Hatred
Posted: Wed Apr 20, 2005 5:33 pm
Well, I can do better writing.
I am overall not pleased with this piece of work, but it's the first time I have tried describing the thoughts of a caracter, so I post it anyway.
Feedback would be apreciated.
If you want to some better work, see this topic:
http://www.druchii.net/viewtopic.php?t=33690
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It was pitchblack, the room. Here, no light shone.
He had ordered it so. No light. Therefore, time was a different factor in here. How long had he sat here, on this black, old throne? How long had it been since he closed the heavy iron doors behind him? He could not remember. Time felt different here, in the anonymous darkness.
The room was very sparsely decorated; save for the throne, he had only had a small bed installed, a stand where his sword stood, and a small table, where servants from time to time would bring food, when they dared bring light into the room. The cursed light. It brought shame to him. He loathed the light, not because of what it was, but what it did. Made things vissible. Made him vissible. Make his face vissible. He stroked his own cheek carefully with an armored hand, and felt a bit chill when cold iron met skin. How long had it been since he lost his beauty? 2 millennia? 3? Oh, the pain! And it was their doing! They had plotted against him! How had they dared, rob him of what was his, and destroy his appearance in the process? How could they have dared, rob him of what was rightfully his? He remembered the blind rage he had felt. He remebered the still present thirst for revenge. Curse them! He sent a cup of wine flying through the room, until it met a wall, which it splattered with the dark red content.
They would all pay one day. That upsart prince and his magician friend would suffer even more, but most of all, he would make sure the blind one would suffer. Oh, the hatred he felt to the blind one. He had humilliated him. Hurt his pride. By Khaine, one day, he would bathe in the blood of that cursed being. Chaos take his soul!
But they would all bleed. Every single one of them. Even the woman and the children. Every single kinsman to thoose who had betrayed him.
They were not his kin anymore. Not after what they had done to him.
What had he been once? A powerful, mighty, and... beautiful one. What was he now, but a shadow of his former self? Nay, but a piece of charcoal?
He hated himself. No ligth, no mirrors. He wished not to be reminded. He had only one solace in his misery. His dear, dear mother. She was the only one he could trust. He even missed her. She would come for him, when it was time to try and pry back what was his by right. She was a comfort to him.
Never would she betray him.
She knew what waited her behind thoose doors. In there, in that dark room, she would find the pathetic form of her son. And wizzened rack. She desperately longed to destroy him, and assume rulership of the nation herself. But that could not be. The people fought for the true ing. Not her. So she would have to bide her time, and use her son as her tool.
Such a fool he was, turning a blind eye to her cults works to undermine the society he had built. She had him right where she wanted him. He was relying on her. Trusting her. She, however, despised him. HAted him for his weakness. She was ashamed of him, and his incompetence of taking back the kingdom that was his. Hopefully, he would be more succesful this time.
She pushed open the iron doors.
He was startled, as the blinding light poured into his room.
There, in the opening, stood the beloved form of his mother. As always, she was a haunting beauty. Her long slender limbs was adorned by pale skin. Her long raven black hair shone. Her lips were perfect, sat in a face so beautiful, that she even seduced demons.
His mother. How he adored her.
„Malekith," she spoke in that sensual, silky voice.
„It is time."
„Yes mother," he replied.
He stood up, retrieved his sword from the stand, and walked out into the light.
This time, he would suceed.
And they would pay in blood.
I am overall not pleased with this piece of work, but it's the first time I have tried describing the thoughts of a caracter, so I post it anyway.
Feedback would be apreciated.
If you want to some better work, see this topic:
http://www.druchii.net/viewtopic.php?t=33690
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was pitchblack, the room. Here, no light shone.
He had ordered it so. No light. Therefore, time was a different factor in here. How long had he sat here, on this black, old throne? How long had it been since he closed the heavy iron doors behind him? He could not remember. Time felt different here, in the anonymous darkness.
The room was very sparsely decorated; save for the throne, he had only had a small bed installed, a stand where his sword stood, and a small table, where servants from time to time would bring food, when they dared bring light into the room. The cursed light. It brought shame to him. He loathed the light, not because of what it was, but what it did. Made things vissible. Made him vissible. Make his face vissible. He stroked his own cheek carefully with an armored hand, and felt a bit chill when cold iron met skin. How long had it been since he lost his beauty? 2 millennia? 3? Oh, the pain! And it was their doing! They had plotted against him! How had they dared, rob him of what was his, and destroy his appearance in the process? How could they have dared, rob him of what was rightfully his? He remembered the blind rage he had felt. He remebered the still present thirst for revenge. Curse them! He sent a cup of wine flying through the room, until it met a wall, which it splattered with the dark red content.
They would all pay one day. That upsart prince and his magician friend would suffer even more, but most of all, he would make sure the blind one would suffer. Oh, the hatred he felt to the blind one. He had humilliated him. Hurt his pride. By Khaine, one day, he would bathe in the blood of that cursed being. Chaos take his soul!
But they would all bleed. Every single one of them. Even the woman and the children. Every single kinsman to thoose who had betrayed him.
They were not his kin anymore. Not after what they had done to him.
What had he been once? A powerful, mighty, and... beautiful one. What was he now, but a shadow of his former self? Nay, but a piece of charcoal?
He hated himself. No ligth, no mirrors. He wished not to be reminded. He had only one solace in his misery. His dear, dear mother. She was the only one he could trust. He even missed her. She would come for him, when it was time to try and pry back what was his by right. She was a comfort to him.
Never would she betray him.
She knew what waited her behind thoose doors. In there, in that dark room, she would find the pathetic form of her son. And wizzened rack. She desperately longed to destroy him, and assume rulership of the nation herself. But that could not be. The people fought for the true ing. Not her. So she would have to bide her time, and use her son as her tool.
Such a fool he was, turning a blind eye to her cults works to undermine the society he had built. She had him right where she wanted him. He was relying on her. Trusting her. She, however, despised him. HAted him for his weakness. She was ashamed of him, and his incompetence of taking back the kingdom that was his. Hopefully, he would be more succesful this time.
She pushed open the iron doors.
He was startled, as the blinding light poured into his room.
There, in the opening, stood the beloved form of his mother. As always, she was a haunting beauty. Her long slender limbs was adorned by pale skin. Her long raven black hair shone. Her lips were perfect, sat in a face so beautiful, that she even seduced demons.
His mother. How he adored her.
„Malekith," she spoke in that sensual, silky voice.
„It is time."
„Yes mother," he replied.
He stood up, retrieved his sword from the stand, and walked out into the light.
This time, he would suceed.
And they would pay in blood.
--- Leth