[Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

[Sorian]

*Huggles Alice!* :3 thank youuu so much. <3 you're wonderful, both as a writer and as a person (and a kick-ass Konti/Storyteller). I hope you get to do something you really love after you graduate as well. xoxo - Dave. Ranting for now. Someone just took a giant dump on my day. Seriously. There are very few things in the world which I absolutely revile. They're not so common as to merit absolute sympathy, but they do happen to everyone, and once you experience them they leave a bad taste in your mouth. One of them, unfortunately, happens to inhabit the computer right behind me at work. My good friend (who also happened to be my classmate back in college) used to sit right in front of me. Since we're not actually allowed to speak loudly, it has been suggested that we use Skype as our mode of communication. It is actually a convenient thing to 'talk' through chat because, for one, you get to (EXAGGERATE!!!!! LOLOLOL) without repercussion or anyone calling you out because they thought you're overacting or trying to gain attention. You can afford to laugh inside your head, or let out just a tiny little smirk, because you can express the actual magnitude of your amusement through the various smileys available. Also, you can talk PRIVATELY without anyone listening in, or worse, trying to chime in without permission. Going back to me and my friend (who happens to be the round-faced girl with the glasses in the graduation picture I posted above), the most common topic we talk about would be her overly-kneejerkish, not to mention HUMUNGOUS secret crush on one of our office mates here. She always pokes me on Skype to rant, rave and share itty-bitty bits of info, thoughts and even trivias about the guy. Of course, being the martyr that I am, I always lend my time and thoughts to her cause, even going as far as to talk to the guy sometimes (but not on her behalf; just good-old small talk so she can secure more information about him. I suck, I know). I didn't think that any of our conversations, or any of our activities would serve as fair game to anyone. Why, we're just a couple of employees talking to each other, right? Why in the hell would anybody target us specifically for any purpose at all? The answers to these questions have not yet been answered, but apparently my speculation about foreign interest is wrong. Someone does think of us as fair game, for some inexplicable reason. You can imagine my initial surprise when, one day, my friend asked me to delete all our saved conversations from day one till then. At first I was like, “I need these because they got links and stuff,” but seeing how adamant and serious she was made me think twice, then decide to obey as instructed. When I asked her to spill the beans, she made me undergo all sorts of “rituals” first, such as change the font size of my computer, minimize the windows I had open, and, the biggest hassle of all, log into my Facebook account so we could chat there, since the font there is quite unreadable from afar. My patience was almost spent when she finally told me what was going on: apparently, someone told her boss to tell her that the guy sitting behind me had been spying on me, peering into our conversations. But that wasn't the worst part: the intruder was actually caught in the act of meddling with my PC while we were out to lunch. Since day one at work I had been in the habit of simply shutting down my monitor so I don't have to reboot the PC. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that someone would actually turn on my monitor and read my stuff. Needless to say, I was fuming with anger and indignation after learning of it. Unfortunately the guy happens to be a high-ranking guy in the office, so I couldn't do anything but swallow the indignity and ignore him. From that day on, I've always logged out my stuff and shut down my computer before going out to lunch, or at the least, log off my skype before I go for a quick run to the loo. The guy is still sitting behind me to this day, and by God I'm still very, very pissed, since it feels like I always have a pair of prying eyes behind me, even though I know that he (probably) doesn't give a fuck anymore. ---------------------------------- But this is not the actual reason why I said that someone took a dump on my day (the above was simply shared because I felt like it. ) The event which I'm talking about is a bit less infuriating, but no less 'memorable' and quite a bit disgusting. So yeah, I went to relieve myself in the comfort room a couple of hours ago, as well as wash my hands and check my hair and stuff. Gingerly I went to the CR, like I always do, with my head blank and not really focused on anything (hence making it quite susceptible to anything unusual). The very first cubicle I entered... Yeah well. Let's just say that there was a 'surprise' waiting for me. And I leave that one to your imagination. (and your inherent read-between-the-lines skills. Check the title. Pun intended.) I could only shake my head and inch my way towards the last cubicle, two seats away from the first. So yeah. The thought is still 'swimming' in my head right now (pardon to those who might be eating while reading this), and without my headphones to drown my mind with music, I'm left to suffer the consequences of some irresponsible jerk's negligence to sink his waste. And to make things even more accurate and detailed in my usually-murky brain, I took a Cobra (a very strong energy drink) to help me stay awake and alert on the job. Ladies and gents, the bottom line of the second tale is... y'all prolly know this already. but mental awareness is obviously best applied when you're in a position of responsibility. In this case, responsible for the next person 'in-line'. Yep. Talk about mental strength and alertness. The guy before me obviously has none of it. Jeezus heavens.

