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long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - November 29, 2016
♥
It was late afternoon when the haggard raven shambled past the territory borders of his home and wandered raggedly, but with dogged determination, back to the blooded field where his parents had been killed. Oddly enough, he couldn’t remember where in the field they had lain, and his steps were shuffling and hesitant. It was a changed wolf who emerged from Neverwinter’s evergreens — sharp, angular shoulders and hips poked out of his dusty fur, which had lost the hard, silver-limned glossiness of his youth. The air was pulled raggedly into his lungs as the moon began to rise and his paws abruptly stopped in their tracks — a large part of him was greatly, greatly confused; there was guilt there, too, weighing down his spirit until he could move no more. The feelings were mere flickers — promises of the agony that would surely come when the last lingering dullness of shock dissolved and left him raw and open. He stood and looked without seeing, and his ribs swelled with his weak-willed breath; he gripped the earth beneath his paws without feeling it; and he wondered again why the bear had not taken him instead.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - November 29, 2016
After Rannoch’s meeting with Deirdre, he had found himself going south-bound with no real destination in mind. Thoughts of his family, their forest, and the past plagued him in his travels, leaving the child mindless in his wandering. Soon enough, the sea-eyed Benthos had traveled further than he ever had alone, finding the gentle caress of the sea no longer combed at his plushy coat.
He paused suddenly, all too aware of the sudden change of scenery. Concern did not immediately strike him, only enchantment. This all seemed like a dream to him-- these barren lands, the stillness that the mainlands offered, and the gentle caress of the sun, despite the frigid temperatures.
He lingered in place and took it all in, as a uncharacteristic sense of peace overcame him in that moment.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - November 29, 2016
Just then, an insistent burst of autumn wind struck heavily from the south, buffeting the young wolf’s haunches in a northerly direction. He moved with it, stutter-stepping a pace or two. His spine curved as his hindquarters fell slightly out of line, the wild fur along his nape and shoulders whipping wildly, and then straightened as he continued to walk without any real aim or purpose. He no longer cared about finding Scimitar and Eshe — the thick miasma of apathy had stolen away even his fiercest impulses. He wanted only to sleep. Over and over, his battered mind transmitted messages of empty reassurance, hiding all memory and acknowledgement of trauma out of necessity alone.
It was the figure that stopped him in his tracks.
Cypress’ initial reaction was wariness — he was upwind of the strange wolf, whose burly musculature and heavily-muscled framework appeared strikingly familiar. It trigged a sense of curiosity and confusion within him that he swiftly stamped down. Truth be told, he’d spent so much of his time lately denying the things he’d thought of or seen that the denial was now an involuntary, irrevocable response — and so it came to pass that disbelief was his next reaction. Whoever this wolf was, he could not be Rannoch or Scimitar, because they were both dead. The weary raven called to mind the sodden, sanguine field — and in his mind’s eye he saw not only Scimitar and Eshe lying dead and broken, but Rannoch and Lucy as well. The vision did not leave him — he turned to look over one shoulder, and when he glanced back, there were Allure and Shrike in contortions of violence on the bloodied earth, and Kjalarr and October beyond them. “Dead,” he muttered to himself in quiet confirmation, his voice like leaves rustling hollowly over a stinking battleground. “All dead.” One ear fanned uncertainly out to the side.
It was time to leave. Allure would be upset that he had left without her — no, no; she was dead like the others, wasn’t she? Cypress jerked his head around to glance behind him once more, blinking his lantern yellow eyes, but all he saw was the evidence of his own tracks: damp earth where his paws had melted away the frost. He swung his head back around, staring blankly at the wolf who matched him in height but whose broader shoulders triggered a slew of memories that could not be real. He killed them, too — and waited impassively, suddenly disinterested.
It was the figure that stopped him in his tracks.
Cypress’ initial reaction was wariness — he was upwind of the strange wolf, whose burly musculature and heavily-muscled framework appeared strikingly familiar. It trigged a sense of curiosity and confusion within him that he swiftly stamped down. Truth be told, he’d spent so much of his time lately denying the things he’d thought of or seen that the denial was now an involuntary, irrevocable response — and so it came to pass that disbelief was his next reaction. Whoever this wolf was, he could not be Rannoch or Scimitar, because they were both dead. The weary raven called to mind the sodden, sanguine field — and in his mind’s eye he saw not only Scimitar and Eshe lying dead and broken, but Rannoch and Lucy as well. The vision did not leave him — he turned to look over one shoulder, and when he glanced back, there were Allure and Shrike in contortions of violence on the bloodied earth, and Kjalarr and October beyond them. “Dead,” he muttered to himself in quiet confirmation, his voice like leaves rustling hollowly over a stinking battleground. “All dead.” One ear fanned uncertainly out to the side.
It was time to leave. Allure would be upset that he had left without her — no, no; she was dead like the others, wasn’t she? Cypress jerked his head around to glance behind him once more, blinking his lantern yellow eyes, but all he saw was the evidence of his own tracks: damp earth where his paws had melted away the frost. He swung his head back around, staring blankly at the wolf who matched him in height but whose broader shoulders triggered a slew of memories that could not be real. He killed them, too — and waited impassively, suddenly disinterested.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - November 29, 2016
Rannoch was all too self-absorbed in his own merriment, and perhaps all the more naive, to really examine his surroundings. Despite his formal training from both Scimitar and Skellige, he often found himself in situations due to the fact that he had not taken a moment to look around. Today was no exception to it all.
A smile was gently placed upon his features and his eyes closed as the wind traveled northbound and it within this gust that a familiar, yet very jarring, smell jerked Rannoch to attention. He was struck with disbelief as he sniffed desperately at the air in an attempt to pinpoint where the smell of Neverwinter came from. Soon enough his turquoise eyes fell upon the very-familiar figure of Cypress.
