This is an excerpt from a post made on another site. Yes, I'm a fan of text-based Roleplay. This hobby is what helped spark the written part of my passion for words.

Enjoy the beginning of the story, for in reality this piece is just one of hundreds that I've used to fully develop and paint one of my best masterpieces, character wise.

Wind is one of the greatest unseen elements that mother nature has to offer. Unpredictable at her least and wild at her peak. Wind accompanies many events of weather with storms being one of her best masterpieces. Such it was that wind claimed the life of my dearest friend..

We spoke very little, rather he spoke none. The massive bird of prey served as more than a mode of transportation. He served as a guardian and friend.

Suffice it to say that cockiness can be costly.

Alone he fell. From the skies with his figure plummeted, arms wrapped about his chest. Death did not meet him at the bottom today. Instead the vast oceans of Jacmus-Prime welcomed him with sparkles that winked dramatically across the dark blanket draped over the scenery, mimicking the stars and moons that shone above.

Boredom set in like a woodpecker, peeling away at the layers of his sanity. Perhaps a result of his solitude, or maybe just another effect of his grief.

Timballisto did not care...

What he needed most? Release. From the guilt. More perhaps reconciliation for his sins, recompense for his youth dwelt dumb.

All he got was a jailed heart.

The black, swaying veil grew closer by the moment and he just waited. Waited to tempt death. To tempt his wings to break under the sudden gust and pressure that threatened to shred his skin. Alas, Death refused to bite as Timballisto's wings flared to their full length, arcing his body upright and slanted until he came parallel from the surface.

His armored fingertips held themselves fully stretched as he skimmed the bobbing surface, creating ten more ripples to add to the manifold of the sea's. He hung high enough for the waves to reach his hands, but never lower enough to engulf himself in the chaos of the ocean.

His chest burned, aching from his own failed machinations. The scar tissue that etched an oval outline in the center of his chest ached. The entire idea that had flopped from the beginning. Insanity could be deemed a the appropriate word for his attempt to merge the gemstone into his body. Or as his Father would spit, "Stupid stupidty." Often he wonder if the latter word even existed.

Instead he satisfied the craving, reaching for the chain that hung skipping over the surfaces when he strayed a little close to the ocean's outstretched, dripping hands. The usage came naturally, second to his own instinct, as a gentle throb of blue illuminating the shard. Carefully, he clutched his precious belonging, remembering the days when the gemstone was whole instead of a piece. The days when his knowledge seemed minuscule. If only he could bring his knowledge and the pieces of his gemstone together...The possibilities would be daunting.

Light penetrated the dark. Tendrils of blue twirled out from the stone and around his left gauntlet as energy gathered. His movements slowed and wings tilted upward after each flap, modifying his angle with each stroke. Gradually he came to a solid hover several feet above the highest of the waves. Luckily he sought the ocean out whilst the tide hung low.

Timballisto drew the lines from the water as if he were pulling thin snakes hardly a few inches in diameter but with the full length of an anaconda. His body turned in a slow, deliberate circles as the tendrils rose with purpose. Five individual ropes of water surrounded him and for a moment he almost forgot the displeasure of sins and misfortunes befallen to himself..


The moment the water rose, the temperature traveled alongside with each bursting up for satisfaction. Anger fueled the need for satisfaction. His emotions ate a hole in his heart, a hole that became duplicated in hunger. These emotions coupled with the remnant held in his hand manifested what Timballisto held before him. His broken Masterpiece.

Abruptly, the fingers upon his right hand started to weave. Not the deliberate, steady movements of a true weaver. But jagged, boisterous movements that jabbed and swung. Each tendril responded with warm water wailing about with the purposelessness of a doomed Kraken. These movements represented his mind, his soul, his emotions.

The warm water barely connected to the sea held firm in its formations and began to build a heat that surprised even himself. Every so often, Timballisto could force the movements to where he wanted, striking how he demanded...Still, the strikes he controlled were feeble and half-hearted compared to those that moved of his own fury's accord.

Steam began to slink upward, chipping away at the breadth of the tendrils. His gray, clumped hair flung about much in the same manner as the tendrils. Memories...Thoughts...They burned through mind as a hot coal would through lard, ripping into his soul that lay protected beneath.

Then he was hit. Nothing physical touched him. But the sudden lacking attacked the part of him that remained aware, separate of his feral motives. Exhaustion cackled in his face maniacally as the lids of his eyes slimmed and the world grew shady, more so than before.

He fell, unable to stop himself, with his wings refusing to obey his thoughts. Barely minutes had passed since he'd begun and now the end had came just as quickly as the beginning. Tendrils evaporated leaving no evidence of what art had been created just a moment before.

Timballisto projected one last thought before he fell into the water, and into the pit of unconsciousness.

"Perhaps Death had chosen to finally fall into temptation.."

The End

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