[Vala]

Hey You, I haven’t seen you in a while, thought I’d stalk your life :3 I think anyone with the indecency to snoop on another’s computer should get a new paper cut on their hands every day for the rest of their life. It’s rude and downright wrong. I’m sorry you have to deal with such a snot face jerk. I see my vocabulary has deteriorated in my growing indignation… Anyway, about the poop – Eww. I wasn’t eating, but still – Ew. >.- But it did make me smile when you wrote Comfort Room. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the Philippines; I kinda miss those things. That and I’m really jonesing for a bag of Sarsi right now. Ingat ka <3

[Sorian]

I seriously want this for a pet, so I can kill the fcking green pig sitting behind me at work.

[Sorian]

In order to spice up my life by rejoin the roleplaying community of Mizahar properly (AKA not just in chat, scrapbooking, or being plain regular dummy Sorian), I spent the last two hours doing two things. First, I've finally decided to break through my self-imposed exile and violate my working hours; second, I put in a lot of thought for Sorian's future (as well as my other secret characters who will not be named) Well, here is the result of my idle thoughts. In a nutshell, I've decided to kill him. I realize that this might be a bit too radical for some people's tastes. However, Sorian had been away from a lot of important people for a very long period of time; his story had bogged down, and that fact had probably affected these important people in the past. It has also had a profound effect on my desire to play him with his current status. I've outgrown him a bit, drifted a lot away from him, and generally lost my touch for him. But then I realize past and present are always different things, and once you realize that you've been slouching off a big part of yourself, you can always do something to restart. A new thread with an old friend, or acquiring a new behavior, a new personality. I didn't want any of the stereotype solutions. I didn't want to just drag Sorian's sorry ass back to Sanctuary and present him to Kavala without a dint of character growth. On Navis' part, I didn't want to just appear magically before Mao as if nothing important had transpired during the... (counts his fingers) four seasons or so that he's spent away from them. I was away for awhile; Sorian and Navis were away for awhile. Something had to have happened during that timeskip that can start something different, something new, something interesting. In order to achieve this for Sorian, I've simply decided to be myself: an impetuous, brazen, bull-headed radical. What I'm planning to do with him from hereon out might require some permission from our dear founders, but it is my belief that this is the best way for me to start enjoying him again, as well as for him continue progressing along the grand picture. So yeah, we'll see what happens.

[Abashai]

I believe killing off Sorian was not your only option, as there are always options to role play out your absence. But, I find there is a poetic beauty in planning your own character's demise, A dark sense of satisfaction when a good character is brought to an epic end, as many good, but tragic, tales of old do. There have been times I have considered it, got a twisted sense of delight in the contemplation of ridding the world of Vanator in particular.

In any case, I believe indeed it is time, my friend, for you to stop lurking and start playing again.

[Silvy]

Man. I don't know what to say other than that sucks. It's bad enough to 'eavesdrop' on your comp in your cubicle but then to leave a present?! So basically he crapped on your dignity and then your desk. That's a very calm rant for what happened! Shock just isn't a big enough word. yikes.

And then permakill a loved char to boot? Not good at all. Mike is right, you need to jump in and get lost in the world of Mizahar RP!

[Gossamer]

If Kavala could write Sorian one last letter, I think it'd be something like this. But you know, she'd hate to find out he died alone, out in the jungle. She thinks hes alive somewhere, out there, in the world. It keeps her stronger, thinking hes enduring.

Sorian-

Life is a complex multifaceted living thing that always seems to have a mind of its own. What we want for ourselves is never the reality of what tends to happen in our lives. Wise people claim each incarnation is to learn something - a lesson, a skill, a greater understanding - or perhaps do something. I know in my life, for me, it is not either of those things. Some people were born to learn about love. Some were born to be heroes. Some just simply strive to endure. I was born for silence, for solitude, for knowing what I want and not being able to have it because there is something about me that drives those who are good and pure away. It's my own version of the Denusk Curse. I was born for understanding I have to appreciate what I have and be content with it, because unless I fight tooth and nail for it, things wont come to me of their own volition. Survival is everything, even if it is within less than ideal conditions. In the end, I love life more than any alternative. I would like to be the hero, the savior, the teacher, the friend, the lover, the mother, the sister, and she who endures. But I know none of those roles are my true calling.

