Choices. Looking back, they were all he had. All you ever had, your own choices. Make them, live with what follows.
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Love. Seen it used too many times as an excuse. It is not an answer."
"That wasn't my question."
"What is love then? Is it blindly ignoring everything you do not want to see? Is it letting everything else go because of some warm feeling and flesh? Tell me then, what is it?"
A sigh. "You haven't."
Freeze. A moment between breaths, still the beating heart. Only the mind races. What is love? Oh, how much rage and anger can one soul hold. To think that she knows what love is just because she had spread her legs for another. Look where that got her, that was not love. Oh stupid girl. Stupid, foolish girl.
Love is risking a limb to feed your starving sister.
My choice.
Love is taking the beating for not having the dues, having spent it all on medicine for the fever she suffers.
For love, it is my choice.
Love is opening a throat when the fancy men come crawling, keeping her safe from them.
It is wrong, I know it, but I do it for love. If there are consequences, I will suffer them.
Love is having her cast you aside at the first chance of something better, claiming she does it for love.
How can this be love? Still, it is her choice.
Love is watching her realise the truth. Something better doesn't exist for the likes of us, just pain and degredation.
Love is just a way to excuse the pain others inflict on you. Now, the consequences of her choice.
Love is sparing her further loss and humiliation, rocking her in your arms as the eyelids slowly flutter once, twice, no more.
I will make the choice she no longer can, and I will live with it. Love is no excuse.
A turn, two steps, and a sweep of the arm. That is all it would take, and once again he would be rocking her in his arms, soothing her to sleep as her eyelids slowly flutter closed. A shift in balance, preparation for that first step. A flick of the wrist, and the hilt slides into his palm. Cold steel, just waiting.
Time moves on. The heart beats, a breath is drawn. A chill against his forearm, then up his spine.
No. Not this time. This is not my choosing.
Step away, move on.
"Love is just another excuse."
Choices
-
johnlewismcleod
- Dungeon Master
- Posts: 2021
- Joined: Mon Nov 17, 2008 1:37 am
- Location: Tarrant County, Texas
Re: Choices
+1 more, pleaseMick wrote:Nice.
I seek plunder....and succulent greens
[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*
Retired PC's: Torquil, Gwenevere
Former PC's: Rugo, Flora, Rory Mor
[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*
Retired PC's: Torquil, Gwenevere
Former PC's: Rugo, Flora, Rory Mor
Re: Choices
A deep breath, a long exhalation. "Tal....."
Strange how things turn out, what choices people make. Why they make them.
Dawn's move was surprising in some ways, yet not in others. Luring him close with his greatest desire, only to snatch it away out of reach at the last moment. Poor bastard. Broken in mind, and soon to be broken in body, his choices stripped away, and she plays games with him. Still, what's a bit of salt on an acid burned wound? No doubt she had some harebrained scheme in mind, but the guard put an end to it. Almost wanted to see what would have happened if her spell failed. Ill thought that, but acknowledge it's existence.
Marcus...now there was a real surprise. Gentleness and compassion were not often seen in such dark, dank places, yet there it was. Why did his thoughts turn that way? Perhaps his scholarship of the mind left him empathy for one now less than a broken vessel. Restraint, a rare thing these days and something to remember.
The girl though, the stranger, she gave reason for pause. Claimed to see visions, uncalled for and uncontrolled, but seen nonetheless. Lying or not, hard to say. Jonas seemed to accept it. Claimed things would be alright for him. Claimed he'd find peace or something. Stay the hand, maybe she's right. The guard denied it though, he'd hang in a day or two. Where does this peace come from then? Who's hand would give it, for there was surely none to be found dangling and kicking at the end of a noose. Then she screams, and falls. No happy vision this time, clearly.
Noone else acts, they simply leave. None take the choice upon themselves. Nor will I, not again, but I will give him the chance to choose for himself.
Man, look in the cracks. Perhaps you'll find a ray of light, what you truly want. It is your choice.
Outside once more, under the stars, the stranger is babbling. Move apart, watch, observe. Wait for the choice to be made clear. Discussion on what to do now, background noise, then a door slamming open and a guard storming out. One look at the guards angry, panicked face, and there is no need to hear his words. You chose, and soon you'll know. Angry words and accusations fly. I chose to allow this. So easy it would have been to step back, slip into shadow, but it isn't so easy to escape the consequences of our choices. Waiting, watching the others.
Now Louen. It hasn't been an easy night for him. What child enjoys walking in their parents shadow for too long? Questioned at every step, and now this. A good fellow, this much I can regret. A deep breath, then my name. I chose to allow this.
Now the consequences.
