BELEAGUER.

                                   ☩ – ❝Wisdom comes with experience.❞

     You’re being impractical. The Grand Master thinks. Nearly says. Had Shay danced with the Devil years from now, Haytham would lose his peace of mind & SPEAK those dreadful, cursed words. Politeness compels him to refrain. He knows what it means to wage a war with yourself, dwelling on past regrets that manifest itself as a disease that infiltrates your marrow, your bones, your pores, your cells & makes you into a hollow being that reinvents itself as a marionette, playing to the Templar party. He nods & the bob mimics the steady rise & fall of the Morrigan combating the sea’s waves. She’s a mistress that wills them to endure. Wayward sons to carry on aboard this path that leads to– what? Glory? Betrayal? Corruption?

                                                    ❝I need you WHOLE.❞

    Kenways do not beg. Haytham will not grovel, but it’s the closest he will come with the sharp coldness that cuts into his voice & there’s something else – a fresh pain that T-T-TWISTS itself into something sinister. This is how he protects himself.

         ‘  NEED YOU WHOLE.  ’    i.  ---   station   your   soles   amongst    unsteady    faultlines   that    tremble    with    the   clatter   of   memory   &   SILENCE   the   chattering   teeth.     ii.   -- - - -  shed   littoral   repose.      iii.  -- -- -  rive    the    earth   with   your     falchion    &    sea  -  bearing    war cry   until   you   are    cemented   in   minds   as   BRANDISH’D   ACROLITH.       (   right  now   i   am   a   tumbleweed   of   lines   struggling   to   straighten   themselves   ,   the    whistling    /   naked    psithurism   of   winter    &    the    bad   habit    of    chainsmoking    tragedy.    how    can   i   be    whole    when   pieces    of    myself    are    stored    in    the    cicatrized    hearts   of    those    too    heavy    to   be    buried?   )     he   moves   like   he   is   full   of    rainwater  ,   a   banished    wolf  ,    commissures    crack’d    by      rusting     brigandine    that’s    seen    too   many    bruising   /   incarnadined   midnights.      he   just   wants   to   sink   into   another   whiskey’d    morass.      

there   should   be   an   apology  ,   netted   in   the   in   betweens   of    this    moment ,   in   the   froth   of   sea   foam   &    nubivagant   ether   ,   in   the   rugose   edges   of   fables - cut - too - short   ,    but   it   is   unable   to   be   exhumed   ,    &    drowns   in    memory’s    basins    long   fossilized.

❛   and the only of it’s kind.     ❜          a quip flickers at the corner of her mouth, her birds eyes observe him with care. 

mara: im gonna do it

Soliloquy. / @cornmac

     FatherEagle perches himself on the shoulder of a grizzled, war-torn wolf. Ahandful of years on the hunter has enabled the Grand Master to wadethrough this bloodied sea of shit &filth. He’s carved his bones into daggers to take down the deadliestof foes. He’s abandoned the child he used to be, playing soldiers &reading his father’s glory stories. As he watches the former Assassinmaster this mighty ship, he reminisces on the man Edward Kenway was.He projects a ghost onto the spine of Shay Cormac. Jaded laughterwrenches his maws apart when his predatory eyes focus on his fellowkiller. It says, ’ Doyou think yourself alone in this world? I have tasted tragedy, too.’ He taunts &he haunts, his words lacking sympathy.

    ☩– ❝Dotake care, Shay. The mind is a self-destructive weapon. Overthinkingwill be the death of you. Reflect noton ruin, but on what maycome.❞