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Pallor [Open] - Official - 08-12-2012 Prometheus February 18th, 2012 at 6:21pm Step toes across the earth of the marsh and this land (MY LAND!) as she cries to me. I curse to the bodies that cling to the shores, the lips that suck dry the muddy earth I have trod upon, the rotting teeth and sunken eyes of the dead, for I! How I succeed them, how I do rise above! There is a jittery motion in my eye, a flicker of the gaze as it fails to settle on the water, the water that never fails to settle, the water that is always, so, still. Still like the dead, still like the violent silenced, like the tongues cut from mouths that hang loosely from faces, faces rotting with each stretch and tear of muscle in life, with the effort of mere survival in a field that is only meant for those who cease to breathe! And I, how I rise above! I walk, I dream of a day when I will fly, I know of a time when I will build and destroy; I speak in hushed tones of this future I have seen for me, for all. They will see what I dream as it comes to a reality, they will know as I know and they will be freed from their place in the mud, where they rest soulless, breathless, hollow and benign. What addles their minds clears my own, what brings them their pitiful, inanimate life brings me strength, will soothe my nerves and heal my wounds. I can strike my horn along the water's edge, bring the acid tongues of the marsh up to bite at my fleshless sides, exposed inner features, and all they do is die. Their journey is consistent- still, no tale of toil or triumph, a mere platitude, the moral and the warning for every child who has ever done wrong. But I! I am a reckless beast of power, an almighty being among a field of corpses! I have what they don't- Maybe luck, maybe divine favor, or maybe skill. Yes, it is I above all else that is favored, no mere trick of the light or turn of fortune! I know this as I crawl from the marsh water, as the stench of death drips from my hollow, ragged hide and hits the ground with hissing drips as they greet the frozen air. But even in the winter, I am the coldest creature that walks this earth- my heart is still, my breath encapsulated in silence and my tender step fueled by magic alone. I am cold in a way that the earth can never be- she will never rival me, never match my power. I am stronger! Weak teeth clatter against each other not out of necessity or reaction, but a motion of hunger. I desire flesh beyond that which the marsh offers me; I long for the taste of death more recent than those who rot beneath the water's clear sheen. White eyes the color of pus flicker across the surface of the water, cleft hooves paw restlessly at the soft soil of the path, and I recognize that the motion around me is in its own way, life. But I've no need for this, no requirement for the living to come across my way. A tangled and twisted mane in tatters that marks my ironic youth drips wild streams of the poisonous water, warming me as it slides along my neck, into my body and alongside the remainders of my soul. My bare rump bobs and my silhouette shifts- I glide forward, yet no motion is detected. I am the creature of this swamp, the identity of this land, of power. I see bubbles break the surface, hear a sigh as a body seems to struggle from the depths. A fool who seeks to live on, a being that has yet to find its denial. My chipped hoof and the wild, gangly leg of a child strikes out at the shimmer in the water, darts out to force it beneath the water's surface once more; I am power. Mauja the FrostHeart February 19th, 2012 at 10:48pm This had to be one of his least favorite places. The marsh was hot and humid even though it was still early. It stunk to the high heavens and he didn't even want to think about what it would smell like come noon. His only thought was that it had to be unbearable and he didn't want to be around come that time. He grumbled to himself as he walked. The mud from the marsh was clinging to him, making his pristine white tail take on a brown hue. Even more annoying to him was when he would try to shoo away the annoying flies that were already buzzing around. He'd added several spots of brown to his already spotted coat. It was disgusting, though. There was no telling what had died in that mud to make it smell the way it did. Ahead of him he could see a child looking down into the water. He stopped, his head tilting slightly as he water bubbled. He moved closer, stopping once more when he could see what was beneath the surface, trying to escape. The child struck it with his hoof, forcing it back down and Mauja frowned. His magic built within him and exploded forth, through the ground and into the water. The murky water shifted and parted as a spike jutted up into the air from the place the child had struck with his hoof. The frown was replaced with a gleeful grin. Oh, how he loved using his magic to scare the unsuspecting. He didn't think the child would be any different. Prometheus February 20th, 2012 at 11:21am It seems as if it is retaliation; as if the dull eyes that die have at last gained the wisdom that I carry, have molded magic in their breasts and thrust it from beneath the surface to strike against me. The dull thud and the muffled crack of my hoof against skull