08-05-2015, 09:57 PM
A wincing memory flashed before her eyes. An image of that face, his face. That stupidly courageous idiot that had died for her. Utterly stupid because she was a Prime. Completely idiotic because it was noble and one of the kindest things a friend had done for her, yet he was even a stranger. Courageous because he was able to hold a smile even as he faced his own death.
Now the stupidly courageous idiot may even haunt her for the rest of her eternal life! Why did it have to be now? Now that she felt as though she accomplished so much and was finally on the right track to her freedom? Freedom, what a joke. Caira told herself. It’s time to realize it is something I’ll never have. These conflicting ideas confronted Caira as she was set to grimace and ponder upon the distinctions of the past. Caira was now an established bounty hunter under the shadowed alias ‘Ayryn’, which would soon be a title to identify the girl with the glowing violet eyes in the Kingdom of Camelot. Minas Tirith was talking. Abuzz with gossip and fear.
Apparently, after her and TBG had dropped off Magus in the Minas Tirith castle-prison, he had somehow broken free. It had even baffled the guards, as they had locked down the cellblock for the night and in the morning, the door was left wide open. Flauntingly open. It was as though someone had given him the key.
Toybox Girl had left to hunt bounties, after inviting Caira, who declined the offer as an optimist who seemed to prefer the hopeful idea of redemption.
The strange librarian had dropped cues about how she was to ameliorate herself into a better Prime and later she promised herself she would return again after she had read his tomes, questing for Omni once more. That was, however, after she had ascertained information involving something he wouldn’t tell her, though, she imagined it would be hard his his wordless condition.
Okay, he had mentioned something about sleeping, but I was never great at riddles. And how am I supposed to quest for the future if I am unable to stop reliving the past? Caira reflected on her dignity and despite her nearly immaculate history, she now mainly suffered from one, seemingly incurable thing: The pain of regret. Though she recognized that suffering can prove to be a mold and an immeasurable asset in some situations - and in essence a great motivator - this was, however, only applicable if one is able to overcome their qualms.
Caira, was no where near overcoming the flurry of scratches that could only begin to scathe the surface of her psyche. Omnilium, Hope, Pain, Death, Loss, Truth, Justice, and Redemption.Each had their place even before her present turmoil, questions about her past frequently surmised in her mind and distracted her from the present. How did I get here? -No, not to the Omniverse, but here where meteorites struck with my landing and I was permanently tagged with a name I know nothing about. Truth be told, Caira considered her new title ‘Ayryn’ as a much more applicable name. It hadn’t been so easily given, it had been created. And little did she know, more meaning was soon to come.
The pondering man seeks... The pained man... Reflects is it? Was that the old proverb the monks had taught me? Funny, I’m not sure I remember, though maybe I want to forget.
Hollow. Ah, yes, that was the word. Hollow with regret because she had sins to atone for. But how did it fit into the proverb?
The woman had overcome most of it, she had even surpassed the fact that there would be no way to save her home from its eventual destruction. “I have to become stronger,” she said out loud, “And what better place to acquire some training than to challenge a hundred experienced men to battle with a single sword?” Well, it wasn’t quite so simple. But it would certainly be done.
So far, during her lovely stay in this strangely opaque world, she had killed two innocent men. And in consequence, killed the men they were destined to save. This arduous obligation was one she would soon succumb to because of the uncompromising loyalty to her own judgement, the same preserved sense of morality that told her something was wrong. She sighed, “Well I can’t start out on the wrong foot in this world, surely I’ll trip.”
Using words to describe her current peril made it easier to act on. Sadly, it wasn’t her feet at stake, but her fate. Her pale fingertips caressed the leather journal, the one she had held for only a transient time and the one that was not hers to hold. ”Why did I keep it?” She then opened up to the page she had stashed within it; her own page yet entirely separable from the feeble shredded binding. She wrote down another word. It was the only word that she realized would atone for the guilt she felt on her burdened shoulders. The Prime would become the word and fill the void of the death. Caira would sacrifice the freedom she valued so much after being freed from monk-hood. Caira would become a soldier.
Taking orders, taking orders, it was all she had ever known; once more she fell into the empty pit that invited her with the sweet temptation of comfort. Responsible only for obedience. A disturbance rippled through her mind, resisting the despair of conformity and yet, she recoiled at the idea, telling herself - pleading with herself - what she knew at the time to be true: I am good.
But people change...
