#jackariah

[judaciously]

i love u

i love you too!!

[thejackariahn-blog]

When the Demons rise from hell and the angels fall nothing will be here nothing at all

Jackariah N.

[bigironjuliette]

Something something I gotta practice writing.

The winter breeze gnawed at his skin like a tick, sucking the life from his silver eyes and spotting his pale, scarred skin with flecks of white. The bleeding in his abdomen had been slowed by thick bandaging and the unrelenting winds of the Northlands adding, much to his hellish torture. He awoke with a jump, his heart at a gallop as he recalled a horrific sight from before he fell unconscious hours before. Dire wolves encircled the camp he awoke in earlier that day, but the bleeding was too much. He had fallen unconscious again, and without his aid, the one responsible for saving him would not be able to pack up the camp before the wolves struck. He scanned the site in a hazy terror, only finding shades of red and pink upon the snow remaining of his savior. She thought the traps would have kept them back long enough, but the dire wolves were smarter, and descended upon her from the cliffs above the camp, only leaving him there for the mistaken belief of his death. He fell to his knees, dying alone in the woods, where no wolf would claim his carcass before the ice had made him solid. He crawled back into the ruins of the tent he awoke in, and collapsed onto the ground. The last thing he laid eyes upon was the arrow that struck him into these final moments, pulled from his body by the lover he never got to love. Just as soon as his eyes fluttered shut upon the cold snow, they shot open in the warmth of rented room, an hour's trip from the castle of his mark. He made a mental note to beware archers as he donned his armor for the hunt.

[bigironjuliette]

Jackariah stood solemnly in a dark forest, feeling the night breeze upon his face. It was biting and cold, but it would not reach his eyes. His thoughts had consumed him as he wandered in what he only perceived as unending black. "Do I still exist?" He asked the forest, unsurprised by the silence. "Does anyone dream of me? Or think of me? At all?" It had been what he could only think of as a year since he abandoned his companions in the night, seeking to free them from having to care for him. "What good is a blind archer?" Tears welled up in his eyes, only to be sucked away by the bandages that covered them. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing to himself. Once he realized he'd never see Emilia’s face again, he'd never felt more alone. In this unending moment of black, all he would feel is sorrow.

[bigironjuliette]

Short story

Jackariah ran from beam to beam, hunting his way across a sand-beaten rafter, looking for what would be his mark. Black tricorn hat, large facial scar. Wonderfully descriptive. Especially when your mark is part of an outfit of mercenaries who wear black tricorns. Even worse was the idea of finding a facial scar from above. Genius all around. He tightened the leather brace that held his shield to his back. The last thing he needed was a steel tower collapsing down onto a few mercs. Thankfully he wrapped it thick with burlap, keeping it concealed in the ruthless desert sun. He hung himself upside-down from the beam and gazed down onto the crowd, bow drawn and aiming about. The doors swung open to another mercenary, with a regal red plume coming from one corner of his tricorn. He also bore the scar Jackariah's contractor told him about. The bastard didn't tell him it was the leader! Jackariah was already forming his choice of words to his contractor as he drew back an arrow and set it sailing towards his mark. It cleanly pierced his skull, and down collapsed the captain. Shortly after, Jackariah fell down from the rafter, crashing down onto several mercenaries. 'No witnesses', he reminded himself. Drawing his blade and shield, he danced through crowds of terror-struck warriors, swinging both shield and sword about in a whirlwind of death. Before long, he stood in a longhouse crammed full of corpses, blood soaking his shawl and dripping from his gloves. He scaled the wall of the longhouse and left through the same hole he entered from, a crimson snake leaving triumphant from a slaughter of prey. The adder feasts on this evening, a gift unbeknownst to him for several months.