Post by cloudedstormrunner on Sept 6, 2009 9:23:30 GMT -5
NOTE: Comments and constructive critiscism are welcome and appreciated ;D
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Words are complex things. Any one word can have so many meanings, depending on who is speaking and who is listening. Joy, sorrow, hope, agony. . . .
Ah, yes, agony. I am all too familiar with that word. It, as well as uncertainty, seems fond of my company, and the two can often be seen following me, whether from a distance or as my shadow. But, I digress. I stand here prattling and leave you to wonder.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Clouded Stormrunner, eldest child of Sable Stormrunner. I am the second youngest of my cousins before my brother, raised on the tales of old, too young to remember. . . .
My clan was once great, full of pride, our numbers far exceeding what they are now. Stormrunner. When people spoke this name, it was with respect. Keepers of lightning, in tune with nature. And still rarer and more powerful was the ability to weild shadows.We were one of the greatest lines to walk the earth.
But such power came at a price. Some members of my line grew unstable as their emotions began to overwhelm them, the control so vital to our kind shattering. This taint was kept a secret, for if the other clans learned of our curse, we would be disgraced. The might we prized so much would be our undoing.
Time passed, and the house of Stormrunner grew reclusive, more concerned about hiding its stigma than the glory it once knew. Its children scattered with the winds, roaving endlessly, now infused with the blood of wanderers. Perhaps it was my ancestors' hope that the genes that instigated the "defect" could be diffused.
Thus, my sire and his siblings came into the world, he the youngest of the brood. From birth he bore the markings of the elders, the promise of power. But misfortune dogged his every step as it seems is part of our curse. Born to a mother so filled with malice she could not care for him, raised by kinsmen who could not understand his origins. Over time, his strength grew, and at the same time he became as vengeful and bitter as my granddam.
My mother was a trusting soul, a child of earth and sunlight. She could not have known the horrors that plagued my father, for the name of Stormrunner was now whispered by few except the wind and trees. By the time she had begun to recognize him for what he was, it was too late. She could not leave the father of her child.
I was born, and my brother nearly two years later. The place we lived for the first five years of my life was but a patch of grass and trees in the midst of a barren waste. Fortune smiled on my mother, giving us the means to leave the confines of that forlorn tract of land. I can still remember the first time I gazed upon the deep forest with its pools of light and blankets of shadow, the place I have come to call home. It was in this place that my brother and I played and learned while our mother suffered in silence.
Our father was a symbol of fear, for as easily as he could laugh and jest, just as quickly could he break us with a look. Never did he raise a hand to strike us when his voice was as sharp as any knife that could cut to the bone. And my dear, brave mother weathered it all for the sake of her children, raising us almost single-handedly.
As my brother and I grew, the difference between the two of us became evident. Though he bears the name Stormrunner, it is our mother's blood of which he is made, her kin's powers that he posesses. I, like my father before me, bare the marks of the old ones, a living legacy to what once was.
Clever, curious, perceptive, arrogant. Talents true to my heritage developed. To feel the pulse of a storm, to ride its waves, be cleansed by rain and thunder. Ah, that is to live. Yet as this gift blossomed, another power grew unnoticed.
The shadow blood once valued by my kind stirred within me, whispering to me in words I could not understand. I was innocent of any knowledge of my line's curse, having been brought up on the stories of Stormrunner's golden days and the old ways.
So as a child I was baffled when others my age would barely speak to me, when I surpassed them in size and mental capacity at that point. Jealous of what they could not be, afraid of that which they could not understand. If they could not mold me to their whims, then they wanted nothing to d o with me. I could never seem to hold on to anyone.
This did not change as I grew, but I did. More and more, I became like my father, but instead of lashing out, I withdrew into myself. My mother had spent a good deal of time teaching me self -control. I was a sensitive child, and naturally competative. Whenever someone would outdo me, I would get horribly upset with myself. So I learned to ignore things, to control my emotions. If no one could see what I felt, learn what would cut me the deepest, then they could never use me, hurt me.
The darkness that flowed through my veins became more pronounced, and still I knew not what it was, though I knew it was there, just beneath the surface. Even then I had a strange notion that, if I failed to keep myself in check, the consequences would be dire. Then I crossed paths with a group of creatures the likes of which I'd never thought to encounter. I knew of their kinds and their abilities. I had seen the three of them before, watched them from a distance, envied their whimsy. So different, and yet so close to each other.
One of them, a child of fire, seemed intrigued by me. What posessed her to reach out to me will forever escape my comprehension. But I had become a cynic. I frustrated her, for no matter how she tried, she could barely get me to speak. I held my tongue, analyzing and gauging as had become my way. When I was satisfied, I spoke.
