Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2012 23:37:05 GMT -6
It wasn’t the cold that stirred him from the abyss of unconsciousness, nor the pain at his neck, the wind through his hair, or the numbness in his hands. What woke the Welsh man into the haze between alertness and sleep was the sensation of being, underwater. What an odd feeling to wake to in any occasion, but something slithered down Howell’s spine as he drifted in his cloud of grogginess and it was cold: danger was near. The welsh nation was so tired, so very tried, that he tried to ignore this snake of caution to try and slip back into his deep sleep, but the awareness of nearby danger prickled at his dulled mind enough to make him frown and groan slightly. A certain weightlessness surrounded Howell, a comforting, unnatural buoyancy that caressed the entire surface area of his body that nudged at his senses to inform him that he was, in fact, not touching anything at all.
‘This es the odd’st drayme ay’v ever ‘ad….’
The voice in his head even sounded sleepy and Wales considered the thought. Was he still dreaming? Stirring some more, the blonde man lifted his left shoulder to rub an itch on his cheek against the fabric of his shirt. The contact with himself spooked him enough for his eyelids to flutter open into a narrowed shutter. He saw the darkened outline of his shoulder and groaned once more when he realized that he was in fact awake. Relaxing his shoulder for it to shift his weight and causing him to sway, Wales began to try and turn over to go back to sleep when…. Sway? By now, the feeling of animosity was becoming more relevant and loud within his mind and the Welshman began to piece things together as his eyes blinked to clear them of sleep. He was a wake, he was underwater… he could breath and he was swaying…
‘Whayt the ‘ell?’
Finally opening his eyes, Howell blinked in confusion when he didn’t see water but instead saw a dreary, desolate landscape with a few trees and fields. Where was he? Sleep was still heavy in his head and things weren’t connecting as fast as they should. Confusion pooled into his thoughts and Howell in times like this would’ve ran his hand through his wild, untamable mane of blonde hair. He would’ve, if he were able to…. Shock seized and slapped the remainder of sleep from the Welshman’s head when he tugged at his hands to find them bound behind his back. Tight cords of what felt like robe cut into the skin of his already numb wrists as Howell twisted his hands in the attempt to free himself.
“Whayt the ‘ell!”
Gritting his teeth against the pain he felt now in his arms, the man continued to twist and fight his bounds, causing his whole body to jerk and his kicking of legs was making him sway again. Howell instantly froze, though he continued to move. Like the pendulum in a grandfather clock, Wales swung in a small arch caused by his squirming. Looking downwards, Howell finally registered that the ground looked to be a good seven to ten feet below him and the rocking motion combined with his confusion and panic was making him nauseous. He didn’t understand! Swallowing in fear, Wales suddenly began to cough when his Adam’s apple met a barrier abound his neck.
Instantly he tried to feel up with a hand to whatever was wrapped tightly around his collar, but was only reminded that his hands were still bound and were already raw from his fighting. Looking all about before finally trying to lean his head back to look above him, Howell’s heart skipped a beat when the back of his head came in contact with what felt like… a rope. By God…. He had a rope around his neck, and now that he was looking upwards, his eyes widened even more if that is possible when he saw a large branch looming above his head and that his rope was secured to the berth of the limb. Slowly his eyes fell back down, slowly, and Wales tried for all his worth to try and figure this out.
Licking his quivering lips, the man fought against his fear to say out loud, “O’kay... so ay-ay’ve got ah noose around mae neck….’nd ay’m… float’in?”
The words helped settle his raising alarm but it only made him more confused. Shouldn’t he be… you know, hanging not floating? Creased his brows into a furrow, Howell arched his head back once more, this time to one side of his rope, to investigate further his suspending rope, when the blood in his entire body went cold all at once and Howell paled, forgetting how to breath. His eyes wavered and he began to tremble in fear at the sight above him, one big detail he failed to see on his initial gaze above him. Death himself was positioned only a few feet above him. The reaper’s robe billowed around him in the slight breeze, and within the figure’s left hand Wales’ wide eyes say that it held, his rope. The rope above him was in fact attached to the tree, but it was slack from he reaper’s hold. Still, Howell should still be hanging even with a shortened rope, but the figure above him, Death himself, must’ve read this question in Wales’ eyes for the reaper’s mouth opened and a wicked cackle struck Wales’ ears and darkness enclosed into his vision slightly at the sound of it.
A menacing voice resonated through Howell’s skull, causing him to flinch in surprise and terror. The tone of the voice was so smooth and mocking, yet Wales could hear the evil pitch to the tone and his heart kicked into overdrive for he knew that this creature was more dangerous than anything he had ever seen before, even the largest of dragons. Wales watched the reaper lounge back slightly, still holding onto his noose rope and looked at Wales with its empty sockets in such a manner, that the Welshman knew that it was scrutinizing his pitiful form.
