Heart of Obsidian

A man's honor is not determined by his strength, nor his wisdom. Not his power, not his honesty, and not his compassion. A man's honor is determined only by how far he would go to break it. Welcome to the blog of an aspiring writer! I'm hoping to share little tendrils and wisps of my mind with you, and hope that you all enjoy it. Thank you.

[beautifuldeathhbo]

[beautifuldeathhbo]

[beautifuldeathhbo]

[beautifuldeathhbo]

[beautifuldeathhbo]

[writtenwithwroth-blog]

Dreaming and Dancing

That night, I dream again.

It was beautiful, at first. There were colossal figures in the distances, sheathed in shifting wreaths of bright, battered color. Pure, vibrant colors. They were dancing, kissing, moving together as one.

I noticed a blade in my hand, soft and glowing. I passed my fingers through it, and felt them part the soft light. An overwhelming fear overcame me, and I dropped the sword. It fell to the ground, where it was swallowed.

I began to move closer, and the colors laughed, taking my hands and making me dance with them. After a few moments, I began to laugh. It was all just so beautiful, I hoped it would never win.

But of course, it did.

Dark figures rose up and out of the ground. Faceless figures that struck terror into my heart. They were beautiful as well, hard and strong, but evil, so evil. They were the Giants of an age long past, something to gaze at from afar, but never near. 

They were all shades of the black, grey and coal and onyx. As they neared, a cold settled over me, and I began to shiver. Their skins were shifting smokes, the wreathing grey nothingness, void of any color or hope. They smelled like the rot of sin.  

My colors formed a circle around me, forcing me in the middle. They were not dancing now, instead they were staunch and grim.The pillars of light.

A moment passed, then another, hope started to creep back into me. Perhaps the shades would pass on, stay away from us. But the cold only intensified, and suddenly they fell on us.

Suddenly, all around me, there was war. The two great forces fought, leapt apart, and met again. The bright, strong Blue in front of me struck down a devil, then another, and more. But there were too many, far too many.

Green, sweet, gay green, fell as a horde of demons blacker than a starless night overran her. Red, harder than iron, was torn apart as ebony beasts bit and pulled at him. And yellow, the brightest of them all ...

When yellow fell, a burst of light blinded me for a long time. I screamed, staggered around, my hands outstretched, pain engulfing me. Even unseeing, I felt the brightness being sucked out of the world.

When my sight returned, it was only me and the dancing shadows.

HO

[beautifuldeathhbo]

[writtenwithwroth-blog]

Heart of Obsidian

Men have different hearts.

Some have hearts of gold, and the blood that runs through their veins is no more than the jingle of coin. Their minds speak only in the language of income and interest, and they are forever set on rising higher, their greed knowing no bounds.

Some might have hearts of iron, with blood running thick with terrible anger and the wordless screams of the dying. They are the children born from sinful passion and the anger of gods, and so they know little else.

Others have hearts of shadow, cloaked in treachery. Their blood is no blood at all, only the wisps of the damned, fuelling their minds with lusts and deceit. Their faces are hidden, their hands are soft, and they do not flinch from any crime, no matter how low.

And a rare few have hearts of obsidian. Sharper than iron, rarer than gold, darker than shadow. They might fight and kill and die, and none would ever know it. But a time will come, for those of the Obsidian Heart, when a forceful, rigid push will break them. And the pieces of their heart will fly, scattering faster than leaves in a storm.

HO

[beautifuldeathhbo]