At first, Rannoch did not believe his eyes. He blinked rapidly, as if assuming it were all a dream, but when the figure did not dissipate Rannoch knew that it wasn’t that. Cypress, or the wolf who resembled his brother greatly, was real. Drawing his eyebrows together Rannoch lingered in place, not quite sure what to do next. Many different thoughts plagued him as he debated calling out and eventually he knew what he had to do, even though it might have not been the best idea. After all, what if Cypress wanted nothing to do with him.
Despite his better judgement he called out to his brother, squinting as he spoke.
“Cypress…. Is that you?”
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - November 29, 2016
“Cypress…is that you?”
The sulphureous-eyed wolf started violently at the sound of his name being uttered by that impossibly familiar voice, his wild fur made wilder by the virulent hackles that stretched skyward like the hands of so many dying men on a battlefield. Air seethed into his lungs with a gasp virtually agonal, and his sides heaved with the force of it — the haggard rattle that burst from his jaws emerged in an unearthly, guttural groan: “Stop — ” he begged, weary legs buckling. Cypress’ surefooted paws were his saving grace as he veered violently to the side, catching himself at the last possible second to stand like a poor parody of a sawhorse. Breathing raggedly, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Not real,” he muttered to himself. “Not real.” Turning his head obliquely, the tortured raven cracked open his eyes — but the turquoise-eyed wolf with the familiar grayscale pelt remained. “Noch?” came his hoarse, ragged whisper, and he cast his gaze to the field that was devoid of phantom corpses. The thought that his beloved littermate was not dead was one Cypress found himself completely incapable of entertaining, despite the evidence: both wolves were taller, now evenly matched in height though not by breadth; there was a maturity in the salt-crusted Frostfur’s lengthy muzzle and legs that matched Cypress’ own; and there was hardship too written in the way the gray bear handled himself. “Rannoch?” repeated the youth uncertainly.
It could not be Rannoch.
It could only be Rannoch.
It was in this moment that the comfortable acrylic casing of shock shattered fully, and Cypress saw the world around him in sharp relief — all the anger and hurt he’d been suppressing broke over him in waves that blurred his vision, and suddenly he was running, for all he was worth —
In a matter of seconds he closed the distance between himself and the wolf who could not possibly be Rannoch and leapt with fangs bared, his execution sloppy as he sought to bury his teeth into the apparition. A terrible roar razed the air, the keening wail of a funeral dirge at its back, in tandem with his frantic, desperate lunge. He was a crazed beast in that moment, his snapping jaws relentless but poorly aimed, and the long weeks of diminished appetite revealed themselves in the lack of muscle mass that cut his body into sharp angles and jutting crests of bone.
The sulphureous-eyed wolf started violently at the sound of his name being uttered by that impossibly familiar voice, his wild fur made wilder by the virulent hackles that stretched skyward like the hands of so many dying men on a battlefield. Air seethed into his lungs with a gasp virtually agonal, and his sides heaved with the force of it — the haggard rattle that burst from his jaws emerged in an unearthly, guttural groan: “Stop — ” he begged, weary legs buckling. Cypress’ surefooted paws were his saving grace as he veered violently to the side, catching himself at the last possible second to stand like a poor parody of a sawhorse. Breathing raggedly, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Not real,” he muttered to himself. “Not real.” Turning his head obliquely, the tortured raven cracked open his eyes — but the turquoise-eyed wolf with the familiar grayscale pelt remained. “Noch?” came his hoarse, ragged whisper, and he cast his gaze to the field that was devoid of phantom corpses. The thought that his beloved littermate was not dead was one Cypress found himself completely incapable of entertaining, despite the evidence: both wolves were taller, now evenly matched in height though not by breadth; there was a maturity in the salt-crusted Frostfur’s lengthy muzzle and legs that matched Cypress’ own; and there was hardship too written in the way the gray bear handled himself. “Rannoch?” repeated the youth uncertainly.
It could not be Rannoch.
It could only be Rannoch.
It was in this moment that the comfortable acrylic casing of shock shattered fully, and Cypress saw the world around him in sharp relief — all the anger and hurt he’d been suppressing broke over him in waves that blurred his vision, and suddenly he was running, for all he was worth —
In a matter of seconds he closed the distance between himself and the wolf who could not possibly be Rannoch and leapt with fangs bared, his execution sloppy as he sought to bury his teeth into the apparition. A terrible roar razed the air, the keening wail of a funeral dirge at its back, in tandem with his frantic, desperate lunge. He was a crazed beast in that moment, his snapping jaws relentless but poorly aimed, and the long weeks of diminished appetite revealed themselves in the lack of muscle mass that cut his body into sharp angles and jutting crests of bone.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - November 30, 2016
It was as his call into the air that an eerie stillness followed, adding an uncomfortable weight upon his broad shoulders. He strained his eyes and cupped his ears forward, not daring to move any closer in fear that this wolf might not be his brother. Upon further observation, Rannoch found that the wolf before seemed almost like a wayward shadow.
But soon enough, the reply came.
Rannoch’s heart froze at the other’s reply, still uncertain if this situation was reality or fantasy. For good measure, the child blinked a few times in an attempt to see if the distant figure was really there and not a figment of his imagination. It was only when the shadow lurched forward that Rannoch came to the conclusion that he was not imagining the scene before him.
He quickly snapped into action, dropped himself in an attempt to take the hit head on. Rounding his shoulders, Rannoch let out a fierce snarl and lashed his tail. Questions flooded through his mind as he watched his brother’s advance though one seemed dominate the masses: why is he attacking me?
