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capeandcowllogs2010-03-15 10:07 pm
pandablade.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2010-03-15 10:07 pm
Entry tags:
Take another look and try to read between the lines
WHO: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pandablade
WHERE: SUPERJAIL
WHEN: Mostly tonight, although there's some hints of what has passed while he's been imprisoned the past two days
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Last time he was in prison, it lasted 10,000 years. Illidan will not allow it to last that long again. [ Recommended Listening: here. ]
FORMAT: Solo log
[Avali made me post this.]
White.
Stark white. Blinding white. Clean.
It was a difference from the dark, light-less prison he once knew, although the physically aesthetic differences were not something Illidan could actually comprehend. The differences to him were more than just the visual sensation. To the blind half-demon, the difference was only marginal. There were no whispers between his warden and the Keeper. No cloven hooves of a centaur watching his prison. Maiev's harsh words whispering traitor, telling him that he was the monster that ruined their world.
No, this prison was silent as the grave. He was unused to the silence.
It made the time passing in this place seem even longer. The scant seconds that passed from one minute to another stretched for eternity. The agonizing inhalation of breath, remembering the betrayals that followed him. His love, his brother, and now his allies.
They all could never fathom that he had begun his journey with only the thought to continue his power, and the power of the Kal'dorei. The Well of Eternity had been the source, yet he had ascended from that to the Burning Legion. The true power, the purest of powers.
Not even Kil'Jaeden had dared to make the inroads into his realm that he had wished. Not even the Burning Legion could defeat him. What hope did those pathetic, small creatures have? None, for they may have brought him in, but as he replayed the motions of the night of his battle, he realized his folly. He had been too overconfident, and allowed himself to be brought to heel immediately. How many foolish children had fallen to the labyrinth of the Black Temple before he had been ported in? Only successful with the aid of Maiev, an age-old enemy whose obsession had run far too deep.
Yet had they truly defeated him? No. Here he was, alive and mostly well. There was the distasteful form with which he had been given, so weak and young, and yet he still lived. He could adapt.
If he were not in prison.
The proceedings had passed in sterile rooms in which they removed his effects, instead forcing him to don a jumpsuit instead of his pants. It had not taken him long to discover how to wear the garment and force itself to remain upright without actually donning the upper half.
They had attempted to remove his blindfold. Despite the fact that they had kept him bound in steel, he had fought, and it had taken an entire contingent of security workers to restrain him for long enough, their hands gripping tightly against his horns. His horns. He had butted and screamed curses in his native language, promising them a world of pain and of fire. His mana reserves had been drained from the fight, and had not properly rejuvenated yet, his hands working to create flame and his lips screaming incantations before the clever guards had gripped his fingers and forced a gag upon him. They had removed his blindfold, only to then fill the room with cries of disgust, and even horror. Empty, open sockets, licked raw by the constant dull fire of the orbs that remained, scorched and burned to scar tissue. The small flames still burned his skin, a constant reminder of the sacrifice he had given for power. It was not just his eyes that had been removed, but his identity as merely Kal'dorei. This action had begun the path he now tread, finding new sources of power, becoming more. It was one of the steps that had led to his imprisonment, and later his exile.
The guards had grown visibly ill with the removal of his last effect, and had quickly returned the blindfold around his face, clumsy hands shaking as they did so.
Had they expected much else? He still wore his horns, and a demon with eyes of flame should be expected to have a horrific guise beneath.
They led him to the cell, with clean walls and a door instead of bars. They had not allowed him to be released from his bonds, remaining until he ceased his violent pacing and pounding against the walls of the place. When he had finally ceased to slumber, a fitful rest filled with nightmares of his long imprisonment, he awoke to find his bonds released.
He destroyed the cuffs, left them to burn on the floor of his cell, filling the air with the acrid scent of his annoyance and frustration. Then he resumed pacing.
He remembered the pacing from before. The quick steps back and forth and back and forth between one end of his cell and another, constantly moving attempting to shorten the moments by simply moving more. During his 10,000 year imprisonment, he had been granted plenty of opportunity to entertain himself with every manner of passing time. By doing nothing. Could he be called a master of the process? Perhaps. There were few so adept as he at being idle. It was not something he was proud of, however. He had always been head-strong and impetuous to his people, the outsider even before the destruction of Zin-Azshara. He had tried so valiantly to ensure the survival of his people and their set ways, but instead, he had been exiled by his own twin. The ways of the arcane shucked aside to instead turn his people from the proud, powerful beings they had been to the weak and patient druids. He knew of what his brother had done for much of his imprisonment.
He had slept.
Slept until the Burning Legion had come to destroy them all. He had been fortunate in that matter, being the one tool they could use to help cleanse much of Kalimdor.
Yet the scars remained on his homeland. Much like they did in his own realm, and much like they did in his fractured mind.