We two were different, but, at the same time, alike in so many ways. I simply could not yet see it. I thought her rash, naive. She would act without thinking, and she had a vicious temper when angered. Both of us being young and incredibly stubborn, we would butt heads on a regular basis. I would not give ground, but it was not my prerogative to argue with her, either. It was a waste of air, pointless. The Child of Fire is to this day, however, the only being to which I have no blood relation with whom I can recall having an all-out shouting match.
It was a few years later that, by chance, I met yet another fire bender. She was less than a year older than my own brother. And, as with the Child of Fire, she did not seem uneasy in my pressence. I did not know what to think during the short time we were acquainted.
The world shifted, and my comrades and I were someplace new. As with all major changes that I 've undergone, I was uneasy. So many new faces, all with the potential to be dear friends or bitter foes. But eventually I began to adjust. There were others here, older than I, that I found I could depend on, a first for me. Perhaps, I thought, just perhaps, this would not be so bad.
My father began showing an interst in my gifts. I was filled with mixed emotions. Happiness that finally he seemed to care, suspicion at the sudden change. By this time, through research and observation, I had begun to have a vague sense of what the unknown power within me was. But I was hesitant to work with it. No matter how sincere my father's interest, part of me would not allow me to seek help from the one who had for so long been the bringer of discord and unrest within my family.
And then tragedy struck. My mother, brother and I were involved in an accident. None of us were hurt, but that seemed the extent of our good fortune. My father was furious, blaming Mother for what happened. He went so far as to accuse her of almost killing us.
It was then that I came to know what it was that had so long slept within me. I was unsure of how to control it, and the only person who could understand was the cause of our sorrows. So, I was left to figure it out on my own.
For over a year things continued this way, and my mother began seeking a way to free us of Father's tyranny. So wound up in her search was she that she didn't realise that I was slipping.
I have always been different than her and my dear brother. So many of the traits others prized, as well as those they condemned in me, are his. How I look, my "tallents," even the way my mind works is the same. How does one live with themself when all they are resembles the one that brings so much pain?
In this state of uncertainty I met the one person in this world that I loathe with every fiber of my being. His name is Quinn. He is the leader of a horde of miscrients of all types. When he found me and learned of my predicament, he said that he could help me. I should have been suspicious then and there, but I could feel the tenuous state of my control, and I didn't know what else to do. I accepted his offer without question.
Quinn showed me how to use the dark gift, to interlace it's power with my stormbending. I repayed him for his help as best I could. Gathering intelligence, running errands, and, on occasion, dealing punishment to traitors. For a year I trained in this way. But I began to get the feeling something was amiss.
____________________________________________________
Words are complex things. Any one word can have so many meanings, depending on who is speaking and who is listening. Joy, sorrow, hope, agony. . . .
Ah, yes, agony. I am all too familiar with that word. It, as well as uncertainty, seems fond of my company, and the two can often be seen following me, whether from a distance or as my shadow. But, I digress. I stand here prattling and leave you to wonder.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Clouded Stormrunner, eldest child of Sable Stormrunner. I am the second youngest of my cousins before my brother, raised on the tales of old, too young to remember. . . .
My clan was once great, full of pride, our numbers far exceeding what they are now. Stormrunner. When people spoke this name, it was with respect. Keepers of lightning, in tune with nature. And still rarer and more powerful was the ability to weild shadows.We were one of the greatest lines to walk the earth.
But such power came at a price. Some members of my line grew unstable as their emotions began to overwhelm them, the control so vital to our kind shattering. This taint was kept a secret, for if the other clans learned of our curse, we would be disgraced. The might we prized so much would be our undoing.
Time passed, and the house of Stormrunner grew reclusive, more concerned about hiding its stigma than the glory it once knew. Its children scattered with the winds, roaving endlessly, now infused with the blood of wanderers. Perhaps it was my ancestors' hope that the genes that instigated the "defect" could be diffused.
Thus, my sire and his siblings came into the world, he the youngest of the brood. From birth he bore the markings of the elders, the promise of power. But misfortune dogged his every step as it seems is part of our curse. Born to a mother so filled with malice she could not care for him, raised by kinsmen who could not understand his origins. Over time, his strength grew, and at the same time he became as vengeful and bitter as my granddam.
My mother was a trusting soul, a child of earth and sunlight. She could not have known the horrors that plagued my father, for the name of Stormrunner was now whispered by few except the wind and trees. By the time she had begun to recognize him for what he was, it was too late. She could not leave the father of her child.
I was born, and my brother nearly two years later. The place we lived for the first five years of my life was but a patch of grass and trees in the midst of a barren waste. Fortune smiled on my mother, giving us the means to leave the confines of that forlorn tract of land. I can still remember the first time I gazed upon the deep forest with its pools of light and blankets of shadow, the place I have come to call home. It was in this place that my brother and I played and learned while our mother suffered in silence.
