Longing for the Past

[Neithan]

I walked out,
To the Vale,
Where Shadows reign.
To seek the Seer.

For I long for my past,
And long to find it,
And there is no other
Place to seek it.

My eyes dart,
From right to left,
As I seek the ruler of these lands,
The Seer, of future and past.

I frowned, for I had to find her,
I needed her to
Figure out my past,
To tell me what I lost before.

My eyes shone,
Red and gold intertwined,
Stained from the sins,
Sins of my past.

I knew little of this varg,
This varg I seeked,
This varg who was needed,
The keystone of my memory.

For she could tell me what I missed,
Who sired me, who bore me into
This world, of treacheries and tortures,
Which haunted me day and night.

Obsidian like the midnight sky,
I gleamed, I shone,
But for the white tips twinkling my fur,
Like stars in the night sky.

I shone, like a black star,
Light amidst the darkness,
Light overpowering,
Black light, dark light.

My light, tainted,
By my sins, sins of past,
And sins of present,
Stained, refused to wash out.

I sook out the varg,
The one, the only,
The Seer of the Vale,
Who could inform me of
My sire and my dam,
For none other alive could tell me.

(I decided to try a new style - POEM STYLE! And, also, this takes place after my plot for Zabarack. Sorry if it's crappy, but it's a first try. lol After this one, it's regular, for this thread. Just thought I'd do something interesting this time. =) [/size][/font]

[Cinder]

//heheh, nice idea. you should post that in the poetry board! //

Like the verses of a distant poem, the information filled Cinder's head like rain fills a cupped leaf. A young male was approaching. She could see him clearly now in the swirling pool; young, black as the night, shining eyes of wildfire. He called himself Neithan, though his true title was Zabarack. Cinder briefly wondered why a young varg such as he would change his name, but an image of a pretty young she wolf entered her mind from his memory. Ah, so that was why. Neithan and Alice, they had both changed their names.

Cinder stood on her long thin legs and exited the cave, waiting for her visitor to arrive. She sat down in the small rocky clearing of her home, her horribly thin body shivering with both cold and expectation. Her thinned fur was a smoky gray and seemed to be striped in black ash. Her eyes did not match, the right was yellow and the left was deep purple, and neither did her face. The left half of her face was normal for an emaciated she wolf, but the right half was a twisted mass of scar tissue. No fur grew there, only the criss-crossing marks of tearing claws and fangs reminded- marks left by her own birthpack.

As the black male became visible through the trees and vines, Cinder spoke.

“Welcome, Neithan, or should I say, Zabarack.” She sounded far older than she was, her voice hoarse and cracked from lack of talking often. “If you want to find the truth of your past, you must first be truthful to your own name, no?”

She gave a good-natured laugh; it sounded as maddened and wicked as a witch’s, though in truth, Cinder was a caring and gentle creature. Most of the time.

//not too good, but meh.//

[Neithan]

"Welcome to the Vale, Neithan. Or should I say, Zabarack?" Her voice startled me; Tron hadn't informed me enough of what this might and would be like. I spoke while laughing mirthlessly. "Neithan, Zabarack, what do they matter? They are merely titles to present oneself as in an individualistic fashion. It matters naught what I am called, for I am who I am, and words cannot and will not express that. I suppose you also know why I call myself that. Much more fitting than Zabarack, do you not agree?" I was back to my former self, in a sense, the evil one shored back behind walls, of what they were made of mattered naught. Only that they were there and binding him mattered. "It fits me much for than he, does it not? I still call myself that, as you should know. The name fits me, and shall forever fit me, for I am the One who is Deprived, deprived of joy, deprived of happiness. You should know my sins as well as I. But I came naught to speak of those problems; I came to address a more minor issue, which I also believe you know. For the past is the future, and the future the past. There is no present." I shrugged. "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and it is not of my capability to know what the Wheel wills. That, I believe, is your job, and your job alone. At least, as far as I know of." Knowledge is power, for without knowledge varg could not hunt, varg could not eat. Without knowledge, all life would cease. Knowledge is power.

"Well, Cinder, I believe you know why I came, and I think you know what to do. Otherwise, I would not have journeyed here." I wonder, was Koran still to be my home, after the betrayals that I had wrenched onto it? I was desparate, I had no home, except for the ones he claimed, and those were tainted-at least, to me. Another bigger question would be is would Sabla forgive me? Forgivance is something not to be sought after, yet I sook it. I would need it, to rejoin Koran fully. Forgivance in this world is rarely given, and when it is, it is precious beyond belief. This much I knew.

"Well, Cinder, can you tell me the story of my past, the past of poor Neithan, deprived beyond belief? I wonder, will it despair you to look at it, or will it give you joy, and great hope for the future?" I ended on that note.[/size][/color]