10-18-2023, 01:15 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-18-2023, 01:16 PM by ElatedAkira.)
[Several droplets of dried blood stain the piece of paper, alongside a few nigh-schizophrenic sentences repeated over and over again. They seem to have been crossed out several times, as if to hide them.]
It's cold. I've been left here, still in the oversight of my jailers. Bound to this room like an animal in a cage. I've been thrashing against my shackles, to the point they've dug into my wrists. Coldsteel. A struggle in vain.
The room smells. It smells of blood. Is it mine?
[Curiously enough, there's a drawing of a symbol, archaic in nature-- runelike, on the bottom right corner of the paper.]
You said I would be fine. But I don't feel it. Nothing about me feels fine. Nothing about this feels fine. My mind is loosely drifting from thought to thought. I can barely keep it together in this silence.
How long will I be in here for?
There is one name which brings me clarity more than any other, however. It manages to abate my uncontrolled rage, and instead gives it direction. Purpose. Donovan Stone.
When I am released, and I will be. Whether that be in a week, a month, a year or a decade from now. My pursuit will not end. It will last until Eternity, and Eternity Beyond. I will eventually have your head ripped from your damned neck, and raise it in front of Galvia for all to see.
But for each one of you that falls, another will rise to take their place. I realize that. So I will also offer mercy to any who might want to follow you into your grave. If my mercy is turned away, like it has already been because of that damned lizard, then I will carve my way through each and every one of you, so long as you threaten to take what is mine.
And I will hit even higher still.
-Rowan Stigr
It's cold. I've been left here, still in the oversight of my jailers. Bound to this room like an animal in a cage. I've been thrashing against my shackles, to the point they've dug into my wrists. Coldsteel. A struggle in vain.
The room smells. It smells of blood. Is it mine?
[Curiously enough, there's a drawing of a symbol, archaic in nature-- runelike, on the bottom right corner of the paper.]
You said I would be fine. But I don't feel it. Nothing about me feels fine. Nothing about this feels fine. My mind is loosely drifting from thought to thought. I can barely keep it together in this silence.
How long will I be in here for?
There is one name which brings me clarity more than any other, however. It manages to abate my uncontrolled rage, and instead gives it direction. Purpose. Donovan Stone.
When I am released, and I will be. Whether that be in a week, a month, a year or a decade from now. My pursuit will not end. It will last until Eternity, and Eternity Beyond. I will eventually have your head ripped from your damned neck, and raise it in front of Galvia for all to see.
But for each one of you that falls, another will rise to take their place. I realize that. So I will also offer mercy to any who might want to follow you into your grave. If my mercy is turned away, like it has already been because of that damned lizard, then I will carve my way through each and every one of you, so long as you threaten to take what is mine.
And I will hit even higher still.
-Rowan Stigr