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posted last year, edited last year
08/08 birthday for my OCs assirè + izari kingfisher yippee yay
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namelessDespite the scorching heat outside, the grand hall was in a perfect state of coolness. Of course, because what would be a home built for royalty without the highest of standards. The walls were decorated with exquisite geometric patterns, hand-carved by the most skilled artisans, the domed ceiling stood high to further emphasize the magnificence of the space. Steps against the floortiles of marble echoed around the vastness of the room, and besides that not a single sound was to be heard, not a single word was said between the four men who walked through the hall. The young king of Astrar was leading the way, closely followed by an older noble man. An ambassador of a neighboring nation, a guest of notable honor. Two bodyguards followed the men like their shadows, each assigned as the closest, most trusted guard of their master. At the eastern wall of the hall waited large double doors made of ornate dark wood, the destination of the group of four, and on both of its sides stood a guard on duty. Wordlessly the guards bowed and reached to open the heavy doors as the king and his guest stopped before them. The doors opened to reveal a meeting room, matching the elegant interior of the rest of the palace, as expected. The king and the ambassador took their designated seats from a ring of decorated pillows, directly opposite of each other. Both of the bodyguards stayed a step behind to the right of their own master, close enough to act as the shield if needed, but far enough to remain insignificant compared to the nobles.A tea set was waiting on a tray in the center of the pillowed seats, prepared earlier with care to ensure the perfect brewing time at the party’s arrival. The flowery aroma was slowly spreading across the room with the rising steam, giving a slight sense of calm in the middle of an important meeting. The king himself reached for the pot and carefully filled the cups, an act of hospitality to show their respect to the valuable guest. Both of the men's high status was elevated further by their feline-like grace. Throughout the centuries the land of Astrar had been ruled by a feline bloodline, and many neighboring countries thought it was only beneficial to send in an individual of similar species, as a mark of pleasant cooperation. However, the royal bloodline of Astrar was also symbolized by the rare trait of wings on their back, and the first son to be born with them was considered as the crown prince. The large black wings certainly were an impressive sight on the king's back as they framed him on the seat. The ambassador, a leopard whose many rosettes had already started to gain some silver, gave the king a polite smile as he carefully lifted the cup to take a sip. He exuded wisdom brought by his age, yet the scent of the tea wasn't enough to cover the stench of a crooked politician from a sharp nose that was used to similar bullshit from a young age. Even if the king’s first guard was new to the specific job, he certainly had been saving the prissy cat’s life countless times already in their shared past. This situation was merely a slight change in vocations, not that much of a difference. Still, even with fancier attire tailored to a perfect fit, it was difficult for the jackal to fully blend in in this posh situation. Decades worth of habits molded by the streets were not easy to learn out of, after all. He wrinkled his nose for the scent of the tea, but also the smell of the leopard. The amount of pointless formalities from both sides of the meeting seemed ridiculous. Whatever the two noble felines discussed, none of it made sense for the jackal. Not even just because it was all some boring political nonsense, it simply felt like the very words themselves were merging into nothing but incomprehensible noise in his ears. Like his focus was unable to reach beyond the ugly mug of this old, pretentious guest. How politely he smiled, like any rich man of important status would, yet a strange lump had risen in Lella’s throat ever since the first moment the man had arrived at the palace. It burned, almost suffocating him. There was something awfully familiar about this guest, something that spoke danger to the jackal’s instincts. Every muscle in his body had tensed up. The way the ambassador's long nails occasionally tapped the teacup along his speech was subtle, typical for his feline species, but for Lella the sound felt nothing but unnerving. A growing sense of unease kept swirling inside of him the longer the negotiations dragged. Slowly seeping into the mix was anger, disgust. If only the memory wasn’t so fogged up, the frustration of not remembering was just about to eat him from the inside. The ringing in his ears got louder by the minute. “Ah, this fine guard of yours,” the ambassador spoke and set down his cup, the empty smile on his face widened ever so slightly as his gaze landed on the jackal. For the first time it was more than just a quick glance, like suddenly he was acknowledging the existence of a man instead of nothing but a soulless servant. In an instant the deep stare had snapped Lella’s mind back to the present. For a second the surprise forced the jackal's brow to rise from the deep frown it had been stuck on, even if his expression quickly soured right back. The ringing had stopped, suddenly words made sense in his ears again. “I assume he might have something against me, with this, if I may, excessive sense of hostility. Am I to be worried for my safety?” Nothing in the man’s state indicated worry in the slightest. If