Name;; Ronin [Roe-nin]; a samurai without a lord or master; Transl. [Japanese] "Wandering Soul"
Gender;; DMAB
Smol Note: The content itself sounds best when read aloud, as odd as it may seem. Perhaps you will recognize the difference if you do or don't? But it is my request that you do, please take that into consideration! ^^ Enjoy!
- Amongst the ashen depths of a lonely tomb, desecration and decay mingled in the various, musky scents that bathed in the withering mausoleum. The stench of death was eminent; dominant over any sense that could be mustered as the boy wandered the seemingly endless catacombs around him.
He did not remember his name.
Nor did he recognize his environment, yet he felt the urge to search for something. It was calling him, deep down. It filled him with longing, and an odd sense of duty. An Object? A person? He did not know. So he sauntered aimlessly in the midst of mingling confusion and an overpowering sense of dread.
The way was bathed in darkness, and normally, he would’ve shrank in crippling fear of it, but oddly, it was a comforting feature. Rotting moss and lichen hung from the stone ceilings; the floors were cracked and worn. Yet it was evident that none had trodden these halls in many moons. It was almost as if he were in a lucid dream. And amongst murky thoughts and hallow senses, there was a weight. A burden of sort, calling to him. As if to remind him that he was needed for something. He was needed.
But for what? What was this? Who was this?
The question stung as he stared at himself in a pool of murky water. Streams of it trickled and puddled among the eroding walls and pooled in the midst of the floor. He was paler than he could recall- his face was covered in ashes and odd markings; bruises, and his once shaggy, blonde hair hung in ratted knots and ragged entrails. His eyes were a glossy, dull grey- opposed to his once shining set of blue he had once treasured. It was no longer a question of who he was, it was of who he’d become.
What had happened while he had been asleep for so long?
It felt as though the weight of a thousand souls rested on whatever was left of his own as subtle things became apparent to him as it soon occurred to him that he was in the depths of an ancient crypt. A crypt who’s architecture reminded him of his own people.
His people.
His people.
It was as if a blade had pierced his heart as visions of flames coated his sight; ashes choked his senses and drowned any sense of perception he had.
Screams.
Terror took over him as he cried out and fell to his knees. No pain followed his fall, and no sense of feeling other than the contact of the cool stone beneath him followed.
He wanted to scream his guts out; to feel tears stream down his face and corrupt any other feeling he had. Every sense demanded to be compensated by this sudden terror, yet they did not come.
They would not answer his summons. They would not answer his pain. They would not aspire to his tainted heart.
His heart, of which felt as though it were a deadweight in his chest, did not follow a rhythm. And it did not fill his grey veins with the warm essence of being.
He studied himself as he forced himself to rise- ashes fluttering around him in a vague cloud. It was as if time had withered away any distinguishing feature he had once had of himself. Of who exactly he once was. Yet as the screams he had heard resurfaced within him, his hands curled into fists as he looked around him and for the first time studied his surroundings with new clarity.
The perturbing sight of corpses and wrapped bodies resting on burial slabs carved into the walls surrounded him in soul-crushing amounts. They were everywhere. Shelf upon slab, slab upon burial stones, burial stones upon urns and rusted offerings of coin and husks of what used to be flowers rested with them. Scraps of burnt parchment filled the halls; piles of half burnt bodies and mounds of ash occupied the halls, among the unscrupulous corridors.
Shattered pottery and tapestries lay in purposeful ruin at his feet.
Someone had done this.
Someone had harmed them.
The only thing he had to cling onto; the very fact that he was not alone had dissipated.
No, not dissipated. Desecrated. Violated. Taken from him.
A strong sensation filled him; and it lead him deeper- down into the alluring depths of the ruins of the crypt.
To it’s inner sanctum.
A coffin rested in the center of the room; surrounded by ivy and the conspicuous aura of a single candle lay alight upon the outer rim of the slab that was half askew from its original resting place. It had been moved; the ashes that rested upon the rest of the coffin had been disturbed- and recently. Yet that was not the sight that sent him agape as he reached the coffin.
The cry that followed echoed, and was as empty as the souls that rested within the crypt itself.
[833/1500]
Strike me dead,
Invite me in;
Let me take all your willpower,
And turn it all into something
Vengeance cannot conceive.
For I am the darkness from which you rise from,
I am the sin that you cower beneath,
I am the guilt that you convey through empty emotions,
And I will drive your befoul to it’s breaking extremity.
Your heart will only falter beneath me,
Benevolence will only get you so far.
Let go of your sense of being,
Let go of your wretched restraints.
Give into the darkness from which calls you,
Give into your breathless desire.
You cannot lie to me,
I am the solution,
Your ultimate demeanor,
Dictator.
Victor.
Conquering pinnacle of rage.
Strike your own heart out,
Offer it to me;
Let me take all your willpower,
And turn it into something
Even Revenge cannot contort.
I am your Rebirth.
[141/1500] - Grand total: [974/1500]
Invite me in;
Let me take all your willpower,
And turn it all into something
Vengeance cannot conceive.
For I am the darkness from which you rise from,
I am the sin that you cower beneath,
I am the guilt that you convey through empty emotions,
And I will drive your befoul to it’s breaking extremity.
Your heart will only falter beneath me,
Benevolence will only get you so far.
Let go of your sense of being,
Let go of your wretched restraints.
Give into the darkness from which calls you,
Give into your breathless desire.
You cannot lie to me,
I am the solution,
Your ultimate demeanor,
Dictator.
Victor.
Conquering pinnacle of rage.
Strike your own heart out,
Offer it to me;
Let me take all your willpower,
And turn it into something
Even Revenge cannot contort.
I am your Rebirth.
[141/1500] - Grand total: [974/1500]
Removed
- This Piece will count as my One Extra!
I would like to make very clear that I am the one who drew this.
The bottom left corner is a bit shadowed, but in these images below, you will be able to see more clearly that this drawing that took me about 3 hours to do and is indeed my own.
Due to how long and the hand-fracturing detail I put into this piece, I've provided some clearer pictures below of the sketch so that you will have a clearer view.
[Removed]