Our father was a symbol of fear, for as easily as he could laugh and jest, just as quickly could he break us with a look. Never did he raise a hand to strike us when his voice was as sharp as any knife that could cut to the bone. And my dear, brave mother weathered it all for the sake of her children, raising us almost single-handedly.
As my brother and I grew, the difference between the two of us became evident. Though he bears the name Stormrunner, it is our mother's blood of which he is made, her kin's powers that he posesses. I, like my father before me, bare the marks of the old ones, a living legacy to what once was.
Clever, curious, perceptive, arrogant. Talents true to my heritage developed. To feel the pulse of a storm, to ride its waves, be cleansed by rain and thunder. Ah, that is to live. Yet as this gift blossomed, another power grew unnoticed.
The shadow blood once valued by my kind stirred within me, whispering to me in words I could not understand. I was innocent of any knowledge of my line's curse, having been brought up on the stories of Stormrunner's golden days and the old ways.
So as a child I was baffled when others my age would barely speak to me, when I surpassed them in size and mental capacity at that point. Jealous of what they could not be, afraid of that which they could not understand. If they could not mold me to their whims, then they wanted nothing to d o with me. I could never seem to hold on to anyone.
This did not change as I grew, but I did. More and more, I became like my father, but instead of lashing out, I withdrew into myself. My mother had spent a good deal of time teaching me self -control. I was a sensitive child, and naturally competative. Whenever someone would outdo me, I would get horribly upset with myself. So I learned to ignore things, to control my emotions. If no one could see what I felt, learn what would cut me the deepest, then they could never use me, hurt me.
The darkness that flowed through my veins became more pronounced, and still I knew not what it was, though I knew it was there, just beneath the surface. Even then I had a strange notion that, if I failed to keep myself in check, the consequences would be dire. Then I crossed paths with a group of creatures the likes of which I'd never thought to encounter. I knew of their kinds and their abilities. I had seen the three of them before, watched them from a distance, envied their whimsy. So different, and yet so close to each other.
One of them, a child of fire, seemed intrigued by me. What posessed her to reach out to me will forever escape my comprehension. But I had become a cynic. I frustrated her, for no matter how she tried, she could barely get me to speak. I held my tongue, analyzing and gauging as had become my way. When I was satisfied, I spoke.
We two were different, but, at the same time, alike in so many ways. I simply could not yet see it. I thought her rash, naive. She would act without thinking, and she had a vicious temper when angered. Both of us being young and incredibly stubborn, we would butt heads on a regular basis. I would not give ground, but it was not my prerogative to argue with her, either. It was a waste of air, pointless. The Child of Fire is to this day, however, the only being to which I have no blood relation with whom I can recall having an all-out shouting match.
It was a few years later that, by chance, I met yet another fire bender. She was less than a year older than my own brother. And, as with the Child of Fire, she did not seem uneasy in my pressence. I did not know what to think during the short time we were acquainted.
The world shifted, and my comrades and I were someplace new. As with all major changes that I 've undergone, I was uneasy. So many new faces, all with the potential to be dear friends or bitter foes. But eventually I began to adjust. There were others here, older than I, that I found I could depend on, a first for me. Perhaps, I thought, just perhaps, this would not be so bad.
My father began showing an interst in my gifts. I was filled with mixed emotions. Happiness that finally he seemed to care, suspicion at the sudden change. By this time, through research and observation, I had begun to have a vague sense of what the unknown power within me was. But I was hesitant to work with it. No matter how sincere my father's interest, part of me would not allow me to seek help from the one who had for so long been the bringer of discord and unrest within my family.
And then tragedy struck. My mother, brother and I were involved in an accident. None of us were hurt, but that seemed the extent of our good fortune. My father was furious, blaming Mother for what happened. He went so far as to accuse her of almost killing us.
It was then that I came to know what it was that had so long slept within me. I was unsure of how to control it, and the only person who could understand was the cause of our sorrows. So, I was left to figure it out on my own.
For over a year things continued this way, and my mother began seeking a way to free us of Father's tyranny. So wound up in her search was she that she didn't realise that I was slipping.
I have always been different than her and my dear brother. So many of the traits others prized, as well as those they condemned in me, are his. How I look, my "tallents," even the way my mind works is the same. How does one live with themself when all they are resembles the one that brings so much pain?
In this state of uncertainty I met the one person in this world that I loathe with every fiber of my being. His name is Quinn. He is the leader of a horde of miscrients of all types. When he found me and learned of my predicament, he said that he could help me. I should have been suspicious then and there, but I could feel the tenuous state of my control, and I didn't know what else to do. I accepted his offer without question.
Quinn showed me how to use the dark gift, to interlace it's power with my stormbending. I repayed him for his help as best I could. Gathering intelligence, running errands, and, on occasion, dealing punishment to traitors. For a year I trained in this way. But I began to get the feeling something was amiss.