2019-06-22 - The Soul of an Artist


In a moment of solitude, Piotr muses over his situation, and the soul-steel sword that now entraps his passions.

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Storyteller: {$storyteller}
Date: 2019-06-22
Location: Limbo

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Limbo: Year 1

Solitude was something that Piotr rarely afforded himself in Limbo. Since his arrival with Keiko - since he took the soul-steel hilt in his hand and felt his very spark pulled from him and now illuminates the blade that he carries with him everywhere he goes, he's felt that loss keenly in his very chest.

It had only been a few months since he and Keiko had arrived. K'nert was pushing them to make a heir - and they were finding reasons not to. That rescue would come, that this was some kind of fevered, crazed, mad house dream that they had been subjected to. Even if Piotr knew the truth, he had refused to accept it.

Illyana was gone. Who knows where she was. Maybe she had just gone to the corner market. Maybe she had died. Piotr wasn't sure - and he didn't want to consider that option. Limbo is not a patient place. When K'nert said that Illyana was gone - Piotr had planned to fight it night and day and never touch that hilt that they wanted him to.

Until they threatened Keiko. Then he knew he didn't have a choice. She had wanted to fight. It was a brave idea. But he believed, at least he believed he knew. They would have harmed her. They needed him - he was the blood of Illyana. But they didn't need Keiko. They could have found another. But was he doing her a blessing by saving her, by drawing that blade?

Or had he cursed her? He had seen the changes that Keiko had gone through. The changes in her features - in her summons. He had stayed in his armored form - for what seemed like months now. He didn't need to eat, breathe, he could possibly survive like this until Illyana returned. If Illyana returned.

But it was unfair to Keiko. In sparing her life. In sacrificing his soul to the blade that glows in front of him now, he had damned Keiko possibly. He wanted to apologize to her. He wanted to explain. But every time, he came up short. Was it better to be dead than to rule in Limbo? Illyana had been through so much and now he had damned someone to spend it with him.

Guilt curled in his stomach and knotted there like an angry wound. It made it growl and grumble - not in hunger, but in that welling self-loathing that he carried with him so easily. He looked to the blade again. And stared at it as it changed and adapted to his soul within it. It was a beautiful, but dangerous thing. The soul of an artist.

He stood up and walked away from the blade. Coming to a large outcropping of rock, he screamed and slammed his fist into it, shattering it. He could hear the demons that had watched him scream and screech and scatter like roaches in the light. He growled beneath his breath as he bent down to pick up one of the pieces.

Studying it, he let out a breath. He wondered. Was Kitty trying to call, or write? She had left so suddenly. And he didn't know what he had done. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so standoffish. Maybe he should have been more open in his feelings instead of beating around the bush about it. Was that the right term? Beating around the bush. There was a little snort at that. He has to concentrate. Katherine Pryde would not be coming to his rescue.

Noone was coming to his rescue. He could only hope to get Keiko away and safe. But when he tried, she stayed. She demanded he come with her. And he stupidly tried to sacrifice himself to free her. As he studied the piece of rock in his hands, his metal fingers crushed it, and then started to lightly shape it. Within minutes, the soft stone had taken on the rough shape of the Peruvian summoner.

He sat down again. And he went to work. It took hours to complete the shape and details - but by the time it was done, Piotr held a small figurine of Keiko in his hand. His very human hand. He couldn't let her do this alone. Limbo had taken it's hold on her - he could not let her suffer that fate alone. He closed his eyes, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. Again, the sword reacted to it, to his soul's plead to protect her.

Feeling the growl in his stomach, he rose to his feet. He set the figurine down. He could give it to Keiko - but she wouldn't understand. He couldn't - he can't put his feelings into words. He's terrible at it, and he had already screwed that up with Kitty. Now all he could do was try to show her. Every day, every moment that they were in Limbo, Keiko would know with him, she would be safe. Until he drew his last breath, the King of Limbo would protect his consort.

He looked towards the sword again. He considered leaving it. If he walked away - how far would he get without his soul next to him? Would he become a shell of himself? Would a demon take over him like some mechanical toy of flesh and possess him since his soul was not present? Would he become something much much worse? He pondered all of that for several moments, before he finally reached, and took the hilt of the blade. He hissed as he felt the pull of the sword and it's sting in his hand, but then it felt natural to him - an extension of himself.

And then he realized he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in months. And tonight, he would dine with his consort.

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