anything, he seemed to relax more now that he had found what he thought to be a stepping stone to gain high ground in the conversation. After all, how could there be any reliable settlement between neighboring nations with a clueless young king such as this, one who chose his men with such poor insight? One whose closest guard wasn't even able to behave with the expected dignity, to stay a mere object in the background. The king turned to his side calmly as ever, not faltered by the sudden interruption, and observed his bodyguard who had so abruptly risen to be the topic on the table. For a short moment his eyes met the jackal’s with a questioning look, one which the jackal immediately averted. The lump in his throat felt even more burning than before, the discreet swallow he tried to do surely was anything but that. And apparently that had sufficed, the king swiftly returned his attention towards his guest. Lella couldn't quite decide if that was a reaction for the better or worse. “Your excellence, in my home and within my people I promise you utmost safety, have no such fear.”The king Ashen was always keen with his words, experienced in negotiation with decisiveness and perseverance. It was extremely rare for his calm demeanor to break even in a situation drowning in tension, those were some of the features Lella admired in him the most. And just like expected, in the moment the king’s expression matched his words; calm, reassuring, but unyielding. Loyal to both his kingdom and his most trusted guard. Somewhere within the empty smile of the noble guest there was the slightest hint of displeasure to be sensed, like the situation wasn't moving to the direction he wished for after all.“My, he truly makes me doubt that.” No more were the ambassador's eyes on Lella, the guard was reduced back to a piece of furniture, a part of the decor. “Such savagery, if I didn't know any better I'd be to suspect your majesty picked him straight from the street gutter.”A faint smile rose on the king’s lips, almost rivaling the noble man in front of him with its hollowness. “Oh worry not, it's but a mere ugly face he was born with. Consider it a well experienced sword, if you may.” A single condescending huff of a chuckle escaped between the ambassador's lips as a response, he picked up his cup again for a small, calming sip. For the rest of the negotiations, not once was the jackal’s existence considered worthy of any more attention. ... Whereas Lella was usually the first one to conquer the sheets and lie on them like the king of the world himself, now he was merely occupying a single corner of the bed. Deep in thoughts, except every single one of those said thoughts seemed to flee from his grasp. What was left of the earlier repressed storm of emotions had now subsided to a mere tiresome pressure in the jackal’s chest.Weird how much weight an old foggy memory could have, it felt ridiculous, how much it affected the strong soul. Ashen had kept his elegance even in a simple silken robe, undressed of jewelries and layers of fancy clothing. Arriving at the bed the king sat next to the jackal and started to comb his fingers through his long white hair, nonchalantly breaking the silence in a calm voice during the casual self-grooming. “That was unlike you.” Lella gave no response, like none of those words had reached beyond the noise in his mind. The cat shrugged and continued with his hair, but made sure to give a light elbow jab to the jackal’s side in the midst of it. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to reset the mess of a mind, return the man back to the moment. Lella’s gaze lifted from whichever corner of a floor tile it had been glued to, he gave Ashen a single tired look. Tired, somehow lonely. “...Ey, I think I wanna hug.” Ashen had time to barely open his mouth for a single soft ‘ah’. In an awkward manner most unfit for a man his age, the jackal quickly forced his way on the king’s lap, not giving much mind about the groans of agony as the heavy weight kept shifting on top of the cat. Not like it wasn’t something he wasn't used to already, the groans quieted down as soon as the jackal had found himself a comfortable position, face buried into the shoulder in front of him. A deep inhale filled Lella’s lungs and pushed his chest firmly against Ashen's, the following long exhale seemed to release much of the tension the canine had held on to. After a short moment of confusion the king’s hand landed on the back of his guard, carefully, fingertips brushing lightly against the old scars. “This… isn't very like you either.” From that touch the jackal's nose seemed to dig even deeper against the neck, like it was the permission for him to just about melt right into the embrace. Ashen left out a soft chuckle and held onto Lella a bit tighter, moving his other hand up and down along the black back in gentle, slow strokes. “...I don't mind it, tho.” Eventually the jackal finally lifted his nose off the cat’s skin, calm and revitalized. For a moment he playfully ruffled the crown of white hair until his hand came to a sudden stop, brow furrowing to a questioning squint. “..Bitch, ya really called me ugly back there?” Ashen’s hand dropped immediately from the back strokes, he took a deep inhale and groaned the following breath out. “it was a role and you know it.” In a blink of an eye Lella's frown flipped into a smirk. “Nah, pretty sure ya were wishing for a chance to say that.” Without a word of warning the grinning jackal quickly leaned back and flopped against the bed, making sure to pull the cat down with him. Even if Ashen's landing was somewhat softened against his guard, the small impact forced another groan out of him. And yet despite the annoyance in his