Pacing only filled so much time.
He tried. He truly tried to pass the time, biding until the paladin would be resurrected. It could not be long, it simply couldn't. However, time in this particular instance was skewed. The scant minutes were not the short breaths of time, but instead sighs.
Hours were longer, agonizingly longer. This room, despite what it would look like to the human eye, was not. different from his own prison. Perhaps technologically, but to his particularly canted eyes, through the haze of his own magical energies emanating from his skin, he could make out the shapes of the room, edges and lines in green, backdrop was the dark.
To him the room wasn't the clean and sterile environment it was meant to be. To him, it was the same prison he'd languished in, only more silent. No warden to whisper to and cajole, biding his time by perpetually tormenting Maiev. Nobody came here.
Alone.
In the dark.
Alone with no escape.
Mind racing, his pacing quickened, feet stepping one way, and then the other. He allowed his arcane energies to seep from his frame, creating a trail of flame from one end of the room to the other. In this world, he had culled the habit of leaving his wake of green flame, but at the moment, he became too preoccupied to do so.
Then he began the pounding, hissing, teeth clenched tight, horns pressed to the wall, but he couldn't place his own forehead to the wall like he had done to his bars so long ago. His fingers scratched at the walls, and he ached for them to be what had become so familiar, the long claws that could grip into his skull and dig rivets into what was once Gul'dan.
It was merely two days of this before Illidan released his control. He was loathe to be chased by the authorities once again, his former experience with his warden still a sore in his side, a constant reminder of his failure in ascending to his destiny.
He had waited so long, and to him, it was an eternity and not two days of the sun rising and falling.
These facilities were not the prison deep within the earth that he was forced to bide his time in before. They could not block his magic, they could not prevent him from escaping.
He moved his hands, his mind flashing through the incantation before the nexus of darkness appeared against the wall. It was a deep, ultraviolet light compared to the white of the room, but to Illidan's eyes, where the dark was the wall, his portal was a brilliance to his eyes, full of subtleties and incandescence. A whisper of hope and a promise of release.
[ ooc; A note! As of now, Illidan has broken out of the superjail, approved by our dear Pocky! Police folks you are perfectly welcome and encouraged to either rage, flip out, or get proverbial pants in a bunch or what have you! ♥ ]
pandabladeWHERE: SUPERJAIL
WHEN: Mostly tonight, although there's some hints of what has passed while he's been imprisoned the past two days
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Last time he was in prison, it lasted 10,000 years. Illidan will not allow it to last that long again. [ Recommended Listening: here. ]
FORMAT: Solo log
[Avali made me post this.]
White.
Stark white. Blinding white. Clean.
It was a difference from the dark, light-less prison he once knew, although the physically aesthetic differences were not something Illidan could actually comprehend. The differences to him were more than just the visual sensation. To the blind half-demon, the difference was only marginal. There were no whispers between his warden and the Keeper. No cloven hooves of a centaur watching his prison. Maiev's harsh words whispering traitor, telling him that he was the monster that ruined their world.
No, this prison was silent as the grave. He was unused to the silence.
It made the time passing in this place seem even longer. The scant seconds that passed from one minute to another stretched for eternity. The agonizing inhalation of breath, remembering the betrayals that followed him. His love, his brother, and now his allies.
They all could never fathom that he had begun his journey with only the thought to continue his power, and the power of the Kal'dorei. The Well of Eternity had been the source, yet he had ascended from that to the Burning Legion. The true power, the purest of powers.
Not even Kil'Jaeden had dared to make the inroads into his realm that he had wished. Not even the Burning Legion could defeat him. What hope did those pathetic, small creatures have? None, for they may have brought him in, but as he replayed the motions of the night of his battle, he realized his folly. He had been too overconfident, and allowed himself to be brought to heel immediately. How many foolish children had fallen to the labyrinth of the Black Temple before he had been ported in? Only successful with the aid of Maiev, an age-old enemy whose obsession had run far too deep.
Yet had they truly defeated him? No. Here he was, alive and mostly well. There was the distasteful form with which he had been given, so weak and young, and yet he still lived. He could adapt.
If he were not in prison.
The proceedings had passed in sterile rooms in which they removed his effects, instead forcing him to don a jumpsuit instead of his pants. It had not taken him long to discover how to wear the garment and force itself to remain upright without actually donning the upper half.
They had attempted to remove his blindfold. Despite the fact that they had kept him bound in steel, he had fought, and it had taken an entire contingent of security workers to restrain him for long enough, their hands gripping tightly against his horns. His horns. He had butted and screamed curses in his native language, promising them a world of pain and of fire. His mana reserves had been drained from the fight, and had not properly rejuvenated yet, his hands working to create flame and his lips screaming incantations before the clever guards had gripped his fingers and forced a gag upon him. They had removed his blindfold, only to then fill the room with cries of disgust, and even horror. Empty, open sockets, licked raw by the constant dull fire of the orbs that remained, scorched and burned to scar tissue. The small flames still burned his skin, a constant reminder of the sacrifice he had given for power. It was not just his eyes that had been removed, but his identity as merely Kal'dorei. This action had begun the path he now tread, finding new sources of power, becoming more. It was one of the steps that had led to his imprisonment, and later his exile.
