Fury: Veszran Rylin'ae

[triple]

Crouching in the dirt, in the shadow and darkness I looked to the snow filled sky. The clouds were blocking the moon from sight however, with my keen eyes I could see very well. This is what I did when I wanted to be alone, in the shadow of the woods South of Vallaki. Looking, watching. Thoughts mulling over in my head of a very difficult future and past filled with the blood of my people.

My hand lowered itself to the dirt and felt of the cold upon it as the snow floated down beyond the trees. Coating leaves. Frosting bark and the very dirt of the Barovian land. This was not my place, it was not my home. I hated it. I would always hate it. But I am very good at hiding my hatred inside of me only to unleash it on those I deem worthy of a quick death.

Mistakes were made..lessons were learned by doing what it is we males do best. Spilling our blood for the sake. But through my mistakes I have become stronger. Wiser. More patient. Patience for the strike in the end. To cut my knife into flesh at last. A long requited love that my metal should penetrate and touch blood.

I am not important and thankful for it. But I am not a good man, nor will I ever be. I am my people's retribution for the pains we have endured through the time we have been here. Eventually I will be able to requited what my true wish is.

An old owl seemed to sound in the woods. A rustling of the breeze. All these things, I feel on my skin. Sound and vibrations. A howl in the distant and deeper woods. My face, I could feel was a stone mask amidst the absolute and total fury that I felt, boiling inside of me but unable to meet a dagger to flesh. Soon...soon.

[triple]

9 August

[this seems to be written in undercommon.]

Running, always running. Always upset. Always searching and looking for the ones I have loved, for the ones I want. In the darkness and in the stench of this world. This nightmare that I have gotten myself into. I have not seen my sister in years but I do not wish to see her. I know what it will be. More pain. Whether I want it or not. Half of my life, has been me, being in pain because of a woman's hand. And here, I am nearly exempt from it save for when I do see a female of my kind. Or when a hand is dealt raw in my favor.  But I am done running. I am done fleeing from those of which will do me harm. I will find that particular part of their necks and strike them in the soft part. My sister always had a soft part in my heart, as black as it is. And for all my faults. Did I fail her by running? Did I fail her by turning my back and slinking into the shadows. But the shadows have never failed me, not once. The shadows have accepted in me open arms many times. Held me in her warm embrace like a soft blanket.

My rebellious nature however, has landed me in a place that I expected. I am an opportunist. How would my sister think of me if she knew I was sharing a bed with an ar'tel'quessir? How would she look? Perhaps it was that look of utter disappointment as to why I did it. Just the mere thought of it makes me smile. Or, perhaps she would approve knowing her past interests. I can still feel the heat of the bed in my memory, as if years had gone by, years. Have I even tried to look for Sorry? No. I haven't. I know she's likely in the shadows having been watched me all this time. Perhaps I am too hopeful for that. I do know, that if any of my enemies do show up, like they did last time? I will kill them. The blood is still freshly running down my lips, my beaten face and my back. On my knees where I belong? No more. No more.

I can feel the rage bubbling in me. I can feel it consuming me with utter hatred. Hatred for my people, the very skin on my back. But yet, they are mine and I am theirs. I will forever be a product of my mother and father. Of my people. The skin of my skin. But I will do for my life what I can to improve conditions and not be rolling around in the muck forever. They will know my rage in the end. Deep, unbridled, uncontrolled rage. I feel sorry for the first man, woman or 'cult' who tries my hand.  Who antagonizes me. Even I don't know what emotions hide under my skin. And when I am vulnerable is when I have a killer's eye.