Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Arahim]

---

Choirs of life's long list of lamentations sang clear and airy all around his every thought, vying for attention and grating noisily against cloudy memories of simple, everyday happiness. The clash in his head shifting from idea to memory to new idea with a rapidity that held any sort of melancholy at bay as Arahim scribbled recklessly his head's contents across page after page. Marring fields of white with zig-zags of trailing black snakes looping together like magic to form the words.

Stars stood out in patternless array as reminders to always look elsewhere for finality, while arrows ran from here to there like shortcuts to new impressions. Parantheses denoting uncertainy.

Standing happily with empty glass, passing windows which peeked out into a sleeping world long since given up it's cares in exchange for a night's worth of dreams, Arahim hurried to the kitchen mouthing the words and lines he would soon commit to ink, lest he lose them like trying to carry a fistful of water. Grinning at himself as they changed and added on to themselves at every silent self retelling.

The dark Winter styled lager he had recently tapped held strong notes of coriander and nutmeg, and trapped the light in it's ruddy red recesses. He had lost count pint-wise, but the giddy thrill of each first sip and the ensuing warmth that blanketed his body, ever so slowly, had not yet lost it's charm.

Still repeating this most recent thought turned verse, the notion to meet the wintry Night in person seized upon him so suddenly as to very quickly give impulse over to impetus, and before even a counter to the course of action was realized, Arahim was pulling on his heavy boots. Laughing all the while he dressed, thrilled with so unique an idea, though he had performed this very ritual many a night in the past. Cheery with spirits, and head abuzz with stars and colors.

Leaving the warm glow of home in the distance, the unblemished snow crunched beneath him. A not so thin crust of ice layered on top made his gait erratic, his footing often uncertain. The glow in his belly, and fuzz behind his eyes certainly aiding in the seesaw swaying of this nocturnal stroll.

At several points, he had found a small puddle frozen over, and dark blue. Each time he had cracked and broke the ice with the heel of his boot, creating concentric spiderwebs in the cold glass. None ever seemed to break quite the same.

He later put the act to paper, extrapolating it to reflect how easily we can all affect our world by our actions, and the pitiable truth about how very few of us choose to.

Above, and far beyond him, the moon hung like a crooked, silver smile etched upon a black velvet mask. A lone reveler at some Elysian masquerade. In his present state, Arahim thought he had never seen it through these eyes, in this way.

The image of waking his tiny, green eyed Christopher and showing him this new moon died away to embers as quickly as it was born. Replaced with the look on his Sylvan's face if such an act was discovered upon their return.

Besides, the Night was too cold, and ice buzzed and stung at his beardless face to remind him of Winter's ascendancy, and domineering ways.

Home again, and awash in the welcoming glow of light, Arahim found his still full glass on the floor right where he had left it.

Happy providence!

He re-read his writings like they were brand new, bending his will to new paths his initial attempts had not brought him. Refreshed with the brief change of scenery.

The many spirits within him still sang. Still whispered secrets, and showed him sights he hid inside. Unlocked memory, and helped him paint it.

"You called Us, and We came."

The night wore on.