"Just leave."
Strange how things turn out, what choices people make. Why they make them.
Dawn's move was surprising in some ways, yet not in others. Luring him close with his greatest desire, only to snatch it away out of reach at the last moment. Poor bastard. Broken in mind, and soon to be broken in body, his choices stripped away, and she plays games with him. Still, what's a bit of salt on an acid burned wound? No doubt she had some harebrained scheme in mind, but the guard put an end to it. Almost wanted to see what would have happened if her spell failed. Ill thought that, but acknowledge it's existence.
Marcus...now there was a real surprise. Gentleness and compassion were not often seen in such dark, dank places, yet there it was. Why did his thoughts turn that way? Perhaps his scholarship of the mind left him empathy for one now less than a broken vessel. Restraint, a rare thing these days and something to remember.
The girl though, the stranger, she gave reason for pause. Claimed to see visions, uncalled for and uncontrolled, but seen nonetheless. Lying or not, hard to say. Jonas seemed to accept it. Claimed things would be alright for him. Claimed he'd find peace or something. Stay the hand, maybe she's right. The guard denied it though, he'd hang in a day or two. Where does this peace come from then? Who's hand would give it, for there was surely none to be found dangling and kicking at the end of a noose. Then she screams, and falls. No happy vision this time, clearly.
Noone else acts, they simply leave. None take the choice upon themselves. Nor will I, not again, but I will give him the chance to choose for himself.
Man, look in the cracks. Perhaps you'll find a ray of light, what you truly want. It is your choice.
Outside once more, under the stars, the stranger is babbling. Move apart, watch, observe. Wait for the choice to be made clear. Discussion on what to do now, background noise, then a door slamming open and a guard storming out. One look at the guards angry, panicked face, and there is no need to hear his words. You chose, and soon you'll know. Angry words and accusations fly. I chose to allow this. So easy it would have been to step back, slip into shadow, but it isn't so easy to escape the consequences of our choices. Waiting, watching the others.
Now Louen. It hasn't been an easy night for him. What child enjoys walking in their parents shadow for too long? Questioned at every step, and now this. A good fellow, this much I can regret. A deep breath, then my name. I chose to allow this.
Now the consequences.
"Just leave."
Re: Choices
... Whoops...
Part of ALFA since May 2000.
NWN 2 PC (BG): Layali Mae (Arcane Trickster)
NWN 2 PC (MS): Marius Lobhdain (Druid)
NWN 2 PC (BG): Layali Mae (Arcane Trickster)
NWN 2 PC (MS): Marius Lobhdain (Druid)
Curmudgeon in IRC wrote:(2:29:40 PM) Curmudgeon: The community wants 24/7 DM coverage, free xp, and a suit of mithral plate mail in every pchest.
Re: Choices
Another ‘thunk’ echoed softly across the swamp, perhaps 200 yards away. Looks like he finally lost me. Persistent bastard though, been four days now. Seems the swamp was the right path after all, the soft ground did take tracks well but they soon vanished as the waters slowly seeped in. Lying in the mud under a bush, Tal tensed but did not move, keeping his breathing steady as the noise slowly died away.
Ridiculous to think that a pig farmer had nearly put an end to him after everything else he’d been through, and all because he hadn’t turned the daughter away. She’d quite literally thrown herself on him, and it wasn’t like he’d encouraged her. Well, not much. A few stories of the world outside her valley, a bit of dancing and a small malachite pendant that set off her eyes nicely. Not like it’d sell for more than a silver or two anyway. Point is, she’d wanted it and he hadn’t said no, and now her father was trying to decorate him with some unwanted feathers. Why didn’t I just open his throat?
A sudden image of that whore working with the necromancer sprang to mind, and he cut off a curse. Couldn’t believe he hadn’t feathered her throat when he had the chance either. She was lying through her teeth and seemed happy enough to go around murdering until she was caught, then it’s all tears and tales of woe and a vague promise of treasure. This place is making me soft. Sure Syl would have been angry, but that would have been the end of it. He doubted there was even anyone else involved. She’d had her fun then spun some unlikely tale designed to get her off the hook, and while Syl wasn’t a fool to take her at her word, she did have some foolish notions about the right way to do things sometimes. Should have just ended it there in that ruin.
