[AW] Only Blood can set you Free

[Eik]

Well,

he had fallen asleep at the books again. In the little room with the single window, where he practices his letters like a child. In the shameful, frustrating repetition of the letter S, always crooked in one way or another, sleep found him and dragged him under.

He does not wake when the fighting first starts, because the sounds outside the room aren't so different from the sounds in his dreams. Dark dreams of shadows brawling beneath the silver moon, slender and sharp as a sickle.

But eventually the smoke trickles in through the window, a smell he knows all too well. A smell that ignites a fear and pain he can't outrun, not even after years and leagues of time and space. He opens his eyes and his heart is already racing, that anxious feeling is crawling out of his belly like a hundred spiders.

The smell of burning flesh is what tips him over the edge. It rips him apart from the inside, from the very deepest part of him. From the place where unwanted memories rest. He wants to run. Gods he wants to run, every instinct is telling him to flee the flames and chaos leave this damned castle to its bloody, angry death. The fear tells him this is not where you belong and that message rings true in every inch of his being.

But beneath the dark knot of fear, deeper even than those repressed memories, something else rises. And he finds himself pushing toward the fighting instead of away from it.

It is rage.

(Seraphina, he thinks suddenly)

It has been building for years now, fermenting in that deep down place.

(Rhoswen)

It has been hungry, downright famished, scratching at the door persistently. Driving him mad. That heavy, heavy black door is ripped open in his whirlwind of fear, and out flies rage. Beautiful, devastating Rage.

(Vadim)

He needs no weapon but tooth and hoof and body; prickling white-hot with rage, he surges forward. Lunging, biting, kicking. He reaches for jelly-tender eyes with his teeth and pummels into bellies with his chest like a battering ram. He draws a knife from the throat of a fallen Solterran and wields it- he is not graceful with his telepathy but it is so much easier to draw blood this way, and isn't that what they wanted? All this in silence, no screaming or yelling or the taunting that fools are so fond of.

(Bexley)

Eik's rage only grows to see those he thought as allies fighting against the court-- there is nothing he detests more than a liar. He keeps an eye out for those he knows, and especially those he considers friends. But it is all smoke and blood and madness, straight from his dreams and memories. He might be dreaming still, for all the sense this makes.

(Saoirse)

But in his dreams the blood doesn't feel like this. It makes him realize he is bleeding already. He continues to fight regardless, the fear gone now, replaced by the sinking sense that he might die, today, for a place he didn't care much for at all.

-     -     -
words and words
E I K
and sand and silence

blah idek. Feel free to attack him, but no broken bones or death please :)