Canon Leather Journal

[Cymic_]

(Below is a few writings Cymic carries around with him in a single leather journal. This is OOC info, unless you have the journal IC.)

You open the door to the cellar. In your view, you see several large kegs, stepping by the wine rack on your right with a passing glance. On the far side of the basement, you stumble upon a large bookshelf, looking around timidly as if you know you shouldn't be in here. You venture on, still, reaching the shelf, you notice a singe leather journal open, yet dusty. extending off your tip-toes, you're able to pull it off the case. It fell shut in your hands, a gust of dust spurring into your face. You sputter for a moment. Brushing off the cover with a smooth wipe of your sleeve, you reveal a large C S, one letter overlapping the other and after a moment of confusion, you begin to turn through the old pages curiously. Inside it, you find several short stories.

 

[Cymic_]

Aspects of Life and Death

Death would not exist without life, and in some cases, life would not exist without death. It is a mystery of how those who are slain in public have a knack to rarely return, weeks after such. Is it true, that the gods will throw you back into the world because you've more to contribute to the world It seems someone spilled something on the page.
-or is it that the gods do not want you. Your presence is so strongly distasteful, they toss you back to the plain of the living so fast you hit your head and forget everything.

If you've witnessed someone blown down in front of you, to return months after, do not burn them at the stake like they are one of Skraag's undead.

Through first-hand experience, i'd seem the divine only accept the best of men, and damn the rest to Altera.

I have lived four lives and died three deaths.

A mere soldier, in war.
A deserved death to a handful of goons.
At the hands of an indominable goblin of fair size.

Yet i have not ceased to exist, i still roam. Whether it be a sin, or a gift, do not take for granted what you are granted.​

 

[Cymic_]

Responsibility, Infidelity

It is a cold world when the very imperfection of a woman you have known to live, and love can turn the tides of your life. When you devote yourself to someone the world, even she, herself, shuns, but it is not the same person you see when you see her. When she hides behind baggy clothes and a mask, but you are able to see through the key hole of her door, and the pile of rocks behind it.

But you like rocks. You take the key from around your neck and you try it, and it may not be the right match.. But with a few heavy budges, you reluctantly pry her door open to the world.

Her rocks are scarred, and weathered. But you know under those rocks is a gem many would steal, but you do not take it. Every single rock you would polish by hand until she.. looked slightly less weathered. If anyone would dare make fun of your rocks, you'd pelt them with most weathered of the rocks until nothing but the shiniest rocks were left.

The treasure is uncovered, but you do not take it. She gives it to you. A weakly beating heart, frail and scared.

Her doors have been opened, her rocks have been polished, her treasure has been claimed, and it is very clear to see. The more the world would see, the more the world would want her. She has been spending more time out in the world, and who would you be to stop her. It is what you have worked up to, that she would be comfortable to show herself. You are quiet about it, as your qualms are ceased by the beating of her heart.

The world wants her, and all her time out in the world has led her to new opportunities. You do not mind, as she knows you have her heart, and you go to relax by the beating of her heart, but you'd hear no beat. The heart she gifted you was stolen. By a goat.

A fucking goat- Anyway. You tie your boots to hunt you up some chevon. You stumble upon the goat, but can only wound it. .. Despite everything, you do not find her heart with the goat and you start to panic.

Perhaps you misplaced it. Retracing your steps, you stumble upon the cabinet where you kept her heart safe. There it was- but it no longer held any type of beat. The whole time you had her heart, you did not realize this meant she was heartless.

Your mountain of pride would come crumbling into a large pile of stones, too many to count. Your doors were broken, forced to remain open. Many would take your rocks, and you'd willingly give them away, as it was the only way you saw fit to uncover your own treasure.

Over time, the amount of rocks you had were dwindling. Upon losing your last rock, you'd realize it was too late, for your own heart had stopped beating long ago.

And they ask me the same question i ask myself. At what point is it time to stop the excuses, and take responsibility for my poor choices. Her infidelity had sparked a lifetime's worth of infidelity on your end. But you must take responsibility, right?​

 

[Cymic_]

Jouster's Payne

There once was a joust
in the land of green and yellow.
The people became roused
as they waited for the show.

I joined the crowd.
from the stands i heard bellowed.
A small man with a voice loud.
"Gather round, the few competing fellow!"

I stood in my armored disguise.
The joust was soon to start.
The fourth tilt, lances fly
The boy's choice in armor was not smart.

What happened next cause the crowd to rise.
The boy in leather was torn apart.
The faint-hearted began to drop like dead flies.
On the ground lay 'Son of Payne' with a lance through his heart.

Raphael Payne ZeroOrgan ​

 

[Kamaoe]

I am excited for this.
I don't know what kind of stories they'll be, but I know they'll be good.~

 

[Squidziod]

I like it so far.

 

[Cymic_]

Two stories have been added.

 

[Cymic_]

I like it so far.

Thanks!

 

[Bitann]

8) I like this.

 

[Kamaoe]

I like this. This is good.
Keep up the good work~

 

[JoeJoe]

Pretty awesome

 

[Shao]

Cool

 

[Cymic_]

Added in the last story for now.

 

[Auriel]

aaaaaaa