The guards had grown visibly ill with the removal of his last effect, and had quickly returned the blindfold around his face, clumsy hands shaking as they did so.
Had they expected much else? He still wore his horns, and a demon with eyes of flame should be expected to have a horrific guise beneath.
They led him to the cell, with clean walls and a door instead of bars. They had not allowed him to be released from his bonds, remaining until he ceased his violent pacing and pounding against the walls of the place. When he had finally ceased to slumber, a fitful rest filled with nightmares of his long imprisonment, he awoke to find his bonds released.
He destroyed the cuffs, left them to burn on the floor of his cell, filling the air with the acrid scent of his annoyance and frustration. Then he resumed pacing.
He remembered the pacing from before. The quick steps back and forth and back and forth between one end of his cell and another, constantly moving attempting to shorten the moments by simply moving more. During his 10,000 year imprisonment, he had been granted plenty of opportunity to entertain himself with every manner of passing time. By doing nothing. Could he be called a master of the process? Perhaps. There were few so adept as he at being idle. It was not something he was proud of, however. He had always been head-strong and impetuous to his people, the outsider even before the destruction of Zin-Azshara. He had tried so valiantly to ensure the survival of his people and their set ways, but instead, he had been exiled by his own twin. The ways of the arcane shucked aside to instead turn his people from the proud, powerful beings they had been to the weak and patient druids. He knew of what his brother had done for much of his imprisonment.
He had slept.
Slept until the Burning Legion had come to destroy them all. He had been fortunate in that matter, being the one tool they could use to help cleanse much of Kalimdor.
Yet the scars remained on his homeland. Much like they did in his own realm, and much like they did in his fractured mind.
Pacing only filled so much time.
He tried. He truly tried to pass the time, biding until the paladin would be resurrected. It could not be long, it simply couldn't. However, time in this particular instance was skewed. The scant minutes were not the short breaths of time, but instead sighs.
Hours were longer, agonizingly longer. This room, despite what it would look like to the human eye, was not. different from his own prison. Perhaps technologically, but to his particularly canted eyes, through the haze of his own magical energies emanating from his skin, he could make out the shapes of the room, edges and lines in green, backdrop was the dark.
To him the room wasn't the clean and sterile environment it was meant to be. To him, it was the same prison he'd languished in, only more silent. No warden to whisper to and cajole, biding his time by perpetually tormenting Maiev. Nobody came here.
Alone.
In the dark.
Alone with no escape.
Mind racing, his pacing quickened, feet stepping one way, and then the other. He allowed his arcane energies to seep from his frame, creating a trail of flame from one end of the room to the other. In this world, he had culled the habit of leaving his wake of green flame, but at the moment, he became too preoccupied to do so.
Then he began the pounding, hissing, teeth clenched tight, horns pressed to the wall, but he couldn't place his own forehead to the wall like he had done to his bars so long ago. His fingers scratched at the walls, and he ached for them to be what had become so familiar, the long claws that could grip into his skull and dig rivets into what was once Gul'dan.
It was merely two days of this before Illidan released his control. He was loathe to be chased by the authorities once again, his former experience with his warden still a sore in his side, a constant reminder of his failure in ascending to his destiny.
He had waited so long, and to him, it was an eternity and not two days of the sun rising and falling.
These facilities were not the prison deep within the earth that he was forced to bide his time in before. They could not block his magic, they could not prevent him from escaping.
He moved his hands, his mind flashing through the incantation before the nexus of darkness appeared against the wall. It was a deep, ultraviolet light compared to the white of the room, but to Illidan's eyes, where the dark was the wall, his portal was a brilliance to his eyes, full of subtleties and incandescence. A whisper of hope and a promise of release.
[ ooc; A note! As of now, Illidan has broken out of the superjail, approved by our dear Pocky! Police folks you are perfectly welcome and encouraged to either rage, flip out, or get proverbial pants in a bunch or what have you! ♥ ]
ooc;
ooc;
ooc;
because I am impatient!ooc;
ooc;
ooc
ooc
OOC:
ALSO.
LINKS ARE NICE, BUT I DID NOT MEAN POST IT HIDDEN IN SOME BITTY TEXT.
POST THE PICTURE UP FOR ALL TO ADMIRE.
OOC:
AND THERE IT IS POSTED
FOR REALSIES
/goes off to hide in the sunset
OOC:
/drags back from sunset