The gal approached the upper layer of Minas Tirith with angst creeping in her fingers. Yet she was a little ecstatic at the idea of new possibilities. Yet she anticipated a possible problem and feared a black spiraling portal of consequence for any possible misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the usual recruitment officers on duty had departed and were visiting the Nexus.
Caira strolled in, mounted on horseback - no pegasi to nearly fall off today- and quickly dismounted. As she approached the mage had found that Camelot’s training base was at the heart of the stone city. It was strangely quaint and somewhat masculine as most of the chiseled rocks were carved of slate and limestone. Her grip on the journal tightened as she grasped the thought that pulled her through the intimidating moment, convincing herself, This will make you stronger. How else could she fight against the sorrow that she earnestly fought against: Only villains killed heroes. Two were dead because of her.
Posted on the stoney wall next to the office was s scrabbly piece of paper, a poster of recruitment.
The illustration on the flier included an image that reflected the valiance and courageous nobility while including the appreciation of honor a soldier of Camelot should convey. Aragorn’s presence was implied on the poster that mixed with colors of silver and metaphoric images of kings, gods, and battalions.
[float=middle]Calling all those with honor, those who are willing to fight against injustice, and those who are willing to serve King Aragorn in the Camelot Army! We need YOU!
Location: Camelot’s Capital, Minas Tirith! Enlist today![/float]
The advertisement was brief and got the point across with a low-budget painting. Caira closed her eyes as she saw it, be it chance or fate, she was at a crossroads of the person she would choose to become. The Prime’s eyes glowed, emitting the somber light she felt within. A debt had to be paid, if not for her sake but for his.
The Prime approached the enlisting division. The office was a wooden cottage with dust accumulating on the doorknob. She rapped repeatedly on the ligneous door which remained locked from the inside. After ten minutes of repetitive drumming and finally, through the small foggy window, she saw a man with a cigarette in his mouth as he called through the door, “Alright, alright, quitcher bangin’!”
The authority opened the gate and muttered to the female Prime, sizing her up in a dismissive glance, “Who are you and what do y’ want?”
“Hello. I’m responsible for General List’s death. And I’d like to earn redemption.” It was a candid statement. She didn’t speak her name or in what way she had caused his death but it was apparent that she was ready to contribute much to the force and free her shame that was bound by her previous failure. The failure of not saving List’s life.
She would earn it. Fight for it. Win her pride back fair and square no matter the cost. And what better way was there to fight for the cause he had died for? Camelot. To become its best and fight for the same cost of her murdered ally. Even still, she could use some training, she needed to adapt to the worst conditions if she were going to the other verses and later face Omni.
“You are the one that hired the assassin, Kyrias Peak?” The man’s eyes sharpened and like a knife, turned on her. His menacing glare overcame her and he was blinded by the hatred.
“Oh... no sir, I-”
“It is my understanding that-”
“I didn’t hire anyone, I was just the unlucky person who was there when it happened. I feel responsible because he was murdered in front of my eyes. In fact, he pushed me out of the way. So as to make amends, I plan on becoming a soldier for the Kingdom.” she explained
“Ah, I see. But don’t expect me to marvel at your misplaced resolve, girl.” he seemed relieved she wasn’t an assassin, spy, or otherwise and the tension stagnating in the air evaporated. “So yer a Prime then?”
“I will be Camelot’s best.” Her eyes flashed to his as she took in his flinching gaze.
“Alright, Prime. Sign your name on the dotted line...”
Caira felt she had made it clear and convinced the new recruit trainer that she was not to be a pawn, yet still wanted to be trained exactly like the rest. He had mentioned there would be no problem with that and told her Primes only got one sort of ‘special’ treatment. Whatever that meant. She also specified particular terms which were included in their agreement such as that she was free to pursue other missions in other verses provided she make annual rounds returning to serve the Kingdom.
The man groaned at the arrogant Prime. He was glad to have her, as he told her on the tour of the grounds but her demands, while reasonably obscure, set his mind on her too primed attitude.
“That’s the meal hall, the other is the dorms. That one is yours,” he pointed and they continued their inspection. Caira liked her cicerone, whom had forgotten to introduce himself as Lead Training Captain Lunch. It was said he liked to “crunch” on the new recruits’ souls and ruin their dreams of becoming knights under Aragorn, she later found out from a girl named Kikk.
“Thank you for the tour, Captain.” She said as he nodded in response and dismissed her.
Training began. The starting drills were very basic and the new Prime fell in line with a marching platoon. The exercises commenced. During a break she thought she heard some distant murmurs over her shoulder, whispering the label ‘Prime’ as though it was a detestable term.