He was unsure. All he could do at that point was counter in an attempt to knock some sense into the raven-haired wolf. Perhaps then he would learn why Cypress had felt the need to attack.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - December 01, 2016
Silver and obsidian, turquoise and gold — Scimitar’s wayward sons crashed together in a furious maelstorm of flying fur and virulent snarls. Locked in combat against the heavier wolf, Cypress could no longer deny that it was Rannoch he fought. They knew one another’s strengths and weaknesses quite intimately and were quick to exploit them to gain any advantage. Subtle modifications to their natural fighting styles hinted at the crosses the young wolves had been made to bear: Rannoch had been shaped and molded by a life and clime far harsher than the one he’d been born into, lending him strength and endurance beyond his natural aptitude. The petulance of his childhood had been replaced with a grim stoicism, darker than his father’s, and a certain grittiness of temperament. Cypress, on the other hand, had acquired a berserker’s limitless rage. Fueled by the loneliness and fear engendered by the seemingly endless string of nights spent waiting for Scimitar, Rannoch, or Lucy to come home, he fought with frenzied desperation that stole the pain from any wounds he sustained and metabolized it into fury. He was as swift as a striking snake, managing to land a few shallow wounds — but Rannoch’s defense was impenetrable. Turning his attention toward the younger Frostfur’s turquoise eyes, Cypress lunged and was met with Rannoch’s fangs as they jaw-sparred. At last the gray bear, using weight and muscle mass to his advantage, thumped Cypress to the earth with a bulldozer-like thrust of his shoulders and hindquarters, pinning the sulphureous-eyed raven on his back with two broad paws.
Cypress turned his head, spitting blood from a wound that bisected the thin flesh at the leftmost corner of his mouth, and stared up at his littermate — but his expression was not one of defiance. In the furrow of the raven’s brow and the grim set of his jaws was an unspeakable agony and the heavy weight of exhaustion. Somewhere beyond the negativity was a dim rushlight of joy — Rannoch was alive! — but Cypress’ lantern yellow eyes were bleak and defeated.
Rannoch didn’t know.
“Noch,” the orphaned raven said quietly, his voice gravelly with disuse and weathered by the force of his earlier snarls. “Where were you? Where’s Lucy? Everyone was looking for you — I was looking for you — ” His deepening timbre grew more guttural as a hint of that agony found its way to the surface. “Noch, Mama — and Paw — ” he swallowed thickly and drew a breath so deep the great barrel of his chest shifted beneath the seawolf’s restraint. “They’re dead, Noch,” he whispered. “They died.”
Cypress turned his head, spitting blood from a wound that bisected the thin flesh at the leftmost corner of his mouth, and stared up at his littermate — but his expression was not one of defiance. In the furrow of the raven’s brow and the grim set of his jaws was an unspeakable agony and the heavy weight of exhaustion. Somewhere beyond the negativity was a dim rushlight of joy — Rannoch was alive! — but Cypress’ lantern yellow eyes were bleak and defeated.
Rannoch didn’t know.
“Noch,” the orphaned raven said quietly, his voice gravelly with disuse and weathered by the force of his earlier snarls. “Where were you? Where’s Lucy? Everyone was looking for you — I was looking for you — ” His deepening timbre grew more guttural as a hint of that agony found its way to the surface. “Noch, Mama — and Paw — ” he swallowed thickly and drew a breath so deep the great barrel of his chest shifted beneath the seawolf’s restraint. “They’re dead, Noch,” he whispered. “They died.”
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - December 01, 2016
Wrangling Cypress had been quite the task, but, ultimately, Rannoch ended up on top. This wasn’t to saw that he came out of the brawl unscathed. There was a sizeable notch upon the bridge of his nose that was bleeding and many tinier scare littered the Panting heavily, he looked to his brother with a mixed of emotions and though he was more than elated to see the ragged raven, there was a shadow of concern that darkened his mood. Concern was apparent in his expression as he foundered for the right words. Yet, they never did seem to arise.
Guilt was quick to overcome him at the first sound of Cypress’ voice and it only continued to spread as questions were asked of him. There was so much that he wanted to say, that he needed to say, and yet only fragments surfaced at that moment. “I ---”, “But---”, “I know--” were the only fragments that he could offer between the raven’s thoughts.
There was something terribly wrong with Cypress, this much he knew, and it was only as certain news was delivered that the eldest of the pair made the connection despite Rannoch's primiary disbelief.
“Noch, Mama-- and Paw-- they’re dead, Noch.”
No, it couldn’t be.
“They died.”
He grew pale at the words, any previous expression slipping away as he attempted to make sense of what had been said. Mama and Paw had… died? No, it couldn’t be. Surely Cypress was joking.
Involuntarily, his grip on Cypress tightened and his jaw slack as he attempted to fully comprehend what had been said. Looking at his brother expression, and only being met with the void that had become his brother’s life, Rannoch knew that he wasn’t be tricked. His breaths grew ragged and tears welled in his eyes as it struck him suddenly, the weight of the news crashing heavily onto his shoulders.
His body began to shudder then, the hairs along his nape spiking and his ears flattening as the magnitude of the situation resonated with him.
How could this be? Paw was so strong, unbeatable even. And Eshe? She was always protected by their beloved evergreen king. How had Scimitar let this happen? How had Eshe?
How had Rannoch?
But he couldn’t ask then, all he could do was cry.
He bowed his head so that it was pressed against his brother’s chest-- his beautiful, breathing chest-- and he wept openly into the only thing that mattered in that moment.
How did this happen?
