Post by Cillian on Dec 24, 2020 10:01:44 GMT -5
The droplets of sweat had formed a small pool on the wooden floor of Cillian’s room. Despite the season’s cold breeze drifting in from the open window, the young paladin sat, drenched in sweat. Another bead rapidly forming on the tip of his nose. In his right hand there was a knife. The blade was crisp and freshly sharpened. It was pressed along the backside of his left pointer finger. His thumb lightly resting on the palm side of his pointer finger, as if he were about to chop up a carrot for stew.
In through his nostrils and right back out through them, he tried to control his breathing. His mouth would only occasionally allow bits of air to escape through his teeth and the leather belt which had been pressed between them.
“The first step…” he told himself as the darker parts of his mind whispered to him his own insecurities.
Misfit of the misfits… misfit of the misfits… they’ll never accept you back. You don’t deserve family. You don’t deserve a home… not after what you’ve done…
He would shake his head, teeth pressing harder into the belt as he tried to knock loose the evil voice that plagued him.
You… left them… broke your word… your oath… oath breaker…
His eyes traveled across the room to the tattered shreds of cloth that used to be a tabard. It laid upon a chair, pinned up by two small knives driven into the chair’s headstock. The black tabard with red accents and the signature skull of the Cheshire Cats Gang pulled all sorts of memories to his attention.
Meeting Lady Kat and their first venture into the Tomb of Sargeras together and the night they shared after. The game had begun…
Celeste, the young woman who he had grown close with like that of a sibling. Both so young, and fresh. Easily impressionable. Both had faced and changed much in a short time...
Shari’Adune, the compassionate “bleeding heart,” an almost motherly figure that Cillian trusted to guide him when he had wandered. The little elf that he pledged to protect, just as she protected him...
Grim’un, the gruff and strong warrior whom Cillian had fought alongside with time and time again during his months with the Cats. The man whose actions often seemed to speak louder than his words...
And X, the loyal right hand of Lady Kat, cunning, and hard, but at times, a softer foil to the Mistress he served...
They had become the thing Cillian had always wanted above all else… family, a home. And he had thrown it all away. Hurting each of them in turn, breaking their trust, and leaving the family fractured was the legacy that “Ian” had wrought.
He had left. Disappeared, without so much as a word as to why. No offer of closure for those he had grown close to...
While the void is an unforgiving, all-consuming evil, make no mistake, it was Cillian’s fault as to his disappearance, not its. His selfishness, cockiness, and his lack of loyalty to those in the gang were to blame. He doesn’t remember all of the details, but he has put some of the major pieces into place as to where exactly he went--large generalizations, mainly.
A contract to investigate rumors of increased void activity seemed right up his alley. He told himself he didn’t tell the gang about the work out of fear for their safety, a lie to make himself feel better, really, he had wanted the glory for himself. It was his line of work, and he had handled similar investigations himself in the past, why would this have been any different? He didn’t need any help.
Little did Ian know that these rumors only proved to be harbingers of a planet-wide invasion of the Black Empire. So much more than the simple, peasant boy could’ve ever imagined. The followers of the void had been emboldened and empowered by the coming of their lord and master, N’Zoth and early victories over them only stroked Cillian’s ego. The perfect disastrous combination.
A few successful investigations led him to N’Zoth followers in Kul’Tiras. He remembered walking into a tide-sage temple, but that’s it. His memory goes blank afterwards, the only remaining ‘memories’ are little more than emotions and they were everything he feared… cold, and loneliness. A trap had been set for him. Seemingly cast off into the void to be consumed and languish for all eternity…
The Light had blessed their child. A year later the invasion had been quelled and N’Zoth had been defeated, weakening the bonds of the void’s power. Diminishing the bonds of Cillian’s prison. He crawled back from that place--not alone--but with the help of fellow brothers and sisters of the church. His false family. They had investigated the temple and found Ian, among other survivors.
The mind is a fickle thing and Cillian’s is no different. It blocked many of the horrors from him, at least, enough to function. He scarcely believed it had been as long as it had. A year and a half. He denied it, refused to allow that to be the case.
He expected his life back, but time had broken down all that he had left. He clamored for it, demanded it, and acted rashly over and over again. Trying to grasp at something not so easily regained. It had dug him further and further into a hole, and his stubborn mind only added to his own induced misery.
It took a shot to the leg, a metaphorical knife in his heart, and the understanding of a few close to him to open his stubborn eyes. To stop and breathe. To stop and think. Only since had he started real healing. Real rebuilding of what his actions had knocked down. It was step zero. Merely earning a chance to make it back into the family he’d lost.
He now held step number one against a knife. The voices in his mind had stopped.
With his eyes fixated upon the ragged visage of the Cheshire Cats tabard he ripped the blade through his finger.
Just as easily as a carrot for a stew.