The creature's words were interrupted by its own chilling chuckle that pounded the inside of the blonde's head. Howell didn’t know what the reaper was talking about. Master? Servant? It didn’t matter what Wales didn’t understand for the reaper didn’t give his terrified mind any time to think before the voice once more invaded his head, making his body tense and go rigid from the intrusion.
The reaper’s last syllable barely struck Howell’s mind before gravity suddenly reclaimed the Welshman’s body into its reign and Wales’ stomach lurched as he suddenly dropped. His fall only lasted a few feet for the rope around his neck, now freed from the Inhabitant’s grip, caught his weight and Wales was hung. Panic, adrenaline, fear, and desperation all conquered Howell’s being as he thrashed about like a worm on a hook as his entire body’s weight caused the noose around his neck to tighten, cutting off his air supply. The reaper had said something about a rescue, but Howell’s mind was too immersed in primal instincts to save himself to begin to think about someone else possibly coming to save him. Tucking his legs up in a desperate attempt to retrieve the use of his hands, the blonde’s vision began to darken and his head started to feel too light as he continued to sway and struggle.
He failed to maneuver his arms beneath his legs for Wales suddenly lost the strength to keep his legs tucked close to his torso. His body had no oxygen to live on, he was dying, and he was going to join the row of nooses that also swayed in the breeze beneath the large tree limb for eternity. Tears streamed down his increasingly purple face as Wales tried in vain to jerk himself free, though that wouldn’t do him any good. Darkness was creeping in quickly and thoughts suddenly began to filter into his dying mind, causing Wales to slow his struggle, his chin fell to his chest. He was doing to die. His brothers’ faces appeared in his mind’s eye as his eyelids slowly began to close. His feet twitched a few times but only a few, before Wales became still. His nearly closed eyes flickered briefly; Howell’s last fight to push back against the sleep he previously had longed to return to, but a sad, small voice at the back of his dying mind told him that this would be a much different sleep.
A breeze shifted the lonely forms of rope nooses hanging breath the Baudeau Manor’s Hangman’s Hill with its newest victim, the nation of Wales, hanging in line with them. The light left the blonde’s eyes just as he closed them and from somewhere in the nearby darkness, the First Inhabitant observed as a lone man suddenly approached the foot of the Hill to stare too at the motionless form of the hanging Howell Gwydion.
‘This es the odd’st drayme ay’v ever ‘ad….’
The voice in his head even sounded sleepy and Wales considered the thought. Was he still dreaming? Stirring some more, the blonde man lifted his left shoulder to rub an itch on his cheek against the fabric of his shirt. The contact with himself spooked him enough for his eyelids to flutter open into a narrowed shutter. He saw the darkened outline of his shoulder and groaned once more when he realized that he was in fact awake. Relaxing his shoulder for it to shift his weight and causing him to sway, Wales began to try and turn over to go back to sleep when…. Sway? By now, the feeling of animosity was becoming more relevant and loud within his mind and the Welshman began to piece things together as his eyes blinked to clear them of sleep. He was a wake, he was underwater… he could breath and he was swaying…
‘Whayt the ‘ell?’
Finally opening his eyes, Howell blinked in confusion when he didn’t see water but instead saw a dreary, desolate landscape with a few trees and fields. Where was he? Sleep was still heavy in his head and things weren’t connecting as fast as they should. Confusion pooled into his thoughts and Howell in times like this would’ve ran his hand through his wild, untamable mane of blonde hair. He would’ve, if he were able to…. Shock seized and slapped the remainder of sleep from the Welshman’s head when he tugged at his hands to find them bound behind his back. Tight cords of what felt like robe cut into the skin of his already numb wrists as Howell twisted his hands in the attempt to free himself.
“Whayt the ‘ell!”
Gritting his teeth against the pain he felt now in his arms, the man continued to twist and fight his bounds, causing his whole body to jerk and his kicking of legs was making him sway again. Howell instantly froze, though he continued to move. Like the pendulum in a grandfather clock, Wales swung in a small arch caused by his squirming. Looking downwards, Howell finally registered that the ground looked to be a good seven to ten feet below him and the rocking motion combined with his confusion and panic was making him nauseous. He didn’t understand! Swallowing in fear, Wales suddenly began to cough when his Adam’s apple met a barrier abound his neck.