In the end you taught me and made me see for the very first time that my life was about loving things and letting them go. When I first met you, I had no idea the troubles and woes that would come of bringing you home. Nor of loosing Mao, then the unborn child you two created between yourselves. My lesson was loss, and that was what you helped me see. I lost my mother, my childhood, my innocence, my freedom, and subsequently most of my friends and my one lover. Even as I hold my newborn son in my arms and stare into his beautiful silver eyes, I know too that because I care for him, he will be a loss to me as well, most likely by the Akalak's hands.

Loss.

You are just one more of those things in my life. But you are perhaps one of the ones I regret the most. You taught me one more thing besides letting go, Sorian. You taught me life was too short to harden my heart and protect it from all that will break it throughout my life. There are worse things in the world than carrying around a shattered heart. Its only something on the inside, hidden, making you quietly dysfunctional rather than an open bleeding wound everyone can see. Thank you for that. Thank you for teaching me there is value in loss, even if its love, and that loving a hundred things and loosing them is worth it anyhow, for at least you've gotten to love.

Thank you.

Kavala

[Alice]

You don't happen to plan for Sorian to become a ghost? That'd be hilarious, I think.

But seriously, anything you do is fine as long as you come back and return to enjoying the creative writing with others. I'd love to have a thread with you or two... in any disguise you might choose for the future.

[Sorian]

Right now I'm beating myself real hard on the head. I had this uber-long second part to that death thread I posted some days ago, and then my computer totally crashed without me being able to save it. Like, what the hell. I should have followed my instincts and saved it beforehand!

As I try to piece together the thoughts that had just fleeted away from my word count (and there was a lot, dammit), I would like to say thanks to those who gave their thoughts regarding Sorian's... Well, Sorian's next chapter.

Mike, thanks. It's definitely not the only option. But I thought it was the best option. I haven't seen you around much, old friend. I hope to catch you in chat sometime.

Silvy, it definitely sucks to be tuned into. But thank God he wasn't the guy who dropped the poop bomb on me, because that would have totally broken my fury and turned it into personal amusement. Hahahahaha.

Kavala's letter would have broken him apart, really, like the emo guy he is. It had a profound effect on me as well, since I didn't think that he still harbored any importance for anyone. Kav is preggers with Hatot's child, and Mao's been... Retired, I think? Oh damn.

And Alice? *snickers at the theory* We'll see! <3


In the meantime... Stereotypes, anyone? this drove me to tears laughing.

[Sorian]

Fate. If all things under the sun and the sky could be attributed to it, then it would be no crime to admit that Lhex has a strange way of deciding things for others. As befitting a first-tier god of his unimaginable power, he acts in ways that no mortal could ever hope to comprehend.

His capacity to give and to exact, as they say, is a fickle thing: playful at one point, unmistakably cruel in the next, and simply bizarre in every inch's worth of intervals.

But Sorian and Navis never believed in such things -never had they known the bounties of the wheels of fortune. After their ordeal in the jungles and seas, it should come as no surprise that they wouldn't care to think it through in the slightest bit: captured by raiders from home; then thrust into the harshest environment known to man; subjected to all sorts of horrendous natural and unnatural calamities; and pursued by a vengeful wraith from a bloodstained past that they would live and die with.



In the same manner of thinking, it would be no stretch to believe that this ancient Akalak was the most cursed of his brethren to ever live. Even Wysar and Akajia must have abandoned him to be so forsaken.

What, then, explains his presence in the only land he's ever called home? What in the god's name has enabled him to return to the plains he had so dearly loved? He had wandered about for thousands of miles in an endless maze of tortures, his hapless miseries perhaps serving to please the unreadable immortals that watched over the world.

It was with no small wonder that he suddenly would up waking amidst a bed of yellow grass, under a canopy of eternal sky. Yet as soon as he stood up on both legs and felt the soft earth of Cyphrus under his feet, he realized it.

He was home, right before the aimless horizons, under the lucid warmth of the sun. He was finally home.

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Neither he nor his other half would ever know how or why they survived the pitiless waves of the Suvan sea. The last things he could remember were the bramble bush that had robbed him of his right eye, and the weightlessness brought by the sudden fall. After that, he could remember nothing. It was all black: the pitch black of true nothingness, the mysterious area between life and death, where even the freedom to conjure images of happier yesterdays was denied.

He could not remember the suffocating surge of saltwater that filled his lungs, even as the very bloodvessels inside his lungs had swelled and threatened to burst. He could not even remember the crushing pressure that seemed to smash into him from all sides, denying him of his very breath. His heavy body had landed on the sea with a heavy crash, the sudden jolt of force pumping severe quantities of blood from his torn and battered body.

