Throw Down the Sword for ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
realmofthemuse
13 Dec 2007 10:09 pmbroadsword_babe{For Mun/Immortal/Watcher Knowledge Only}
K. Wishbone Ash – Throw Down the Sword
Throw down the sword,
The fight is done and over,
Neither lost, neither won.
To cast away the fury of the battle
And turn my weary eyes for home.
There were times when I stood at death's own door
Only hoping for an answer.
Throw down the sword,
And leave the glory -
A story time can never change.
To walk the road, the load I have to carry -
A journey's end, a wounded soul.
There were times when I stood at death's own door
Only searching for an answer
The last spark of the Quickening crackled and died away into the night. I plunged my broadsword deep into the earth and retched. Gods how I hated Quickenings! Not only did it feel like my body was being ripped apart at the seams, but it was all so bloody pointless. There would never be only one of us. Every time I turned around, it seemed another Immortal joined the ranks. No one knew where we came from, we just were.
This one was another headhunter looking to pad his headcount with a nearly two thousand year old Immortal. There’s a reason why I’ve survived this long, numbnuts. I kicked the still-warm corpse in the ribs for good measure, feeling a couple bones break against my foot. I grinned in grim satisfaction as I wiped away the blood from the cut that used to cross my lip.
My body still reeling from the aftershocks of the Quickening, I stumbled to the garage where I kept a ten-gallon gas can of my own special blend of different flammables. I called it “Freyja’s Number 5.” It just had a nice ring to it. I tossed the head onto the corpse and doused the remains with the contents of the gas can. I tossed a lit match onto the pile and waited until I was sure everything caught before grabbing my sword and heading inside. There was just something about the stench of a burning corpse that made me ill. Probably had something to do with being burned at the steak.
Flares of electricity zinged and faded through my body, another reason why I hated Quickenings. My emotions would be on the ragged edge for days before finally settling down again: laughing, crying, pissed, horny, you name it. I can only deal with one emo at a time, kthx.
I quickly cleaned my sword and oiled it for the next time. I wrinkled my nose at the pungent smell of another concoction of mine: sword oil with a few drops of Naga Jolokia extract added. If you think eating a whole habanero is bad, try one seed of the Naga Jolokia. Put that on a cut, even an Immortal one, and that’s a new world of hurt. With Bragolré hung back in her place, I went upstairs for a shower, swearing all the way.
“Fucking bastards… Why do they always show up right when I’m in the middle of a good dream? … What’s with nighttime anyway? … Why don’t they fight in daylight like decent folk? … Dammit, these were my favorite pajamas! … Asshats, all of them!”
I didn’t care that my hair was a sogging, wet, tangled mess as I crawled starkers into bed. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to impress anyway. Damn, I missed Wade.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
467 Words (not incl lyrics)
K. Wishbone Ash – Throw Down the Sword
Throw down the sword,
The fight is done and over,
Neither lost, neither won.
To cast away the fury of the battle
And turn my weary eyes for home.
There were times when I stood at death's own door
Only hoping for an answer.
Throw down the sword,
And leave the glory -
A story time can never change.
To walk the road, the load I have to carry -
A journey's end, a wounded soul.
There were times when I stood at death's own door
Only searching for an answer
The last spark of the Quickening crackled and died away into the night. I plunged my broadsword deep into the earth and retched. Gods how I hated Quickenings! Not only did it feel like my body was being ripped apart at the seams, but it was all so bloody pointless. There would never be only one of us. Every time I turned around, it seemed another Immortal joined the ranks. No one knew where we came from, we just were.
This one was another headhunter looking to pad his headcount with a nearly two thousand year old Immortal. There’s a reason why I’ve survived this long, numbnuts. I kicked the still-warm corpse in the ribs for good measure, feeling a couple bones break against my foot. I grinned in grim satisfaction as I wiped away the blood from the cut that used to cross my lip.
My body still reeling from the aftershocks of the Quickening, I stumbled to the garage where I kept a ten-gallon gas can of my own special blend of different flammables. I called it “Freyja’s Number 5.” It just had a nice ring to it. I tossed the head onto the corpse and doused the remains with the contents of the gas can. I tossed a lit match onto the pile and waited until I was sure everything caught before grabbing my sword and heading inside. There was just something about the stench of a burning corpse that made me ill. Probably had something to do with being burned at the steak.
Flares of electricity zinged and faded through my body, another reason why I hated Quickenings. My emotions would be on the ragged edge for days before finally settling down again: laughing, crying, pissed, horny, you name it. I can only deal with one emo at a time, kthx.
I quickly cleaned my sword and oiled it for the next time. I wrinkled my nose at the pungent smell of another concoction of mine: sword oil with a few drops of Naga Jolokia extract added. If you think eating a whole habanero is bad, try one seed of the Naga Jolokia. Put that on a cut, even an Immortal one, and that’s a new world of hurt. With Bragolré hung back in her place, I went upstairs for a shower, swearing all the way.
“Fucking bastards… Why do they always show up right when I’m in the middle of a good dream? … What’s with nighttime anyway? … Why don’t they fight in daylight like decent folk? … Dammit, these were my favorite pajamas! … Asshats, all of them!”
I didn’t care that my hair was a sogging, wet, tangled mess as I crawled starkers into bed. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to impress anyway. Damn, I missed Wade.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
467 Words (not incl lyrics)