A sharp cry echoed through the woods, followed by what sounded like panicked splashing. He grimaced, not hard to imagine what had happened. Swamps like this were full of the bones of unwary travellers and hunters. Not a nice way to die either. Muttering a curse he pushed himself up, then started moving toward the noise. Sure enough he soon found the farmer, clawing desperately for a hold at anything in reach as the bog slowly sucked him down. “Tell you what, you forget about putting an arrow in me and I’ll help you out of there. Deal?” He started digging in his pack for some rope, not even waiting for the answer as the splashing noises stopped. “Right, now jus...” a gleam of light caught his eye and he threw himself to the side, nearly ending up in the bog himself. A sharp pain ran along his cheek, then something moist down it. Blinking in disbelief, he wiped his cheek then stared at the blood on his hand. Is he insane? Drowning in a bog and he throws a dagger at the only way out? He sat there staring at the man, and then it clicked. He remembered men with that look in their eye. Pride was a madness in them, about all they had, and they’d break the world if they thought it had wounded theirs. One of the girls his sister worked with back in Suzail had laughed when a mark was leaving her, what he’d left of her would never turn another trick. They’d turn up every now and then, and the girls would just do what they had to, and do it quietly.
With a sickened feeling, he remembered the strange noise that woke him at the cottage. He’d thought it just one of the pigs, but the quiet approach on the stairs afterwards had him gathering his gear and checking the window, still half asleep and not really conscious. Good thing he had, for when the farmer had come through the door with his pigsticker up Tal was out and away. He knew now what he’d find if he went back, her eyes won’t be matching that malachite anymore, and he knew why this bastard had spent the last four days hunting him.
He wiped his cheek, not looking away from the man. Drawing the waxed string from his pouch, he slipped his bowstave off his back and then strung it with a practised motion. He drew an arrow, nocked and loosed smoothly, then slowly picked up his bag and rope, packing everything away.
I’m sick of this place. I’m going home.
Ridiculous to think that a pig farmer had nearly put an end to him after everything else he’d been through, and all because he hadn’t turned the daughter away. She’d quite literally thrown herself on him, and it wasn’t like he’d encouraged her. Well, not much. A few stories of the world outside her valley, a bit of dancing and a small malachite pendant that set off her eyes nicely. Not like it’d sell for more than a silver or two anyway. Point is, she’d wanted it and he hadn’t said no, and now her father was trying to decorate him with some unwanted feathers. Why didn’t I just open his throat?
A sudden image of that whore working with the necromancer sprang to mind, and he cut off a curse. Couldn’t believe he hadn’t feathered her throat when he had the chance either. She was lying through her teeth and seemed happy enough to go around murdering until she was caught, then it’s all tears and tales of woe and a vague promise of treasure. This place is making me soft. Sure Syl would have been angry, but that would have been the end of it. He doubted there was even anyone else involved. She’d had her fun then spun some unlikely tale designed to get her off the hook, and while Syl wasn’t a fool to take her at her word, she did have some foolish notions about the right way to do things sometimes. Should have just ended it there in that ruin.
A sharp cry echoed through the woods, followed by what sounded like panicked splashing. He grimaced, not hard to imagine what had happened. Swamps like this were full of the bones of unwary travellers and hunters. Not a nice way to die either. Muttering a curse he pushed himself up, then started moving toward the noise. Sure enough he soon found the farmer, clawing desperately for a hold at anything in reach as the bog slowly sucked him down. “Tell you what, you forget about putting an arrow in me and I’ll help you out of there. Deal?” He started digging in his pack for some rope, not even waiting for the answer as the splashing noises stopped. “Right, now jus...” a gleam of light caught his eye and he threw himself to the side, nearly ending up in the bog himself. A sharp pain ran along his cheek, then something moist down it. Blinking in disbelief, he wiped his cheek then stared at the blood on his hand. Is he insane? Drowning in a bog and he throws a dagger at the only way out? He sat there staring at the man, and then it clicked. He remembered men with that look in their eye. Pride was a madness in them, about all they had, and they’d break the world if they thought it had wounded theirs. One of the girls his sister worked with back in Suzail had laughed when a mark was leaving her, what he’d left of her would never turn another trick. They’d turn up every now and then, and the girls would just do what they had to, and do it quietly.
With a sickened feeling, he remembered the strange noise that woke him at the cottage. He’d thought it just one of the pigs, but the quiet approach on the stairs afterwards had him gathering his gear and checking the window, still half asleep and not really conscious. Good thing he had, for when the farmer had come through the door with his pigsticker up Tal was out and away. He knew now what he’d find if he went back, her eyes won’t be matching that malachite anymore, and he knew why this bastard had spent the last four days hunting him.
He wiped his cheek, not looking away from the man. Drawing the waxed string from his pouch, he slipped his bowstave off his back and then strung it with a practised motion. He drew an arrow, nocked and loosed smoothly, then slowly picked up his bag and rope, packing everything away.
I’m sick of this place. I’m going home.