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - December 01, 2016
Cypress watched intently as Rannoch digested the tragic news, sulphureous eyes mapping each fragmented emotion that crossed the beloved face. He was unprepared for and stunned by his littermate’s literal outpouring of grief — Cypress had been too shell-shocked and traumatized to truly process his own feelings and the release of tears had yet to find him. Still, he easily fell into his former role of protector and confidant, both forelegs reaching up to clasp his brother in a fierce embrace as his shoulders and hips shifted to find a more comfortable position. For a long moment he said nothing; a more mature wolf might have spared Rannoch the more grisly details, but Cypress was young and wild and desperately despondent. He pushed his broad muzzle into the thick, salt-crusted fur of Rannoch’s nape, and all the angry words he’d prepared for this very moment fell to the wayside. “I wanted to find you, Noch,” he mumbled, his words muffled by his brother’s thick undercoat, “because you’re my brother.”
Funny how empty victory could feel.
Dry-eyed, “Paw went out searching for you and Lucy every day,” Cypress murmured. “October and Allure, too. Mama went out searching, too, but she got sick again, and after that Paw said she should stay home.” He hesitated. “I looked for you and Lucy in the glen until I got in trouble for it — and sometimes when nobody was looking I went anyway.” He paused, the heartwrenching sound of Rannoch’s gasping sobs producing a thick ache in his throat that he tried in vain to clear away with a soft cough. “Did Paw ever tell you about our brother Kjalarr?” he asked, not truly expecting an answer. He was speaking to comfort himself as much as his turquoise-eyed sibling. He spoke of the blue-eyed berserker and his wife — an unknown quantity to Cypress, who had not gone out of his way to make his acquaintance — and he spoke of Shrike and his attachment to Allure. And then, quite abruptly —
“Paw had been gone for too long,” he whispered, “and Mama got so worried she went to go look for him herself. She didn’t take me. She said that I had to stay home — that she’d be back before I even had time to miss her.” The forest had become Cypress’ prison. “Allure and Shrike came,” he recited, his sentences growing short and taut as his breath came quicker. “They — we — there was a bear, and Mama — ” The withered raven squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden ache that blossomed in his chest and threatened to swallow him up. “Their eyes were open, Noch,” he whispered, horrified. He didn’t know why that particular fact haunted him so, but it was the sight of those blind, dried up eyes that haunted his dreams. “I knew they weren’t sleeping — but I tried to wake them up anyway — the smell — and there was blood coming from their noses and mouths and — ” Nausea rose up in the dusty-furred youth; he coughed, whipping his head away from Rannoch to spit a mixture of blood from his wound and bitter saliva, and when the feeling passed he began to tremble violently. He burrowed his muzzle into his littermate’s ruff and mumbled forlornly, “I tried to wake them up but their bodies were so cold.” The first tears slipped from between his squeezed-shut lids.
Funny how empty victory could feel.
Dry-eyed, “Paw went out searching for you and Lucy every day,” Cypress murmured. “October and Allure, too. Mama went out searching, too, but she got sick again, and after that Paw said she should stay home.” He hesitated. “I looked for you and Lucy in the glen until I got in trouble for it — and sometimes when nobody was looking I went anyway.” He paused, the heartwrenching sound of Rannoch’s gasping sobs producing a thick ache in his throat that he tried in vain to clear away with a soft cough. “Did Paw ever tell you about our brother Kjalarr?” he asked, not truly expecting an answer. He was speaking to comfort himself as much as his turquoise-eyed sibling. He spoke of the blue-eyed berserker and his wife — an unknown quantity to Cypress, who had not gone out of his way to make his acquaintance — and he spoke of Shrike and his attachment to Allure. And then, quite abruptly —
“Paw had been gone for too long,” he whispered, “and Mama got so worried she went to go look for him herself. She didn’t take me. She said that I had to stay home — that she’d be back before I even had time to miss her.” The forest had become Cypress’ prison. “Allure and Shrike came,” he recited, his sentences growing short and taut as his breath came quicker. “They — we — there was a bear, and Mama — ” The withered raven squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden ache that blossomed in his chest and threatened to swallow him up. “Their eyes were open, Noch,” he whispered, horrified. He didn’t know why that particular fact haunted him so, but it was the sight of those blind, dried up eyes that haunted his dreams. “I knew they weren’t sleeping — but I tried to wake them up anyway — the smell — and there was blood coming from their noses and mouths and — ” Nausea rose up in the dusty-furred youth; he coughed, whipping his head away from Rannoch to spit a mixture of blood from his wound and bitter saliva, and when the feeling passed he began to tremble violently. He burrowed his muzzle into his littermate’s ruff and mumbled forlornly, “I tried to wake them up but their bodies were so cold.” The first tears slipped from between his squeezed-shut lids.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - December 01, 2016
His sadness was all-enveloping. Falling into his brother’s embrace, Rannoch allowed the swallow him, just as the ocean had. His tears fell heavily as he found himself leaning deeper and deeper into his brothers embrace, as if he were attempting to lose himself in the scent of their beloved evergreen forest. It was only as Cypress spoke that Rannoch broke from the embrace to look at his brother. Despite the comfort the raven’s words provided, Rannoch’s crying did not cease. They only subsided as Cypress began to tell his tale, as Rannoch realized that he was disclosing information about their parents.
Guilt was added to the mixture as Cypress shared what had happened in the Benthos’ absence. A frown formed heavily at this, but didn’t dare to say anything. He had no room to speak, nor did he really want to, honestly. He wanted to hear what had happened in his absence. The only reply offered was a slow shake of his head at the mention of Kjalarr. Who? Soon enough even that thought, along with all of his other thoughts, as the raven told the tale of tragedy.