Now the stupidly courageous idiot may even haunt her for the rest of her eternal life! Why did it have to be now? Now that she felt as though she accomplished so much and was finally on the right track to her freedom? Freedom, what a joke. Caira told herself. It’s time to realize it is something I’ll never have. These conflicting ideas confronted Caira as she was set to grimace and ponder upon the distinctions of the past. Caira was now an established bounty hunter under the shadowed alias ‘Ayryn’, which would soon be a title to identify the girl with the glowing violet eyes in the Kingdom of Camelot. Minas Tirith was talking. Abuzz with gossip and fear.
Apparently, after her and TBG had dropped off Magus in the Minas Tirith castle-prison, he had somehow broken free. It had even baffled the guards, as they had locked down the cellblock for the night and in the morning, the door was left wide open. Flauntingly open. It was as though someone had given him the key.
Toybox Girl had left to hunt bounties, after inviting Caira, who declined the offer as an optimist who seemed to prefer the hopeful idea of redemption.
The strange librarian had dropped cues about how she was to ameliorate herself into a better Prime and later she promised herself she would return again after she had read his tomes, questing for Omni once more. That was, however, after she had ascertained information involving something he wouldn’t tell her, though, she imagined it would be hard his his wordless condition.
Okay, he had mentioned something about sleeping, but I was never great at riddles. And how am I supposed to quest for the future if I am unable to stop reliving the past? Caira reflected on her dignity and despite her nearly immaculate history, she now mainly suffered from one, seemingly incurable thing: The pain of regret. Though she recognized that suffering can prove to be a mold and an immeasurable asset in some situations - and in essence a great motivator - this was, however, only applicable if one is able to overcome their qualms.
Caira, was no where near overcoming the flurry of scratches that could only begin to scathe the surface of her psyche. Omnilium, Hope, Pain, Death, Loss, Truth, Justice, and Redemption.Each had their place even before her present turmoil, questions about her past frequently surmised in her mind and distracted her from the present. How did I get here? -No, not to the Omniverse, but here where meteorites struck with my landing and I was permanently tagged with a name I know nothing about. Truth be told, Caira considered her new title ‘Ayryn’ as a much more applicable name. It hadn’t been so easily given, it had been created. And little did she know, more meaning was soon to come.
The pondering man seeks... The pained man... Reflects is it? Was that the old proverb the monks had taught me? Funny, I’m not sure I remember, though maybe I want to forget.
Hollow. Ah, yes, that was the word. Hollow with regret because she had sins to atone for. But how did it fit into the proverb?
The woman had overcome most of it, she had even surpassed the fact that there would be no way to save her home from its eventual destruction. “I have to become stronger,” she said out loud, “And what better place to acquire some training than to challenge a hundred experienced men to battle with a single sword?” Well, it wasn’t quite so simple. But it would certainly be done.
So far, during her lovely stay in this strangely opaque world, she had killed two innocent men. And in consequence, killed the men they were destined to save. This arduous obligation was one she would soon succumb to because of the uncompromising loyalty to her own judgement, the same preserved sense of morality that told her something was wrong. She sighed, “Well I can’t start out on the wrong foot in this world, surely I’ll trip.”
Using words to describe her current peril made it easier to act on. Sadly, it wasn’t her feet at stake, but her fate. Her pale fingertips caressed the leather journal, the one she had held for only a transient time and the one that was not hers to hold. ”Why did I keep it?” She then opened up to the page she had stashed within it; her own page yet entirely separable from the feeble shredded binding. She wrote down another word. It was the only word that she realized would atone for the guilt she felt on her burdened shoulders. The Prime would become the word and fill the void of the death. Caira would sacrifice the freedom she valued so much after being freed from monk-hood. Caira would become a soldier.
Taking orders, taking orders, it was all she had ever known; once more she fell into the empty pit that invited her with the sweet temptation of comfort. Responsible only for obedience. A disturbance rippled through her mind, resisting the despair of conformity and yet, she recoiled at the idea, telling herself - pleading with herself - what she knew at the time to be true: I am good.
But people change...
The gal approached the upper layer of Minas Tirith with angst creeping in her fingers. Yet she was a little ecstatic at the idea of new possibilities. Yet she anticipated a possible problem and feared a black spiraling portal of consequence for any possible misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the usual recruitment officers on duty had departed and were visiting the Nexus.
