Post by dean on Mar 29, 2015 4:28:28 GMT -8
And no one is present to witness... Did he break, or was he always broken?
Spirits Breath Stumbles further into the forest, away from the Caern, and toward a shelter of large boulders in the unexplored territories of the forest... At least by man that is. Stumbling until he made his way under one of the massive stones, finding shelter from the light pattering of incoming rain. He then drops to his knees as he licks his swollen lip. Having not shifted, nor excepted healing from events earlier that night, leaving the sting of the beating he received to linger in his body. To fuel his emotions, emotions he so struggled to withhold from others, from himself in fact.
"It almost disgusts me, being there, no... It does disgust me," He mumbled, spitting out blood that had collected in his mouth before the bleeding of his lip had stopped. "With that rabble of self entitled, ego inflated, tradition smearing trash. They're lucky they even have the few there that can keep their forsaken ship afloat!"
Breath, tearing off his mountain of furs, and discarding his box of personal effects and herbs, turned toward a pool of water that had collected in a pit under the rock in the damp soil, staring into it for a moment, looking to the almost gaunt reflection staring back at him. His body free of substance by now, of any substance that would really affect him that is, he could see the face he hid during the day behind a mask of haze and humor. His normal calm smiling 'intoxicated' face now replaced with that of a stranger to the outside. Dark bags revealing themselves more, under what now seemed like cold and tired eyes, his face sagging into a deep scowl, highlighting the unchanging beastly features of the werewolf he carries day in and day out thanks to his mark.
"But you're just a fool aren't you?" Breath sneers. "Play the fool and listen Breath, isn't that right?"
Breath spits at his reflection and turns to his box, reaching to open it, almost seeking that mask which he uses to hide himself from others. Pausing for a moment with his hand on the box, he glares sharply at it, at what it holds for him, before crushing it in his nearly disfigured clawed homid hand, as easily a human might crush a small paper box before tossing it into the rocks and letting it shatter apart.
"I AM NO ONES FOOL!!!" He bellowed. "I am neither ignorant nor stupid! I am NOT as foolish as THEM!"
"Nor will I take the fault for the dimwitted actions of a pretentious WELP!" Breath howled out as he dug his claws into the mud, heaving as his blood slowly boiled with rage. "I don't even know why I bother, my family is the spirits, I understand them, I live by them, not by the whims of a group of Garou scrambling around like a bunch of headless chickens!"
He stops, going silent, listening to the woods, and within him self for a brief moment.
"Sept of endless paths," He then continues at a whisper. "You will be remembered, not for your great deeds of our time, but for being the messy embarrassment to this nation that by no small miracle happens to survive through sheer dumb luck. Stumbling toward success through the parasitic suckling on the teats of a great few, whom I cannot begin to fathom, let it be so... That is what I see, through your history I have learned, and the events I watch unfolding... It turns my stomach and makes me sick to bear witness to this colossal disappointment."
Spirits Breath Stumbles further into the forest, away from the Caern, and toward a shelter of large boulders in the unexplored territories of the forest... At least by man that is. Stumbling until he made his way under one of the massive stones, finding shelter from the light pattering of incoming rain. He then drops to his knees as he licks his swollen lip. Having not shifted, nor excepted healing from events earlier that night, leaving the sting of the beating he received to linger in his body. To fuel his emotions, emotions he so struggled to withhold from others, from himself in fact.
"It almost disgusts me, being there, no... It does disgust me," He mumbled, spitting out blood that had collected in his mouth before the bleeding of his lip had stopped. "With that rabble of self entitled, ego inflated, tradition smearing trash. They're lucky they even have the few there that can keep their forsaken ship afloat!"
Breath, tearing off his mountain of furs, and discarding his box of personal effects and herbs, turned toward a pool of water that had collected in a pit under the rock in the damp soil, staring into it for a moment, looking to the almost gaunt reflection staring back at him. His body free of substance by now, of any substance that would really affect him that is, he could see the face he hid during the day behind a mask of haze and humor. His normal calm smiling 'intoxicated' face now replaced with that of a stranger to the outside. Dark bags revealing themselves more, under what now seemed like cold and tired eyes, his face sagging into a deep scowl, highlighting the unchanging beastly features of the werewolf he carries day in and day out thanks to his mark.
"But you're just a fool aren't you?" Breath sneers. "Play the fool and listen Breath, isn't that right?"
Breath spits at his reflection and turns to his box, reaching to open it, almost seeking that mask which he uses to hide himself from others. Pausing for a moment with his hand on the box, he glares sharply at it, at what it holds for him, before crushing it in his nearly disfigured clawed homid hand, as easily a human might crush a small paper box before tossing it into the rocks and letting it shatter apart.
"I AM NO ONES FOOL!!!" He bellowed. "I am neither ignorant nor stupid! I am NOT as foolish as THEM!"
"Nor will I take the fault for the dimwitted actions of a pretentious WELP!" Breath howled out as he dug his claws into the mud, heaving as his blood slowly boiled with rage. "I don't even know why I bother, my family is the spirits, I understand them, I live by them, not by the whims of a group of Garou scrambling around like a bunch of headless chickens!"
He stops, going silent, listening to the woods, and within him self for a brief moment.
"Sept of endless paths," He then continues at a whisper. "You will be remembered, not for your great deeds of our time, but for being the messy embarrassment to this nation that by no small miracle happens to survive through sheer dumb luck. Stumbling toward success through the parasitic suckling on the teats of a great few, whom I cannot begin to fathom, let it be so... That is what I see, through your history I have learned, and the events I watch unfolding... It turns my stomach and makes me sick to bear witness to this colossal disappointment."