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Writing Exercise: Prompt #2

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Dealthagar
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Joined: 05 Mar 2004
Posts: 1514
Location: Spiritual Nirvanna

PostPosted: Mon Feb 08, 2010 12:49 pm Post subject: Writing Exercise: Prompt #2 Reply with quote

Spark Word: Home

Spark Word - A single word to think on and write what comes to you.
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The Three Truths of Singularity

Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.

www.adriandrake.com
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Soren
Journeyman
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Joined: 03 Sep 2009
Posts: 102

PostPosted: Mon Feb 08, 2010 2:16 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Home. She was finally home. The gypsy camps had felt like home too but not quite this way. This was stronger, a deeper connection. She no longer had a shadow haunting her every move. She no longer had to worry about retribution and when it would be exacted. Now she could go back to worrying about trivial things, like how many kryss' were needed and how much Agapite to mine. And she had new tasks such as making sure that Adrian and any other new comers, were fed and cared for. She could go back to making clothes and helping out at local blacksmith shops and tailor shops.

Adrian. With a far off look in her eyes Soren stared at the camp. The Gypsy camp in Minoc had been his home. This was HIS HOME and now it was hers too. Something about just saying that to herself made way for a smile that she could not contain, no matter how bad her face hurt from it. And hurt it did. It would take time to heal the pain, but she would deal with it happily. No matter what; the blowsw at Bryelle's ever changing hand, the constant move from place to place, the avoidance. All of it led up to this. And for that alone she would never want to change a thing. Those things, all balled up and snowballing, had led her Home. Forever in her mind Adrian would be intertwined with that word. Adrian equaled Home.
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Dealthagar
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Joined: 05 Mar 2004
Posts: 1514
Location: Spiritual Nirvanna

PostPosted: Tue Feb 09, 2010 6:04 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Dealthagar lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling. His frigid, white haired beauty lay nestled on his chest sleeping. She made small noises and squeezed his arm in her sleep.

His brow furrowed. Her dreams troubled her. With their discussion as they readied for bed, it was not so surprising. War was coming. War with her son and his kin. Her kin. War for a city he ruled over at Darrien's behest. The city his beauty once ruled.

He had fought for Caina, for Yew, for Vesper. Now he would fight for Umbra. Was it home? Was anywhere?

Dealthagar stroked her hair, his eyes never leaving the ceiling. He could feel the dawn coming, but sleep did not seem to be coming. This was his manor, his sanctum, his fortress from the world.

But was it even home?

Darrien saw his affections, his embrace of his humanity, and his emotions as a flaw. A weakness that infected him, made him unworthy of his post at times. But it was this "weakness" that made him desire to fight. A desire to defend his home.

He had lost his home in Caina to ennui. His home in Vesper to apathy. His home in Yew to grief. He would not give up this home without a fight.

His home with her.

He kissed her brow and she murmured quietly, pulling tightly into his embrace.

Their home.
_________________

The Three Truths of Singularity

Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.

www.adriandrake.com
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Grignag
Sage
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Joined: 19 Nov 2007
Posts: 500

PostPosted: Tue Feb 09, 2010 6:32 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Silently, Izrem stood at the edge of the roof of the Scholomance. His eyes, deep in the shadow of his cowl as always, slowly wandered about the entirety of the Stygian Grove. Yet his eyes were not searching for people or buildings. Instead his gaze followed the subtle yet powerful flow of entropic and necrotic essences that flowed around the city of Umbra. His meditations often saw him doing exactly this. He was no prophet. No seer. Yet even he could divine much of the soul of the city and its people from the eternally flowing currents of mana they respired. And today, like many days, he recognized it as it often was.

He had once heard a curious human expression: "Home is where the heart is." Intellectually he could understand its meaning quite well. "Home" was where ever you wished to be. Yet another expression was "Home is where you lay your head down to rest." A fitting phrase for those who rarely stayed in one place for long. As Izrem continued to cast his gaze around the otherworldly familiarity of Southern Malas, he understood that neither of those expressions meant much to him. He was, by nature, an outcast and a vagrant. He never settled well in one place. Never set roots too deep. Whether due to war, collapse of a nation into anarchy or simple boredom at the lack of progress of his present location, no place had ever felt like the land he needed to stand by. In younger days, he had felt a mote of hopelessness at the world. As if there was no place he belonged. Like all eldren he was a type of fae. An intrinsically spiritual creature with a deep connection to the flow of energy that sustained the world. And it was that energy, that mana, that comprised his soul and guided him.

Yet all that energy was locked in the ever flowing tide of Entropy. All of it moved towards the inevitable end of Oblivion. There was no land that he need put his faith in. No piece of earth nor array of buildings. They were merely tools. No. For Izrem, his home was within his own soul. And his soul was bound eternally to Oblivion. Where Oblivion called him, he would go. Where the tides of Entropy pulled him, he would follow. Within himself and the armor of his faith was the only true place of rest. The only true map to home. And when his end came, he would rejoice in the final and peaceful rest of a true abode.

Death. Oblivion. Home.
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