04-10-2022, 01:50 AM
One spring evening, what seemed like eons ago, his very life had been torn from him. On such an evening, sinister hands wrapped around all that he had loved, whisking them into the night as storms clouded his vision and slowed him, forcing him only to watch in awe and defeat. He had no say in the matter — his foolishness had cost him his family, a profound lack of insight and a distinct lapse in attention that had taken so much from him in just a breath. That day felt so long ago, so utterly ancient, yet the wounds upon Maximilian Caputo's psyche were fresh and open still, bright red, bleeding, and with a sting unlike he had ever felt before.
But he would not feel this pain again with any other thing, nor would any of his newfound comrades. He would make sure of it.
Beside him now were people he had pledged to protect, though they were quite far from family and could not possibly fill the gaping void that existed within him where his blood and kin once were. These were people with a mind like his, bonded by the worship of bravery and justice, marvelous justice. He supposed that in a way, these were his kin of some sort, though in all honestly he gazed upon them and felt no comfort from them. Perhaps it would just take a while to get used to clan life and to get to know these people that he had been traveling with. Not that he was ever particularly excited to socialize, anyway. All that mattered was that they had the same goal as him, and he was their valiant leader, destined to be their beacon of light when they needed it most. That's what it was, wasn't it?
Such a light was cast upon this territory that Max had scouted out for this roving band of his with the assistance of some members that had gone ahead and ensured that this woodland domain was unoccupied and capable of housing an entire group. The conclusion that he had come to after weeks of exploring this territory was that it was more than suitable for his clan, likely capable to withstand growth and their activities. With easy access to the water and a sprawling hilltop camp of abandoned cabins and lookout towers, this was certainly an opportunity he could not let pass so easily.
One spring morning, Maximilian and his band had entered this forested territory with hearts full of resolve, making their way up the hill and into the summer camp that awaited their arrival. Chocolate eyes, light and almost honey-like in the presence of the rising sun, glanced over at some unoccupied members carrying different colored flags: red, blue, green, yellow, and white. "Get 'em flying, nice 'nd high," he instructed them, watching them make their way to the housing clusters that held vacant flagpoles within the center of each of them. Max had planned this arrival with great depth and detail in a nearly obsessive manner, ensuring that their moving day would be as smooth as possible. The flags upon their poles, he believed, were symbols of hope and prosperity — and the fact that they had made it this far together. It was good to have a home for themselves after leading a nomadic lifestyle for so long.
On this spring morning, the flags upon their poles waved high and with a great vigor, as though to try and touch the heavens themselves.
But he would not feel this pain again with any other thing, nor would any of his newfound comrades. He would make sure of it.
Beside him now were people he had pledged to protect, though they were quite far from family and could not possibly fill the gaping void that existed within him where his blood and kin once were. These were people with a mind like his, bonded by the worship of bravery and justice, marvelous justice. He supposed that in a way, these were his kin of some sort, though in all honestly he gazed upon them and felt no comfort from them. Perhaps it would just take a while to get used to clan life and to get to know these people that he had been traveling with. Not that he was ever particularly excited to socialize, anyway. All that mattered was that they had the same goal as him, and he was their valiant leader, destined to be their beacon of light when they needed it most. That's what it was, wasn't it?
Such a light was cast upon this territory that Max had scouted out for this roving band of his with the assistance of some members that had gone ahead and ensured that this woodland domain was unoccupied and capable of housing an entire group. The conclusion that he had come to after weeks of exploring this territory was that it was more than suitable for his clan, likely capable to withstand growth and their activities. With easy access to the water and a sprawling hilltop camp of abandoned cabins and lookout towers, this was certainly an opportunity he could not let pass so easily.
One spring morning, Maximilian and his band had entered this forested territory with hearts full of resolve, making their way up the hill and into the summer camp that awaited their arrival. Chocolate eyes, light and almost honey-like in the presence of the rising sun, glanced over at some unoccupied members carrying different colored flags: red, blue, green, yellow, and white. "Get 'em flying, nice 'nd high," he instructed them, watching them make their way to the housing clusters that held vacant flagpoles within the center of each of them. Max had planned this arrival with great depth and detail in a nearly obsessive manner, ensuring that their moving day would be as smooth as possible. The flags upon their poles, he believed, were symbols of hope and prosperity — and the fact that they had made it this far together. It was good to have a home for themselves after leading a nomadic lifestyle for so long.
On this spring morning, the flags upon their poles waved high and with a great vigor, as though to try and touch the heavens themselves.
[glow=#008040,2,300]where is my mind?[/glow] — ☽
haha rip these goofs