[SOLO] Welcome...Home?? (Rathsvith)

[Seussi]

This was a joke. It had to be. But if it was a joke then it was made in the poorest taste imaginable, one that was quite bitter and disgusting against the death horseman's tongue. That same disgust was written clearly across his face when he arrived, a bag slung over one broad shoulder, dark red eyes scanning the so called "Lost Clans Sanctuary".

Sanctuary. A place of refuge for those who had become without a home. It had been over a year, nearly two years, and he was only just very recently finding out what had happened to their kind, the reason for why he was now stepping through a portal to wind up here, instead of where he had expected, and would have much rather been.

The bodies of the others that had arrived with him bustled around him, their own expressions ranging from ones much like his to open disbelief and horror. Some brushed him with wings as they moved past, some offered gruff words, knocking against his shoulder as if to capture his attention, but all he could find himself doing was staring at what was laid out before him, his lips pursed into a firm line.

It was some time before he could make himself move, his insides a writhing mass of emotions that he couldn't let himself show right now. First he had to find his family, to make sur---no, not to make sure they had made it, because of course they had. His parents, his sister, they would not have succumbed to whatever the hunters had created that had destroyed the isles. They were made of tougher stuff then that.

Shrugging his bag so that it sat straighter on his shoulder, he took his first foot steps into the encampment, the first order of business on his mind to find out where his family was staying.  

[Seussi]

He had never felt so lost in his life. Always he had been driven by purpose, by duty, and by the honor. Committed to his work. He knew his place.

He didn't know his place, here.

That drive that had always so spurned him forward now dwindled and died, as his hopes of finding his parents and his sister slowly became crushed. He had searched the encampment for what had felt like hours now, heading towards the obvious direction, towards the smoking pyres that left a familiar, cloying scent in the air. Death belonged in that area, and it was where his family would surely be.

But after interrogating many others, those who had been here for much longer, some who had been there from the beginning, it was to find out that nobody had seen them, that he had been the first. He did not ask after cousins, after aunts or uncles. He only wished to find those that were his more immediate kin.

His steps slowed to a stop. His eyes stung but he told himself it was only from the smoke, that which he had been accustomed to once but had spent too much time away from. Too much time away.

He'd been gone too long. He could have been there if not for his everlasting desire to do his soldiers duty instead.

Eventually, he began to move again, his steps more hurried as he pushed his way through crowds, past tents and stalls, and away from the more populated area that he had found himself standing in. He didn't stop walking until he found himself at the edge of the clans grounds, alone.

He was alone.

Lifting his face to the sky, he let out a cry, wordless, long and loud, filled with all of his rage, his anguish, his sorrow for those that were lost.

Alone.

He found himself gasping in for air loudly, his eyes closed tight, his bag fallen to the ground as he leaned forward, doubled over, struggling against the pain that had blossomed in his chest. and fighting to control the tears that now began to trickle down dark cheeks. Was this what it was like for everyone who arrived? Disbelief consuming them until all that was left was the pain of stark realization? He had to believe it was true, that he was not so weak so to be the only one to cry for those who were no longer with them.

He stayed like this for a time, body sinking to the ground, head bowed. Behind him, he could still here the noises of the encampment as everybody went about their usual days business, likely now used to the change, accepting of it.

But Wrath would not be so accepting. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, shaking, and when his eyes opened again, they were dry of all tears, but brimming with all of his pent up anger and hate.

There was hell to pay. And the hunters were the ones owing.