Caira strolled in, mounted on horseback - no pegasi to nearly fall off today- and quickly dismounted. As she approached the mage had found that Camelot’s training base was at the heart of the stone city. It was strangely quaint and somewhat masculine as most of the chiseled rocks were carved of slate and limestone. Her grip on the journal tightened as she grasped the thought that pulled her through the intimidating moment, convincing herself, This will make you stronger. How else could she fight against the sorrow that she earnestly fought against: Only villains killed heroes. Two were dead because of her.
Posted on the stoney wall next to the office was s scrabbly piece of paper, a poster of recruitment.
The illustration on the flier included an image that reflected the valiance and courageous nobility while including the appreciation of honor a soldier of Camelot should convey. Aragorn’s presence was implied on the poster that mixed with colors of silver and metaphoric images of kings, gods, and battalions.
[float=middle]Calling all those with honor, those who are willing to fight against injustice, and those who are willing to serve King Aragorn in the Camelot Army! We need YOU!
Location: Camelot’s Capital, Minas Tirith! Enlist today![/float]
The advertisement was brief and got the point across with a low-budget painting. Caira closed her eyes as she saw it, be it chance or fate, she was at a crossroads of the person she would choose to become. The Prime’s eyes glowed, emitting the somber light she felt within. A debt had to be paid, if not for her sake but for his.
The Prime approached the enlisting division. The office was a wooden cottage with dust accumulating on the doorknob. She rapped repeatedly on the ligneous door which remained locked from the inside. After ten minutes of repetitive drumming and finally, through the small foggy window, she saw a man with a cigarette in his mouth as he called through the door, “Alright, alright, quitcher bangin’!”
The authority opened the gate and muttered to the female Prime, sizing her up in a dismissive glance, “Who are you and what do y’ want?”
“Hello. I’m responsible for General List’s death. And I’d like to earn redemption.” It was a candid statement. She didn’t speak her name or in what way she had caused his death but it was apparent that she was ready to contribute much to the force and free her shame that was bound by her previous failure. The failure of not saving List’s life.
She would earn it. Fight for it. Win her pride back fair and square no matter the cost. And what better way was there to fight for the cause he had died for? Camelot. To become its best and fight for the same cost of her murdered ally. Even still, she could use some training, she needed to adapt to the worst conditions if she were going to the other verses and later face Omni.
“You are the one that hired the assassin, Kyrias Peak?” The man’s eyes sharpened and like a knife, turned on her. His menacing glare overcame her and he was blinded by the hatred.
“Oh... no sir, I-”
“It is my understanding that-”
“I didn’t hire anyone, I was just the unlucky person who was there when it happened. I feel responsible because he was murdered in front of my eyes. In fact, he pushed me out of the way. So as to make amends, I plan on becoming a soldier for the Kingdom.” she explained
“Ah, I see. But don’t expect me to marvel at your misplaced resolve, girl.” he seemed relieved she wasn’t an assassin, spy, or otherwise and the tension stagnating in the air evaporated. “So yer a Prime then?”
“I will be Camelot’s best.” Her eyes flashed to his as she took in his flinching gaze.
“Alright, Prime. Sign your name on the dotted line...”
Caira felt she had made it clear and convinced the new recruit trainer that she was not to be a pawn, yet still wanted to be trained exactly like the rest. He had mentioned there would be no problem with that and told her Primes only got one sort of ‘special’ treatment. Whatever that meant. She also specified particular terms which were included in their agreement such as that she was free to pursue other missions in other verses provided she make annual rounds returning to serve the Kingdom.
The man groaned at the arrogant Prime. He was glad to have her, as he told her on the tour of the grounds but her demands, while reasonably obscure, set his mind on her too primed attitude.
“That’s the meal hall, the other is the dorms. That one is yours,” he pointed and they continued their inspection. Caira liked her cicerone, whom had forgotten to introduce himself as Lead Training Captain Lunch. It was said he liked to “crunch” on the new recruits’ souls and ruin their dreams of becoming knights under Aragorn, she later found out from a girl named Kikk.
“Thank you for the tour, Captain.” She said as he nodded in response and dismissed her.
Training began. The starting drills were very basic and the new Prime fell in line with a marching platoon. The exercises commenced. During a break she thought she heard some distant murmurs over her shoulder, whispering the label ‘Prime’ as though it was a detestable term.
![[Image: mqdefault.jpg]](http://i.ytimg.com/vi/yEac52Ck_1A/mqdefault.jpg)