Grief gripped his heart as he imagined the scene vividly and though he wished to bury his head in his brother’s coat, he resisted. He had to be strong, even though it seemed nearly impossible in that moment. His ears flattened and his stomach churned as he watched the other prince vomit. And yet, the question he had asked himself rose again: how? How had his father been brought down by a bear? It didn’t make sense to the eldest prince.
“Cy--” he whined, words failing him again as he leaned into his brother. “I-I’m sorry,” His grief was prominent, driving his every word. “I just w-went to see Lucy and t-this wolf, S-Skelliege, captured me! He took m-me away and L-Lucy-- I haven’t seen her since.” His breath was growing ragged again as a realization overcame him.
“I-It’s my fault they’re dead.” The reality of it hit hard and he began to cry again. “It’s all my fault.” His voice was a whisper and he shut his eyes, as if he were enduring a great amount of pain in that moment.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - December 05, 2016
“I-It’s my fault they’re dead. It’s all my fault.”
Blame was something Cypress had failed to consider, for the most part. While it was true that his inability to do the impossible and rouse his parents had tasted bitterly of failure, he certainly hadn’t thought to blame Lucy or Rannoch for it. Most accurately, what he felt was survivor’s guilt — and even knowing that Rannoch was alive could not lift that heavy, ever-growing weight from his young shoulders. Tears continued to leak from the boy’s sulphureous eyes and spill down his black velvet cheeks as his composure slowly disintegrated; without the veneer of shock to dull the brunt of his emotions, he felt broken and lost. Retelling the events that haunted him so had torn off any metaphorical scab that had formed — and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he needed to bleed out the venom. He heard Rannoch’s words but had not the breath to respond to them as his breathing quickened and shortened into a series of gasping sobs. For perhaps the first time in his life, Cypress Benvolio Frostfur was truly and utterly forlorn. Rather than leaning in to his brother, he staggered where he stood until his hindquarters gave out beneath him — he had grown so used to being alone that turning to Rannoch or any other wolf was no longer first nature. Hanging his head, the flood of tears mingling with the blood from his lip and sluicing away the bitter taste of bile from his tongue, he wept. It was not a wailing, gasping, shuddering paroxysm that overtook the wild-furred orphan but an exhausted, tight-lipped surrender as his shoulders shook and his breath stuttered wildly.
Blame was something Cypress had failed to consider, for the most part. While it was true that his inability to do the impossible and rouse his parents had tasted bitterly of failure, he certainly hadn’t thought to blame Lucy or Rannoch for it. Most accurately, what he felt was survivor’s guilt — and even knowing that Rannoch was alive could not lift that heavy, ever-growing weight from his young shoulders. Tears continued to leak from the boy’s sulphureous eyes and spill down his black velvet cheeks as his composure slowly disintegrated; without the veneer of shock to dull the brunt of his emotions, he felt broken and lost. Retelling the events that haunted him so had torn off any metaphorical scab that had formed — and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he needed to bleed out the venom. He heard Rannoch’s words but had not the breath to respond to them as his breathing quickened and shortened into a series of gasping sobs. For perhaps the first time in his life, Cypress Benvolio Frostfur was truly and utterly forlorn. Rather than leaning in to his brother, he staggered where he stood until his hindquarters gave out beneath him — he had grown so used to being alone that turning to Rannoch or any other wolf was no longer first nature. Hanging his head, the flood of tears mingling with the blood from his lip and sluicing away the bitter taste of bile from his tongue, he wept. It was not a wailing, gasping, shuddering paroxysm that overtook the wild-furred orphan but an exhausted, tight-lipped surrender as his shoulders shook and his breath stuttered wildly.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - December 05, 2016
His mind was a hurricane in that moment and all Rannoch could do was bunker down and try and hold out the storm. He did not notice when Cypress broke away, nor did he hear his brother’s cries. No, Rannoch Tiberous Frostfur was completely in a world of his own at that moment. Misery filled his being, fueling his thoughts and soon enough, Rannoch saw a light at the end of the tunnel.
His eyes flew open to his, tears still lacing his ocean-like eyes as he looked to his mourning siblings. “C-Cypress,” he stammered, shakily drawing himself onto his paws. “I-I gotta g-get outta here-- like, out of the v-valley.” Was it extreme? Of course. But there was nothing more that the valley held to the child. Even with Cypress before him, Rannoch knew he could not stay here anymore. He couldn’t face the family that thought he was dead. He couldn’t go back to his beloved evergreens only to not find his parents reigning.
He couldn’t.
“T-Tell everybody I’m d-dead. I’ll send somebody for you when I s-settle, to l-let you know where I am.” Though his legs implored him to run in that moment, he hesitated, very well knowing that this might be the last time seeing Cypress.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - December 05, 2016
The raven, reduced to little more than a cracked and crumbling effigy, gritted his teeth as he forced his breathing into some semblance of normalcy; it continued to hitch despite his greatest efforts, and each inhalation was peppered with little hiccupping gasps. Lantern yellow eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, turned automatically to Rannoch as the grayscale five-month-old began to speak. “I-I gotta g-get outta here — like, out of the v-valley,” he said, and to Cypress’ battered mind it all sounded reasonable enough. “Sure, right, of course,” good old Logic hastily interjected, “get out of the valley — take some time to clear your head — I wanted to run away, too — ” and Cypress was nodding away like it all made perfect sense, because surely it was just a metaphor — Rannoch couldn’t possibly mean that in a literal sense, because —
— because that would mean —
— that would mean —
“Wait,” Cypress said dully, blinking in a glossy-eyed, vacuous way. “Wait — Rannoch, wait. Just — wait.” His bitter, blood-streaked tongue felt thick and swollen; a cold and unsettling feeling rooted his forepaws to the earth, but he was able to move his hindquarters. Rising to all fours, shifting to face his littermate as squarely as he could with his frozen forelegs, the wild-furred orphan drew a deep, shuddering breath. “You can’t leave,” he said very simply, his expression revealing only mild confusion — and a little humor, too. There was an expectant, anticipatory smile playing about the rightmost corner of Cypress’ mouth as he spoke; the left was caked with congealed blood. It was funny — wasn’t it? Somewhere along the line he must’ve started hearing things, because he simply couldn’t believe that Rannoch would willingly leave.
