![[-]](https://www.horuset.com/images/igame/collapse.png "[-]")
30-04-2023, 11:42 AM
Entry 2: Legacy or Corpse?
The cyan blue projector flickers into life, a low quality recorder than an acolyte had managed to get his hands on. The image that appears would be that of an acolyte sat, their head hanging low to obscure most of their face. Rendvir's usual pristine hair gone, loose strands clumped together and hanging down over his face. Without lifting his gaze to the camera he speaks.
"If a knife was to slit my throat in the night, would I leave a legacy or a corpse behind..."
His words trail off before he lifts his head, his smile gone. An exasperated gaze meeting the viewer, bags around his eyes showing his lack of sleep. His hair out of place and unkempt and no tension at all in the muscles of his face. Something had shook the acolyte to his very core.
"That girl only left a corpse behind, she was nothing but a child. A Pureblood child who paid for the mistakes of her father. When I looked into her eyes I didn't see that girl looking back... but the child that I used to be. I saw my own fear and heartbreak of when my family estate was burned and I barely escaped reflected in her tear filled eyes. And if I die, nothing will have changed... I will leave nothing behind but the legacy of a fallen House."
Tension begins to form on the acolyte's face as he glances off to the side, a frown sets in and even the muscles in his neck tense. The gaze that returns to the camera is not mournful or tired, but instead piercing and determined. Looking into the viewer rather than at them.
"I will not die, nameless and forgotten. I tell myself this, this shall be the day I leave behind petty feelings of remorse for others... had that girl been a true foe I could have been struck down in my moment of weakness. Well, no more. The universe has had it's one and only chance... I will forge a legacy through blood sweat and tears. I will not be the death of House Arvanis."
With that the acolyte's taloned left hand would swipe around and knock the camera away, the recording cutting out with the sound of heavy, purposeful, footsteps against a cold durasteel floor.
The cyan blue projector flickers into life, a low quality recorder than an acolyte had managed to get his hands on. The image that appears would be that of an acolyte sat, their head hanging low to obscure most of their face. Rendvir's usual pristine hair gone, loose strands clumped together and hanging down over his face. Without lifting his gaze to the camera he speaks.
"If a knife was to slit my throat in the night, would I leave a legacy or a corpse behind..."
His words trail off before he lifts his head, his smile gone. An exasperated gaze meeting the viewer, bags around his eyes showing his lack of sleep. His hair out of place and unkempt and no tension at all in the muscles of his face. Something had shook the acolyte to his very core.
"That girl only left a corpse behind, she was nothing but a child. A Pureblood child who paid for the mistakes of her father. When I looked into her eyes I didn't see that girl looking back... but the child that I used to be. I saw my own fear and heartbreak of when my family estate was burned and I barely escaped reflected in her tear filled eyes. And if I die, nothing will have changed... I will leave nothing behind but the legacy of a fallen House."
Tension begins to form on the acolyte's face as he glances off to the side, a frown sets in and even the muscles in his neck tense. The gaze that returns to the camera is not mournful or tired, but instead piercing and determined. Looking into the viewer rather than at them.
"I will not die, nameless and forgotten. I tell myself this, this shall be the day I leave behind petty feelings of remorse for others... had that girl been a true foe I could have been struck down in my moment of weakness. Well, no more. The universe has had it's one and only chance... I will forge a legacy through blood sweat and tears. I will not be the death of House Arvanis."
With that the acolyte's taloned left hand would swipe around and knock the camera away, the recording cutting out with the sound of heavy, purposeful, footsteps against a cold durasteel floor.