The digit hit the floor and Cillian sat. Blood running and oozing from the stump where his finger had been. The pulsating pain had shot up his arm. It would only be mere seconds before the screaming of his nerves woke him of his trance…
“All Hail Cats. All Hail Lady Kat.” He said confidently before giving in to the writhing pain.
In through his nostrils and right back out through them, he tried to control his breathing. His mouth would only occasionally allow bits of air to escape through his teeth and the leather belt which had been pressed between them.
“The first step…” he told himself as the darker parts of his mind whispered to him his own insecurities.
Misfit of the misfits… misfit of the misfits… they’ll never accept you back. You don’t deserve family. You don’t deserve a home… not after what you’ve done…
He would shake his head, teeth pressing harder into the belt as he tried to knock loose the evil voice that plagued him.
You… left them… broke your word… your oath… oath breaker…
His eyes traveled across the room to the tattered shreds of cloth that used to be a tabard. It laid upon a chair, pinned up by two small knives driven into the chair’s headstock. The black tabard with red accents and the signature skull of the Cheshire Cats Gang pulled all sorts of memories to his attention.
Meeting Lady Kat and their first venture into the Tomb of Sargeras together and the night they shared after. The game had begun…
Celeste, the young woman who he had grown close with like that of a sibling. Both so young, and fresh. Easily impressionable. Both had faced and changed much in a short time...
Shari’Adune, the compassionate “bleeding heart,” an almost motherly figure that Cillian trusted to guide him when he had wandered. The little elf that he pledged to protect, just as she protected him...
Grim’un, the gruff and strong warrior whom Cillian had fought alongside with time and time again during his months with the Cats. The man whose actions often seemed to speak louder than his words...
And X, the loyal right hand of Lady Kat, cunning, and hard, but at times, a softer foil to the Mistress he served...
They had become the thing Cillian had always wanted above all else… family, a home. And he had thrown it all away. Hurting each of them in turn, breaking their trust, and leaving the family fractured was the legacy that “Ian” had wrought.
He had left. Disappeared, without so much as a word as to why. No offer of closure for those he had grown close to...
While the void is an unforgiving, all-consuming evil, make no mistake, it was Cillian’s fault as to his disappearance, not its. His selfishness, cockiness, and his lack of loyalty to those in the gang were to blame. He doesn’t remember all of the details, but he has put some of the major pieces into place as to where exactly he went--large generalizations, mainly.
A contract to investigate rumors of increased void activity seemed right up his alley. He told himself he didn’t tell the gang about the work out of fear for their safety, a lie to make himself feel better, really, he had wanted the glory for himself. It was his line of work, and he had handled similar investigations himself in the past, why would this have been any different? He didn’t need any help.
Little did Ian know that these rumors only proved to be harbingers of a planet-wide invasion of the Black Empire. So much more than the simple, peasant boy could’ve ever imagined. The followers of the void had been emboldened and empowered by the coming of their lord and master, N’Zoth and early victories over them only stroked Cillian’s ego. The perfect disastrous combination.
A few successful investigations led him to N’Zoth followers in Kul’Tiras. He remembered walking into a tide-sage temple, but that’s it. His memory goes blank afterwards, the only remaining ‘memories’ are little more than emotions and they were everything he feared… cold, and loneliness. A trap had been set for him. Seemingly cast off into the void to be consumed and languish for all eternity…
The Light had blessed their child. A year later the invasion had been quelled and N’Zoth had been defeated, weakening the bonds of the void’s power. Diminishing the bonds of Cillian’s prison. He crawled back from that place--not alone--but with the help of fellow brothers and sisters of the church. His false family. They had investigated the temple and found Ian, among other survivors.
The mind is a fickle thing and Cillian’s is no different. It blocked many of the horrors from him, at least, enough to function. He scarcely believed it had been as long as it had. A year and a half. He denied it, refused to allow that to be the case.
He expected his life back, but time had broken down all that he had left. He clamored for it, demanded it, and acted rashly over and over again. Trying to grasp at something not so easily regained. It had dug him further and further into a hole, and his stubborn mind only added to his own induced misery.
It took a shot to the leg, a metaphorical knife in his heart, and the understanding of a few close to him to open his stubborn eyes. To stop and breathe. To stop and think. Only since had he started real healing. Real rebuilding of what his actions had knocked down. It was step zero. Merely earning a chance to make it back into the family he’d lost.
He now held step number one against a knife. The voices in his mind had stopped.
With his eyes fixated upon the ragged visage of the Cheshire Cats tabard he ripped the blade through his finger.
Just as easily as a carrot for a stew.
The digit hit the floor and Cillian sat. Blood running and oozing from the stump where his finger had been. The pulsating pain had shot up his arm. It would only be mere seconds before the screaming of his nerves woke him of his trance…
“All Hail Cats. All Hail Lady Kat.” He said confidently before giving in to the writhing pain.
Founded April 26, 2005