“You got me,” the unfamiliar voice said, “oh, man, you got me. I almost fell for it. I almost thought you were going to leave.”
— because that would mean —
— that would mean —
“Wait,” Cypress said dully, blinking in a glossy-eyed, vacuous way. “Wait — Rannoch, wait. Just — wait.” His bitter, blood-streaked tongue felt thick and swollen; a cold and unsettling feeling rooted his forepaws to the earth, but he was able to move his hindquarters. Rising to all fours, shifting to face his littermate as squarely as he could with his frozen forelegs, the wild-furred orphan drew a deep, shuddering breath. “You can’t leave,” he said very simply, his expression revealing only mild confusion — and a little humor, too. There was an expectant, anticipatory smile playing about the rightmost corner of Cypress’ mouth as he spoke; the left was caked with congealed blood. It was funny — wasn’t it? Somewhere along the line he must’ve started hearing things, because he simply couldn’t believe that Rannoch would willingly leave.
“You got me,” the unfamiliar voice said, “oh, man, you got me. I almost fell for it. I almost thought you were going to leave.”
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - December 05, 2016
“Just -- wait. You can’t leave.”
A wave of panic then overcame the child, who usually was so characteristically strong, and his being was crumbling on the ground before Cypress. “Cy, I-I can’t face them again. I can’t h-hurt anybody anymore,” he voice was a low whine, naively ignoring the fact that leaving would be hurting Cypress in his departure.
“Y-You can even come with me!” He said, his eyes suddenly shining at the opportunity, his emotions mixing unfavorably in his belly as his body began to quake in his nervousness. Never had the evergreen prince traveled alone, but, given the circumstances, he needed this for not only his sanity, but for his conscious. Somehow, it made sense to the argent-colored boy.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - December 05, 2016
And there it was.
For a long moment, Cypress was absolutely silent, that only slightly uncertain smile plastered stiffly upon his bloodied muzzle; it was an ill-fitting guise in that it didn’t quite match the inexorable darkening of his sulphureous gaze. Beneath his neutral, even pleasant mien, a churning firestorm of fury — how could you leave me why did you even come back maybe it was all your fault after all how could you put this on my shoulders I’ve never asked you to carry anything for me how dare you ask me to lie for you beg for you — slammed against a frostbitten cold front of epic proportions — what am I going to do without you I just found you I missed you I missed you you’re my brother Noch why are you leaving me don’t you care about Allure don’t you care about me don’t you care — and left him in a state of tumult that could not be contained.
“I can’t hurt anybody anymore.”
The words replayed themselves, and Cypress barked a laugh — his hackles flared to life, tall ears pressing aggressively forward upon his skull, the wild fur on his nape and shoulders standing on end. “You just did,” he hissed, wrenching his lips back in a virulent snarl that caused the scab of congealed blood to crack and weep. Unbeknownst to the tortured raven, his demon yellow eyes had begun their useless crying once more — his face was a wretched, ugly mess as he filled his lungs and spewed words he would later regret: “I’m not going to lie for you, Rannoch! I’m going to tell them what you did — I’m going to tell them you ran — ” His breath heaved in huge, uneven gulps as he began to hyperventilate, panting hysterically as saliva pooled in the divot beneath his razor-edged tongue and began to stream in thin strings from his trembling lips.
“Tell him,” the dark, tempting voice said again. “Tell him it’s all his fault — because it is, isn’t it? That’s what he said.” Cypress pinned his ears against his skull, shaking his head in silent denial as he skittered back a few steps. “Tell him no son of Scimitar would run away this way; tell him what a coward he is. You want to hurt him, don’t you? He should be hurting, shouldn’t he? He hurt you — didn’t he?”
“I need both my boys to protect me.”
“You made your choice!” Cypress bellowed, his voice cracking inconveniently, growing increasingly more tremulous and shrill as he advanced toward his littermate. “You were supposed to wait for me — we were supposed to find Lucy together!” It was hardly the time or the place for this pretty little diatribe, but the words felt right. “This — this is — it’s — ” The raven ground his teeth together before he could place unfair blame, slewing his muzzle and gaze to the side with an injured, infuriated whine. “I’m going to tell them you ran — you ran like a coward!”
“Why, I couldn't have just one little boy — I needed two! My little team!”
Cypress sneered, showing every tooth in his mouth — and then he threw the ball headlong into Rannoch’s court with a warning growl and a breathless sob: “It wasn’t your fault, Noch,” he said, “but this — whatever happens now — is gonna be your fault. If you leave, Rannoch, I’ll love you — ” his voice broke anew, and it was several minutes before he could collect himself long enough to finish his threat “ — I’ll love you anyway — but if you leave this time you’ll ruin everything. Maybe I’ll die, too — maybe I’ll die, and it’ll be because you left — ”
“Your fairy godmother, Deirdre, ensured that I would have the perfect little team.”
