Post by Crowe Starazo on Dec 7, 2017 8:13:30 GMT -5
Los Noches.
Something about the great castle unsettled Crowe. Even glancing at it, hundreds of kilometres away, as he did thousands times on his wandering, sent a strange feeling down his spine. Was it it's size, so large that it appeared a stone throw away, despite being four days travel? Was it the architecture, or the fact it was the only real structure of work in this endless desert? Whatever the case, for seven years Crowe had strayed far away from the castle, to keep away from those who inevitably walked within it's grand walls. For the protection of himself, and, he told himself, the protection of them as well.
How ironic his path now led him to it's gates.
"..." Crowe pulled the brown trench coat closer around his thin frame, it's collar overlapping his mouth. Only the corpses of the desert had anything to give to him. It was cold today in the endless desert of Hueco Mundo. Of course, it was always cold, but Crowe had been in the desert for so many years, he felt on some days, the cold was more biting. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, a thought to keep himself sane. "Perhaps the cold shall not nip at me within this acursed place. Hm, foxy?" Crowe thought to himself. He glanced behind him, some ten metres, where the translucent dull orange fox followed behind. "I'd hope so." He bitterly thought. "You're witness to why I have come to this damned fortress." The years of solitude and silence had finally gotten to him. The years of wandering, and walking, and walking. All of this had led him to the gates of Los Noches, where with luck, he will find someone with use for him.
The very size of Los Noches, now that he stood before it's very gates, caused a very specific kind of stress to run through his body. It was so large it was simply wrong. A great gaping hole lay some way nearby the entrance to Los Noches, causing Crowe to pause. It made him question the kind of people that lay within the so-called capitol of Hueco Mundo. Crowe knew he himself was a monster, but compared to the people he'd heard whispers of, that fought and died for the right to rule... he was nothing. He hesitated walking within the walls of the monsters that commanded the wastes, and the stress that practically oozed from his spiritual presence caused him to grip the blade at his waist tightly. Who knew what kind of monsters he would encounter beyond these gates. Reaching towards the entrance, Crowe breathed in.
It was with these people he would find purpose, or find his end.
And in the end, it didn't really matter to Crowe what happened.
The translucent fox followed, ever silent, ever distant.
-
WC: 471
Something about the great castle unsettled Crowe. Even glancing at it, hundreds of kilometres away, as he did thousands times on his wandering, sent a strange feeling down his spine. Was it it's size, so large that it appeared a stone throw away, despite being four days travel? Was it the architecture, or the fact it was the only real structure of work in this endless desert? Whatever the case, for seven years Crowe had strayed far away from the castle, to keep away from those who inevitably walked within it's grand walls. For the protection of himself, and, he told himself, the protection of them as well.
How ironic his path now led him to it's gates.
"..." Crowe pulled the brown trench coat closer around his thin frame, it's collar overlapping his mouth. Only the corpses of the desert had anything to give to him. It was cold today in the endless desert of Hueco Mundo. Of course, it was always cold, but Crowe had been in the desert for so many years, he felt on some days, the cold was more biting. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, a thought to keep himself sane. "Perhaps the cold shall not nip at me within this acursed place. Hm, foxy?" Crowe thought to himself. He glanced behind him, some ten metres, where the translucent dull orange fox followed behind. "I'd hope so." He bitterly thought. "You're witness to why I have come to this damned fortress." The years of solitude and silence had finally gotten to him. The years of wandering, and walking, and walking. All of this had led him to the gates of Los Noches, where with luck, he will find someone with use for him.
The very size of Los Noches, now that he stood before it's very gates, caused a very specific kind of stress to run through his body. It was so large it was simply wrong. A great gaping hole lay some way nearby the entrance to Los Noches, causing Crowe to pause. It made him question the kind of people that lay within the so-called capitol of Hueco Mundo. Crowe knew he himself was a monster, but compared to the people he'd heard whispers of, that fought and died for the right to rule... he was nothing. He hesitated walking within the walls of the monsters that commanded the wastes, and the stress that practically oozed from his spiritual presence caused him to grip the blade at his waist tightly. Who knew what kind of monsters he would encounter beyond these gates. Reaching towards the entrance, Crowe breathed in.
It was with these people he would find purpose, or find his end.
And in the end, it didn't really matter to Crowe what happened.
The translucent fox followed, ever silent, ever distant.
-
WC: 471