Instantly he tried to feel up with a hand to whatever was wrapped tightly around his collar, but was only reminded that his hands were still bound and were already raw from his fighting. Looking all about before finally trying to lean his head back to look above him, Howell’s heart skipped a beat when the back of his head came in contact with what felt like… a rope. By God…. He had a rope around his neck, and now that he was looking upwards, his eyes widened even more if that is possible when he saw a large branch looming above his head and that his rope was secured to the berth of the limb. Slowly his eyes fell back down, slowly, and Wales tried for all his worth to try and figure this out.
Licking his quivering lips, the man fought against his fear to say out loud, “O’kay... so ay-ay’ve got ah noose around mae neck….’nd ay’m… float’in?”
The words helped settle his raising alarm but it only made him more confused. Shouldn’t he be… you know, hanging not floating? Creased his brows into a furrow, Howell arched his head back once more, this time to one side of his rope, to investigate further his suspending rope, when the blood in his entire body went cold all at once and Howell paled, forgetting how to breath. His eyes wavered and he began to tremble in fear at the sight above him, one big detail he failed to see on his initial gaze above him. Death himself was positioned only a few feet above him. The reaper’s robe billowed around him in the slight breeze, and within the figure’s left hand Wales’ wide eyes say that it held, his rope. The rope above him was in fact attached to the tree, but it was slack from he reaper’s hold. Still, Howell should still be hanging even with a shortened rope, but the figure above him, Death himself, must’ve read this question in Wales’ eyes for the reaper’s mouth opened and a wicked cackle struck Wales’ ears and darkness enclosed into his vision slightly at the sound of it.
Oh I can see that nothing can slip past you, Howell Gwydion, the country of Wales…
A menacing voice resonated through Howell’s skull, causing him to flinch in surprise and terror. The tone of the voice was so smooth and mocking, yet Wales could hear the evil pitch to the tone and his heart kicked into overdrive for he knew that this creature was more dangerous than anything he had ever seen before, even the largest of dragons. Wales watched the reaper lounge back slightly, still holding onto his noose rope and looked at Wales with its empty sockets in such a manner, that the Welshman knew that it was scrutinizing his pitiful form.
You are indeed pitiful but it is not my place to speak such judgments, so I do apologize for the remark. I am but a humble servant to my master and I have had to remain here keeping you alive until you woke. Now that you are….
The creature's words were interrupted by its own chilling chuckle that pounded the inside of the blonde's head. Howell didn’t know what the reaper was talking about. Master? Servant? It didn’t matter what Wales didn’t understand for the reaper didn’t give his terrified mind any time to think before the voice once more invaded his head, making his body tense and go rigid from the intrusion.
The reason why you are not dead is because I am keeping you suspended using the powers given to me by my master. As I was saying, now that your awake there is no need for me to keep you lifted any longer. You are going to die now, Mister Gwydion. That is… only if your rescue doesn't reach you before you breathe your last breath. Good luck.
The reaper’s last syllable barely struck Howell’s mind before gravity suddenly reclaimed the Welshman’s body into its reign and Wales’ stomach lurched as he suddenly dropped. His fall only lasted a few feet for the rope around his neck, now freed from the Inhabitant’s grip, caught his weight and Wales was hung. Panic, adrenaline, fear, and desperation all conquered Howell’s being as he thrashed about like a worm on a hook as his entire body’s weight caused the noose around his neck to tighten, cutting off his air supply. The reaper had said something about a rescue, but Howell’s mind was too immersed in primal instincts to save himself to begin to think about someone else possibly coming to save him. Tucking his legs up in a desperate attempt to retrieve the use of his hands, the blonde’s vision began to darken and his head started to feel too light as he continued to sway and struggle.
He failed to maneuver his arms beneath his legs for Wales suddenly lost the strength to keep his legs tucked close to his torso. His body had no oxygen to live on, he was dying, and he was going to join the row of nooses that also swayed in the breeze beneath the large tree limb for eternity. Tears streamed down his increasingly purple face as Wales tried in vain to jerk himself free, though that wouldn’t do him any good. Darkness was creeping in quickly and thoughts suddenly began to filter into his dying mind, causing Wales to slow his struggle, his chin fell to his chest. He was doing to die. His brothers’ faces appeared in his mind’s eye as his eyelids slowly began to close. His feet twitched a few times but only a few, before Wales became still. His nearly closed eyes flickered briefly; Howell’s last fight to push back against the sleep he previously had longed to return to, but a sad, small voice at the back of his dying mind told him that this would be a much different sleep.
A breeze shifted the lonely forms of rope nooses hanging breath the Baudeau Manor’s Hangman’s Hill with its newest victim, the nation of Wales, hanging in line with them. The light left the blonde’s eyes just as he closed them and from somewhere in the nearby darkness, the First Inhabitant observed as a lone man suddenly approached the foot of the Hill to stare too at the motionless form of the hanging Howell Gwydion.