voice, the cat clearly tried to fight against the contagious grin. “Well you certainly aren't winning any beauty contests with that face.” A sound of a muffled thump against the mattress soon joined the soft snickering as the wag of the jackal's scruffy tail got more lively. “And yet it’s the face ya kiss every night.” The king on top of his guard chuckled before crawling a bit closer, his expression finally giving in for a soft yet playful smirk,"And I'd have it no other way."EndlesslyThe stars are falling from the sky and I do not know why; are they escaping the blackest void that has spread across the heavens or are they tired of shedding tears to the world below that is now full of misery? The sight of their departure is beautiful nonetheless and when I shift my gaze away from the heavens and look back at you, I can see how the starlight is reflected from your glazed eyes, your body motionless as you wait for the sign that makes our bodies move like puppets controlled by strings. It seems like tonight you do not remember our earliest memories; I can see it from the way you are looking at me. No matter how many times I experience it, it always feels like a stab to the heart. I do not know if it is better this way, I am being torn apart anyway. Either we both retain our memories and are forced to face each other in the battlefield or one of us does not remember the other and thus only sees an enemy that has to be defeated while the other one is suffering from an unbearable heartache no one should ever have to endure. It never gets easier. But this is how our lives are, this is how it has been for a thousand years. Everything around us is dead and still, we remain. The soil under our feet has been lifeless for centuries, completely dry and cracked and nothing can grow from it. There are a few dead trees standing, like dry corpses, their branches like the fingers of the deceased as they desperately reach for the uncaring sky, begging for something, a rain or a sunshine, that would rejuvenate their withered carcasses. But the heavens ignore their silent cries. The trees here are the last ones remaining of a beautiful landscape before the war destroyed and butchered it all. Now they are nothing more but mementos of the days when everything was well. Winds play with their branches, twisting them, clinging onto them like mischievous spirits, not letting their dried-up corpses rest in peace. Tonight, however, the winds are in a different kind of mood. They are blowing across the vast field of nothingness in an ominous way and I can hear them whispering. They want blood, they want misery. I do not know what kind of sadistic glee they will gain from what is about to transpire here, but they will get what they wished for. With the vile winds came legions of soldiers of the past, groups of people I have seen for the past thousand years, but whom I cannot remember anymore. In my eyes, their bodies are translucent and their facial features have been smudged like ink stains. I simply do not recognize who they are anymore. Perhaps that is how they perceive me, maybe I am like a ghost to them, too. We are all supposed to be dead and gone now, and yet, here we are. Legions of ghostly soldiers have gathered behind your back and without looking, I know that I have comrades behind my back as well. We are all standing here, silent and motionless, waiting for the sign. Soon it comes: a blast of an ancient horn rushes throughout the battlefield, reaching every corner. The battle will begin and troops of soldiers who have spent a thousand years fighting the same war over and over again are engaging in a conflict once more, and some of them have forgotten why they even are here and what they are fighting for. But I know that losing your memories completely will not give you salvation. A luxury like a free will is something we do not have. Countless times I have raised my weapon against you and it just keeps getting harder – except on those days when I do not remember you. I do not want to do this anymore! But no matter how much I have begged or demanded this to end, it never does. My body is moving on its own, swinging my weapon, causing pain to you and every time my blade cuts your flesh, it feels like I just got cut, too. I never wanted to be part of this war and neither did you. The ancient mad lords forced us into this; they called it a holy war that would purify the land. But which side was the wicked and which was the righteous? There was no answer to that to begin with, the lords just wanted an excuse to steal the lands from the other one. This never was a holy war; it was a cursed one. We are still here, in the middle of a senseless battle, and where are the lords now? Have they died or just abandoned us, forcing us to repeat the war endlessly, unable to break out of this cycle? Just like our memories, the battlefield itself is flickering. It is unstable, a lot like our minds, and is unable to stay in its current state. Like ripples in time, flashes of various shapes of the field are echoing from the past, not sure which form to take. We can see past battles through the flickering and we are dancing macabrely together with the ghosts of our former selves. We will keep fighting even when our bodies start to break down. When do we stop? I do not know. Maybe when all of it is too much for a mortal mind to take and we get consumed by madness. Maybe when the land tries to reset itself and as a byproduct, so do we. Or maybe when whoever is pulling the strings gets tired. It definitely is not death that grants us a moment of rest and soothes our restless and rotten souls. Ah, how I see death as a friend… However, I have come to the conclusion that the world will die before we do.trophy