“ — and you’ll send someone and I won’t be here because I’ll be dead — ”
Swaying where he stood, Cypress held as tightly as he could to consciousness. “Please, Noch,” he begged, his fury and venom extinguished by a fresh burst of anguish. “Don’t go away — please — I love you, I can’t — please don’t leave me don’t not you too Noch please not you — ”
For a long moment, Cypress was absolutely silent, that only slightly uncertain smile plastered stiffly upon his bloodied muzzle; it was an ill-fitting guise in that it didn’t quite match the inexorable darkening of his sulphureous gaze. Beneath his neutral, even pleasant mien, a churning firestorm of fury — how could you leave me why did you even come back maybe it was all your fault after all how could you put this on my shoulders I’ve never asked you to carry anything for me how dare you ask me to lie for you beg for you — slammed against a frostbitten cold front of epic proportions — what am I going to do without you I just found you I missed you I missed you you’re my brother Noch why are you leaving me don’t you care about Allure don’t you care about me don’t you care — and left him in a state of tumult that could not be contained.
“I can’t hurt anybody anymore.”
The words replayed themselves, and Cypress barked a laugh — his hackles flared to life, tall ears pressing aggressively forward upon his skull, the wild fur on his nape and shoulders standing on end. “You just did,” he hissed, wrenching his lips back in a virulent snarl that caused the scab of congealed blood to crack and weep. Unbeknownst to the tortured raven, his demon yellow eyes had begun their useless crying once more — his face was a wretched, ugly mess as he filled his lungs and spewed words he would later regret: “I’m not going to lie for you, Rannoch! I’m going to tell them what you did — I’m going to tell them you ran — ” His breath heaved in huge, uneven gulps as he began to hyperventilate, panting hysterically as saliva pooled in the divot beneath his razor-edged tongue and began to stream in thin strings from his trembling lips.
“Tell him,” the dark, tempting voice said again. “Tell him it’s all his fault — because it is, isn’t it? That’s what he said.” Cypress pinned his ears against his skull, shaking his head in silent denial as he skittered back a few steps. “Tell him no son of Scimitar would run away this way; tell him what a coward he is. You want to hurt him, don’t you? He should be hurting, shouldn’t he? He hurt you — didn’t he?”
“I need both my boys to protect me.”
“You made your choice!” Cypress bellowed, his voice cracking inconveniently, growing increasingly more tremulous and shrill as he advanced toward his littermate. “You were supposed to wait for me — we were supposed to find Lucy together!” It was hardly the time or the place for this pretty little diatribe, but the words felt right. “This — this is — it’s — ” The raven ground his teeth together before he could place unfair blame, slewing his muzzle and gaze to the side with an injured, infuriated whine. “I’m going to tell them you ran — you ran like a coward!”
“Why, I couldn't have just one little boy — I needed two! My little team!”
Cypress sneered, showing every tooth in his mouth — and then he threw the ball headlong into Rannoch’s court with a warning growl and a breathless sob: “It wasn’t your fault, Noch,” he said, “but this — whatever happens now — is gonna be your fault. If you leave, Rannoch, I’ll love you — ” his voice broke anew, and it was several minutes before he could collect himself long enough to finish his threat “ — I’ll love you anyway — but if you leave this time you’ll ruin everything. Maybe I’ll die, too — maybe I’ll die, and it’ll be because you left — ”
“Your fairy godmother, Deirdre, ensured that I would have the perfect little team.”
“ — and you’ll send someone and I won’t be here because I’ll be dead — ”
Swaying where he stood, Cypress held as tightly as he could to consciousness. “Please, Noch,” he begged, his fury and venom extinguished by a fresh burst of anguish. “Don’t go away — please — I love you, I can’t — please don’t leave me don’t not you too Noch please not you — ”
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Rannoch’s Ghost - February 12, 2017
The silence that settled between the Frostfur brothers was thick, and Rannoch could not help but keep his eyes glued to his darker sibling. He observed Cypress while drawing his teeth to his bottom lip, Atshen chewed at the black flesh as he waited for any reply from his brother. There were butterflies in his chest, and the child's ears flattened as his heart raced as he waited for any indication of what Cypress was going to say.
Suddenly, a harsh laugh sounded, slicing through their silence and the large of the brothers felt his innards twist at what the Raven had to say. Her ears flattened, his eyes widened, and he found himself backpedaling a step each time that Cypress said something more hurtful. More emotions were quick to jump into the mess that had formed within him and by the point in which Cypress stated that he loved him. Turning quickly back to the conversation, with his ocean-like eyes ablaze, Rannoch felt an uncharacteristic sense of anger overtake all of his emotions. With the distance that the argent-haired boy had caused, Rannoch could only feel the distance that had been placed between them and the anger that the raven had created.
Hot tears stemmed down his cheeks as Cypress' tirade ended and anguish overcame and at this point Rannoch could not feel sorry for his sibling, no, not after all that had been expressed.
"Y-You don't love me!" He said, his anger apparent in his tone. "I-If you did, you w-woulda never said anything l-like that to me!" How dare he! After everything that he had been through! Who was Cypress to judge his decision and what was best for him? He took a step forward, a small growl bubbling in his throat as he looked to his "little teammate." "A-And I tried to wait b-but... Lucy! S-She was g-gone... I couldn't!" He shook his head then and his gaze lowered to the ground. He exhaled sharply as he attempted to get a hold of himself, and yet, he couldn't. He was all too mad about how Cypress had been treated to even care about him at this point.
"You don't love me, Cypress. I-I thought you did b-but I was wrong. Tell the pack whatever you want... I don't care anymore." By this doing, his anger had vanished, and he was no longer angry. No, Rannoch was exhausted at this point, and his voice grew wearier at every word that followed. "Neverwinter forest is no longer my home. Not without Maw an' P-Paw." The realization of his parent's death crashed upon him again, and he felt as though he had reached his emotional limit.
