Cero sat in the Ghostlands alone, he needed this breath of death about him. Seven bodies behind him. Having struggled to survive their last inch of hope in begging for life, yet were met with death. They were trolls, the more hidden ones. Away from the scar. Away from his scars yet trying to live. He stole their hope for his own personal release.
Before him were, eight graves. His fingers bloodied from their creation. Having spent the entire evening upon their creation. A knife and his hands. Yet he felt numb to it any sensation of physical. He was obsessive in how each was dug. Each unique and defined. Masterpieces in the inner workings of his mind.
Standing he began to place each body into their designed grave. Cutting his thumb in a deeper manner and placing a mark on each of their foreheads, merely a fingerprint, as he laid them to their slumber.
Speaking aloud, and alone. Having a message for each passenger into the art he felt he created. Picking up the first he began to walk to the first of the graves.
"Vel is alone in her own way. Wanting to be by description, likely needing to be as I am now. She is beloved, because beyond her scales you find a desperation of wanting to be free. Uniquely, that same freedom stifles chances to open to liberty. Funny words those are. Different within the scope of a conservation. Their meaning lost unless connected to a source you find safe. Which is stifling. For as much as they are sought, they bind, because of the desire to also be wanted. Needed. Her mind and workings are a wonderland I enjoy to be lost in. Soon I hope she'll remember that is not exclusive to me, she may already however for her to know is different than to merely hear a ramble of it. She is like the Darkmoon Faire in a bottle. Mystical in sensation of seeing a Firework for the first time. You stand in awe of it, and can forget for a time what you were even thinking about. If you were even thinking at all. Really I do miss dreaming. Thank you Vel." laying the body down within the grave with the care of a dead lover or wife. "I am sorry." he speaks to the lifeless body.
Stepping from the dug up earth to grab another. He grabs another body, not unlike a newborn child as he spoke. "Terry wants to desperately help, in so many ways. I envy his emotions even when he hates them. The crippling sensation of being so overwhelmed you need so much to have someone, anyone willing. To accept you as you are. To be vulnerable is exclusive to whom you choose to be so with. It is a foolish tactic, in a game of chance. Yet to offer such a thing is a gift all its own. You still are the most alive person I've ever known. Thank you Terry." placing the body within the grave. He looked at the stars a moment. They were somewhat shrouded by clouds. He never really cared much for the stars, but tonight he'd allow their eyes to see him naked in this place of reflection.
Grabbing the third he began to speak once more. Not in outright anger but hints of it. "Judessa, why do you have to force the issue every time? What is it that makes you so insecure? So much so you must force your hand instead of recognizing the other? The one in which people are drawn to, not the one in which you wish to hold above them. You are relatable but it is futile to convince you this. You must see it for yourself. When others judge, it means nothing. Most believe my words offer such hope, to bring freedom, or that they are filled with stupidity or mindless debauchery of a pompous nature. You allow this to choke you, and it is why I am disappointed with you most times than not. So be free from what scares you. Please. Thank you Judessa."
Continuing this now routine, he moves to the forth. Rain began to fall, however he did not quicken or change his pace. Merely seeming more soothed by each drop than not.
"Kit. I am not your father, I never have been. We are not blood. I do not know how to be one who cares with that kind of affection. I feel i have degraded in being able to know. I am a failure in this, but you are strong. You need to realize that your curiosity is a quality many do not own up to or live freely with. I can not be who you need, but I will be who I can. So as we press forward know I hate to be called daddy. I hate to be pushed into something I know nothing of in a way I feel stifled and can not learn appropriately. Don't tell Terry, I hate being called brother too. So it is not exclusive to you. I am terrible in this way. Yet I will accept that your love for me is genuine. My daughter. Thank you."
The clouds now took over the sky from where he was. This both pleased and irritated the man. He sighed both relief and desire to be seen. Continuing to the next body, his robes began to cake with mud. They were already bloodied due to his resorting to sword and not magic.
"Lore, you are of such a gentle heart. Your niece needs you far more than she needs me but I know you feel alone. Your visions, whatever they may be. Explore them as you have, I took on what I had before because I believe you when you speak, not your words. Your tone. The ability to convey that and connect may be beyond my grasp but there is a longing to hear you speak more, and it is my hope you allow others to hear you. To fill them with your own desperation of connection. Thank you Lore."
Picking up the next one he sighed with an ache to it. Placing it within it's slumber.
"Zandrae, Tyan. I hope it's not too much to ask you both continue to push together of showing that love, the harshest word. Can be soft. That it can be sensational, and that you never stop showing off its ability to change others. As each time you speak you add a new foundation that the Hall of Blood is a religion, and yet you are a spirit. So I have one request. You do not judge others as you have been judged. Even when it looks so awful, or someone has done an awful thing. Your acceptance of those who are desperate for change will be changed by you. Thank you Zand. Thank you Tyan."
His robes now drenched. He removed his collar with his cloak attached to it. Tossing it to the side. Yet another body he'd grab this one he'd almost hug a moment.
"Ria thank you for spending a moment of time with me. I will always be indebted for allowing Vel to be who she is but keeping her stable in her own ways. Allowing insight in your being able to understand her in a way no one else can. I was a fool, to act in such desperation of being offered insight to a life full of so many pieces. I can't even remember my words, but I know enough to realize. You offered me a way out, in a way only I can choose. Not to tumor myself upon a life but to be a breeze one can drift on. For that I am endlessly in your debt. Thank you Ria."
Finally he picked up a jar, now filled with rain water. He looked at the last grave with cold eyes before yelling obscenities into it. The gurgle muffled the words within and he wanted it this way. He didn't even wish to know his own words at this moment. Placing no lid upon it, he threw the jar into the last grave. Now shoveling dirt upon this who slumbered here.
Once finished. He had a new focus coming to his eyes, as the rain continued but had died down some. He would not sleep, as if that brought rest.
"It's time to get to work." He'd speak before leaving this place in the Ghostlands on his path back to Silvermoon. He'd mutter to himself in a quiet rhythm. "Go in the way of the wind."