For what seemed like an eternity, his helpless body had been thrashed, whipped, and battered by the merciless sea. He must have made him a strange sight for the denizens of the deep; a large blue body whose anatomical parts resembled that of the sirenian Charodae, yet different in everything else. All throughout, he was a mere object of curiosity for the few that had managed to catch sight of him. Was he a floating piece of debris from a sunken ship? Was he something edible? Was he something dangerous? Considering how unresponsive his body had become, it was a wonder that he wasn't eaten by some monstrous predator of the deep. And he was completely open to attack too, for the patches of vegetation that camouflaged his body in the jungle had all perished within a few hours of immersion in seawater, exposing his clean, cobalt-blue skin.

Perhaps his naturalized skin color had, ironically, served a protective purpose? He certainly would have been hard to see against the intangible mass of water that held him captive. Or perhaps, on a more tragic note, they were revolted by the perpetual nature of his torment: was it that thick, that palpable, that it managed to radiate an aura strong enough to repel the thoughtless creatures of the sea? Whatever the case, whatever the reason, it was an inexplicable stroke of luck that had allowed him to survive the odds. Two full days after he had fallen into the ocean, the it regurgitated him back to a remote, gravelly shore surrounded by palm and coconut trees. Little did he know that he had miraculously returned to Cyphrus.

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The feral lord of the plains, the great beast that had terrorized the Sea of Grass for some two hundred years, had returned to his domain. Yet there was no ferocious pack of glassbeaks that that heralded his unmerited appearance, nor was there an angry fluttering of wings in flight to avoid his deadly clutches. In fact, the only creature that had seen him stumble out of a light screen of thin trees -a small snarlwing- had looked down from its vantage point like a vulture eying a moving piece of carrion. Truth be told, it was not far off from the truth: he was actually half-dead, literally and figuratively.

But he was coming back to life, slowly but surely. With every sluggish step he made over the grassy inclines of Cyphrus, a shard of familiarity returned to light: the vision of a successful hunt here, a night of frenzied passion there. Slowly but surely, her face too returned to the surface: the deep emerald irises that had filled him with such wonder; the slender curves and salty skin which inspired unbridled lust; and the powerful visage of the great cat that had shared many a thrilling hunt with him.

When at last the memories of yesterday had all been restored, Navis looked about him with recognition. It seemed a million years ago now. All the joys, the pains, the moments of ecstasy and elation, of vigorous love-making and savage hunting, they were all but a tiny ripple against the backdrop of insanity that had consumed him -them.

A following lull in his perception allowed him to inspect his own body. Many mementos of suffering graced his hunched, chiseled form: an enormous canyon of abused, uprooted flesh laid bare over his stomach, a bite wound from a fearsome creature of the sea. Another great scar could be found on his left arm, a wound which Kavala would be familiar with -it was the point where he had thrust the damaged lakan he had left behind all those lost seasons ago. Lastly, and most telling of all, was the one that left his once mighty arm shriveled and emaciated, punctuating the area just above the latter: a gruesome set of lacerations that came from his own teeth, after he had morbidly feasted on his own body in a fit of madness.

Then, he heard something. Like a distant whisper of the wind, it came to him with the most visible and speedy recollection of all. He heard her cries, and it set his flat-footed pace on fire.

"Mao..."

Tthe great gales of the Sea of Grass brushed against his hardened skin as he sped through the plains. He cared little for what he managed to trample in his wake: on at least one occasion he felt the sudden sting of a small pebble or the wet flattening of some poor creature in hiding. He ran inexorably, leaving the tall shoots and its hidden denizens crushed behind him. It made him feel alive, even if his brain could not keep up with his body's instinctive recognition yet. It suddenly felt like the old days for him, when he would hunt alone with nothing but a steady moonlight to guide him. The days when he would gorge himself in blood and depravity, the days when he would attack without heed. His predatory instincts had been a marvel of evolution, an evolution borne not of necessity, but out of greed.

Everywhere else around the whirling dervish of an Akalak was quiet: there was no song that danced along the ears, nor could any but the people in sanctuary hear the kelvic's birthing cries. For how could any but he, the bondmate, the long-lost half, be able to hear the invisible bell that had started to ring from within? It was the searing re-emergence of a long obscured bond that had begun to eke back into light, the explosion of remembrance flying back into consciousness. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he felt joy.

What his mind had forgotten, his heart would remember: and she would be there, waiting, to remind him of the rest.

"MAO!"