His shoulders quaked, tears rolled, and the child openly wept at what his life had become. He had never asked for any of this! No, he had only wanted to live in their forest, grow up, and make his parents proud. His desires in life had been simple, and yet somehow he had messed it all up. No, Lucy had. He growled at the thought of her and bowed his head in his shame. How could he have been so stupid to let somebody get in the way of his family like this? If it hadn't been for Lucy-- who knew how his family would be today! Putting his blame unfairly onto the blue-eyed girl of the Caldera, Rannoch looked to Cypress again and said nothing for quite some time.
But the, finally, it came. "I-If you really loved me... you would understand why I have to do this. Why I have to go..." Rannoch turned suddenly to look behind him, and he exhaled as if letting go of the emotions that had gripped his heart in that whirlwind. He looked to his brother once more and smiled. "I love you Cypress... I always will..." and without another word, Rannoch turned tail quickly and began to run-- having no intention of stopping until he was far, far away.
RE: long intervals of horrible sanity - Cypress - February 12, 2017
All of the fight had gone out of Cypress. He swayed where he stood, and midway into Rannoch’s speech, he drooped dejectedly, his narrow skull jutting down from the high crest of his shoulders so that his bloodied muzzle hung even with the sharp angles of his carpi. “Y-You don’t love me!” Rannoch cried.
Without looking up, “Yes, I do,” the raven mumbled, too quietly, flattening his ears defensively against his head as his littermate’s angry words rained over him. It was one thing, he thought, to call someone a mean name like a ‘coward’ — and another thing entirely to tell a lie as big as that one.
“You don’t love me, Cypress.”
“Yes, I do,” tasting soil, feeling the press of its granules against his nose.
“I-I thought you did b-but I was wrong.”
Cypress curled in on himself, his tail tucking in abject, wretched submission toward the boy who had consistently bested him in every regard, and then he did look up. He drew breath to speak. “Of course I love you, Noch,” he’d say. “I didn’t mean what I said — I’ll take everything back if it means you’ll stay — and I’ll go with you if that’s what you really want.” He’d say all that, and it’d fix all the things that’d gone wrong.
“I-If you really loved me…you would understand why I have to do this. Why I have to go…”
The air rushed out of him as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t. And for the life of him, Cypress couldn’t figure out how love had become so conditional for Rannoch — such a fickle thing to throw around. The lonely raven couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t loved his brother.
Even now — even now —
He drew breath again. This time, he’d say it. This time, he’d fix it.
Rannoch’s smile was as sunny as it had always been. It was tearstained and wan, but under all the grief and frustration and desperation, there it was. Cypress could count on that, just like always.
Maybe he should’ve said something then.
“I love you, Cypress…I always will…”
Maybe he should’ve said something then.
Suspicion was first to bloom in the eidolon’s lantern yellow eyes; regret, affection, and hope followed in quick succession. He should’ve said something. See, he knew what was happening the moment Rannoch whipped around — he should’ve said something — and it only became more apparent when the grayscale Frostfur began running. Should’ve said something. Even now, there was a grace period; Cypress had always been quicker than his heavily-muscled littermate, head start or no. If he started running now —
“No fair, Noch; we didn’t say ‘go!’”
In the end, though, Cypress didn’t give chase. He didn’t call out.
“No, you don’t. No, you won’t,” he mumbled, too quietly, tasting soil, feeling the press of its granules against his nose; and then he crumpled to his knees and wept. “I broke my family — I broke it.”
Without looking up, “Yes, I do,” the raven mumbled, too quietly, flattening his ears defensively against his head as his littermate’s angry words rained over him. It was one thing, he thought, to call someone a mean name like a ‘coward’ — and another thing entirely to tell a lie as big as that one.
“You don’t love me, Cypress.”
“Yes, I do,” tasting soil, feeling the press of its granules against his nose.
“I-I thought you did b-but I was wrong.”
Cypress curled in on himself, his tail tucking in abject, wretched submission toward the boy who had consistently bested him in every regard, and then he did look up. He drew breath to speak. “Of course I love you, Noch,” he’d say. “I didn’t mean what I said — I’ll take everything back if it means you’ll stay — and I’ll go with you if that’s what you really want.” He’d say all that, and it’d fix all the things that’d gone wrong.
“I-If you really loved me…you would understand why I have to do this. Why I have to go…”
The air rushed out of him as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t. And for the life of him, Cypress couldn’t figure out how love had become so conditional for Rannoch — such a fickle thing to throw around. The lonely raven couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t loved his brother.
Even now — even now —
He drew breath again. This time, he’d say it. This time, he’d fix it.
Rannoch’s smile was as sunny as it had always been. It was tearstained and wan, but under all the grief and frustration and desperation, there it was. Cypress could count on that, just like always.
Maybe he should’ve said something then.
“I love you, Cypress…I always will…”
Maybe he should’ve said something then.
Suspicion was first to bloom in the eidolon’s lantern yellow eyes; regret, affection, and hope followed in quick succession. He should’ve said something. See, he knew what was happening the moment Rannoch whipped around — he should’ve said something — and it only became more apparent when the grayscale Frostfur began running. Should’ve said something. Even now, there was a grace period; Cypress had always been quicker than his heavily-muscled littermate, head start or no. If he started running now —
“No fair, Noch; we didn’t say ‘go!’”
In the end, though, Cypress didn’t give chase. He didn’t call out.
“No, you don’t. No, you won’t,” he mumbled, too quietly, tasting soil, feeling the press of its granules against his nose; and then he crumpled to his knees and wept. “I broke my family — I broke it.”