyone there for him when he needed it...
...needed it?
What was he thinking? He never needed people. What was going on? Pete's left eye was twitching, a new practice. He was going insane. This never ended and it was only getting worse at the next turn...curse after curse only kept bringing him to the eventual realization of his ultimate curse. He wouldn't die. People didn't kill him, people didn't give to him, people didn't foresake him, people didn't love him and people didn't pay any mind to the drunk at the counter. Even if he was downstairs in the basement, summoning demons and angels. All they did was toy with him. Every day was a new trial...he didn't deserve this.
What was he thinking? Of course he deserved it.
Peter grabbed a bottle of ale from behind the bar and walked off to the throne room, slipping into the trapdoor that led to the basement, cursing about some rose and briar.
~IC Down~
Pete was returning from a journey.
How would one know? He had never announced his departure.
His attire said it all. He was dressed in his black robe again for the first time in weeks, the enchanted shadow-hood drawn over face to make darkness that even the keenest elf-archer couldn't see through. But if they could they would see the iron mask that Peter had worn when he stumbled into the castle in August. He had despised it in August but he had, for some unknown reason, placed it on his head again, securing the halves it was broken into with two new removable clamps under the mouth and near the bottom of the back. His skin was completely covered in leather armor down to the neck gorget and at his side he carried the great long, plain and undecorated silver scepter, easily mistaken for a halberd from the castle towers through the rain.
Them were travelin' clothes.
The black unicorn, whom he was mounted upon, was tired. He had trekked all over the world with him in the past week or so. Peter couldn't travel very much these days...had to attend to the vineyard.
Which made Peter's visit all the more unusual.
It was difficult to see Peter from the castle. Thick rain is like that, it really sets your vision off. But as he approached, it would seem that something was happening to his back. Yes, his cloak was ripping up and some sort-of wing was folding out of it. A rather pathetic looking half-wing, admittedely, however it was certainly a half-wing. It looked like it would have one resembled a bat's wing...now it was too torn up to identify. It truly looked almost like a skelton, only a few shreds of flesh still dangling from it.
Even so, it managed to make quite a bloody mess out of his back and cloak when it ripped through his flesh and outside of his back.
When Peter finally reached the gates he quickly jumped down and headed into the castle, moving up to main room. As he walked he could feel the flesh above his wrist splitting, just as if a invisible knife was cutting it. Indeed, now that one could see him in the light one could tell that Peter was bleeding from several parts of his body.
When he made it into the main room, growling like a wolf under his breath, he quickly looked around, scanning the room for anyone. Sister Kia, Nicho, even Paul which he hadn't truly spoken with for years, Aya, Des're...
...Des're?
What was he thinking? She left a long time ago. Peter reached a bloody hand up to his forehead, rubbing it and fighting off the pain. Not the friendly pain he was so used to from the bottle...this was something different. Not natural.
But there was nobody waiting for him in the main room. They were all gone from the main room at this time of night, sleeping or living their own lives. There was never anyone there for him when he needed it...
...needed it?
What was he thinking? He never needed people. What was going on? Pete's left eye was twitching, a new practice. He was going insane. This never ended and it was only getting worse at the next turn...curse after curse only kept bringing him to the eventual realization of his ultimate curse. He wouldn't die. People didn't kill him, people didn't give to him, people didn't foresake him, people didn't love him and people didn't pay any mind to the drunk at the counter. Even if he was downstairs in the basement, summoning demons and angels. All they did was toy with him. Every day was a new trial...he didn't deserve this.
What was he thinking? Of course he deserved it.
Peter grabbed a bottle of ale from behind the bar and walked off to the throne room, slipping into the trapdoor that led to the basement, cursing about some rose and briar.
