So we start off this Zodiac challenge with several of the Aries prompts in the first of the twelve zodiac signs of Astrology for Writers... and my favourite Othello character ticks all the boxes for Aries of the show (though this is neither my sun, moon, nor rising sign)! So I want to show him at the second lowest point in his character arc, the one that sets the whole tragedy in motion...
Zodiac Challenge - I: Aries
Collapsing on all fours, the lieutenant gradually awakened from his trance, the scarlet haze within him lifting like a curtain at the start of a show. As if he had awakened from a dream, but with the difference that he had come to with a pounding head, the throb increasing in pain and frequency.
What... how... had it come to this?
His fine chamois gloves were stained with a rusty-crimson liquid; the sight made his eyes widen in shock and the pounding inside his head increase even more. On impulse, he reached for the crown of his head, but his helmet was gone, the unlickable auburn cowlick bare and exposed to the chilled springtime breeze. Looking left and right, he finally found the plumed helmet lying on the cobblestones a few strides away... but also the former governor, what was his name?, applying pressure to his own forearm, crimson droplets dripping from the wound he applied pressure to.
This could not be true... what had he done...?
Suddenly the young lieutenant felt his insides shifting, and, before the stern gaze of the dark general who was his commanding officer, he could not hold himself any longer and expelled a steady stream of a rancid burgundy liquid on his commander's bootstraps. The subsequent realization mortified the lieutenant; with the tang of his own acidic juices on his lips, he knew what came next, those stern words that electrified him and took away every last vestige of intoxication:
"Cassio, I love thee, but nevermore be officer of mine." With those words, the general tore off his stained lieutenant's sash.
That was it; his career ruined by one single moment of weakness; red wine becoming one with his blood and making him see red and spill innocent blood of others in irrational fury. How could he, knowing his own weak head for strong drink, have crossed that line he had drawn for his own better good and that of others?
What... how... had it come to this?
His fine chamois gloves were stained with a rusty-crimson liquid; the sight made his eyes widen in shock and the pounding inside his head increase even more. On impulse, he reached for the crown of his head, but his helmet was gone, the unlickable auburn cowlick bare and exposed to the chilled springtime breeze. Looking left and right, he finally found the plumed helmet lying on the cobblestones a few strides away... but also the former governor, what was his name?, applying pressure to his own forearm, crimson droplets dripping from the wound he applied pressure to.
This could not be true... what had he done...?
Suddenly the young lieutenant felt his insides shifting, and, before the stern gaze of the dark general who was his commanding officer, he could not hold himself any longer and expelled a steady stream of a rancid burgundy liquid on his commander's bootstraps. The subsequent realization mortified the lieutenant; with the tang of his own acidic juices on his lips, he knew what came next, those stern words that electrified him and took away every last vestige of intoxication:
"Cassio, I love thee, but nevermore be officer of mine." With those words, the general tore off his stained lieutenant's sash.
That was it; his career ruined by one single moment of weakness; red wine becoming one with his blood and making him see red and spill innocent blood of others in irrational fury. How could he, knowing his own weak head for strong drink, have crossed that line he had drawn for his own better good and that of others?
"One unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself..."
Gathering all his strength to stand upright, he noticed that his silvered scabbard, that one he was to give away the next day as proof of his demotion, was bloodstained as well. As a tickle in his throat gradually grew into utter irritation, he drew steel to notice the blade was, indeed, also caked in the rusty crimson. The reflection that glared back at him was pale as his shirt, with purple eye bags and lips stained a dark burgundy... definitely looking like one of those vampires in Slavic tales. He had become something inhuman, lost the immortal part of himself...
As he prepared to plunge his head into the courtyard fountain to quench his thirst and cleanse at least his outward features, he felt a reassuring pat on the back and heard a familiar, friendly voice ask:
"Are you hurt, Lieutenant?"
"Past all surgery," he nodded listlessly at his now fellow non-commissioned officer, Iago. The throb in his head, however, had subsided slightly.
Little did Cassio know how much his life would change from that conversation onwards...
Gathering all his strength to stand upright, he noticed that his silvered scabbard, that one he was to give away the next day as proof of his demotion, was bloodstained as well. As a tickle in his throat gradually grew into utter irritation, he drew steel to notice the blade was, indeed, also caked in the rusty crimson. The reflection that glared back at him was pale as his shirt, with purple eye bags and lips stained a dark burgundy... definitely looking like one of those vampires in Slavic tales. He had become something inhuman, lost the immortal part of himself...
As he prepared to plunge his head into the courtyard fountain to quench his thirst and cleanse at least his outward features, he felt a reassuring pat on the back and heard a familiar, friendly voice ask:
"Are you hurt, Lieutenant?"
"Past all surgery," he nodded listlessly at his now fellow non-commissioned officer, Iago. The throb in his head, however, had subsided slightly.
Little did Cassio know how much his life would change from that conversation onwards...
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