is interrupted by the disturbance of the water and the coming of the season, and it seems for a moment that it is at last their time to rise. Flesh tears like fabric and shriveled arteries disintegrate in the wake of the ice, the chill that the inhabitants of the water have sent for me. I am sure of it, it must be from them! A warning, perhaps, a sign- to end this madness, to leave them in peace, to live as I was intended? Sockets that fill with flakes of blood and discarded remnants of brain are excited, the memory of death becomes a distant thing and the image of my awakening is called to play as I picture it playing within all of them. The loop of my own thoughts, endless; they are haunted by the image of what I have had for so long now, by what they have been denied. And then, as the ice cracks within my hollow breast, my breast that once beat the call of life, that now cages the call of war, the body sinks. Weak and cracking bones that cage my soul press against the spike and with minimal effort the fragility of another's magic shatters within my breast, leaving naught but a fresh hole in a dead hide, and a familiar chill that reminds me of my position. Teeth resume their chattering, wild eyes stay affixed while the head turns like an owl's to face the attacker. No, this was no creature of death, no God's victim beneath the waters. Something living stands behind me- a creature of tender flesh and running blood, of heat in the body and warmth, warmth eternal! I picture the stallion as fire, fire to feed me and fire to keep this hell alive. Whatever his intentions, they have nothing to do with mine. There is the lingering bitterness and disappointment as my amassed forces continue their dormancy beneath the waters, but it is consumed by the lust for flesh and the wild curiosity that sparks my rotting mind. Aching bones grind together and the wretched remainder of my corpse is tossed forth before the monster- a unicorn of massive proportions, who stands above me as no other has ever before. I see his flesh, white as my own, dappled as my own, and I am reminded faintly of my father. Still there is the hunger that tugs at my lips, that curls my tongue out to taste the marsh air and swipe across my yellowed, exposed teeth. He is the creature of the ice, I can tell by the way he looks, with the frost dripping from his form and the cold coming off of him in waves, but I do not fear him. I hold power; at the very least he cannot take that from me. Bile dribbles from the corner of my opened cheek as my stare focuses on he, the beast who dares to walk upon this land that I have begun to call my own. This is a place for the dead, does he not know? "Curious...." I hiss, tongue swiping the tattered muscles that line my jaw. "What a curious fool." Mauja the FrostHeart February 22nd, 2012 at 9:34am Mauja stood frozen in place as the icy spike pierced the chest of the child. It was not the first time someone had been impaled by one of those icy spikes, but he never did forget the sound it made as it pierced flesh and cracked bone. The sound, while glorious at times, was still sickening. That, however, was not what sickened Mauja the most, nor was the fact that he had impaled a child. What sickened Mauja was the way the child looked. His body was decomposing and yet he still walked the earth. An undead soldier, perhaps? No, he was a child, simply a casualty of war. Mauja was disturbed by the thing that masqueraded as a child. Even more so when bile dripped from his open cheek and fell to the ground. He was tempted to turn and leave the undead child impaled on the spike until it finally melted and allowed his hooves to touch the earth again, but there was something about him that intrigued Mauja just as much as he disturbed him. There was something malevolent about the child. He could be of use. "What's your name, kid?" The stallion asked as he stepped closer to have a better look at the rotting flesh that was draped over the broken skeleton. Prometheus February 25th, 2012 at 7:58am The boy with the hollow leg is hungry- I can taste the pain of my father as he bled for me, feel it anew and I long for the flesh. I recall the scent of my own blood as it rose to the surface at my mother's mercy, as I died. That last wretched gasp for air, the struggle and kick of broken legs, the pain that emanated from shattered ribs that drew so dangerously close to the heart- my demise. Surely it is no coincidence that this memory surfaces as the stranger first speaks; perhaps there is more than the lust for the flavor that lines his bones. He is different in some way than the many that have come to my marsh, more persistent and strong, yet I sense subtlety is perhaps a potential virtue. In contrast to my own voice, a mere whisper that fades in the stillness of the swamp fog, his is jarring and upsetting. Instinctively I shrink away- not in fear but distaste, spitting upon the ground where his shadow is cast as I back away. "No children here," sounds the call, low and secretive as my eyes turn from his and my body shifts to leave him in its wake. "The child has died- he rests alone, the immortal son!" I hiss, grinning with rotted teeth and letting a strange, twisted smile show as I pronounce myself aloud. On skeletal legs I stagger away from the massive form of the stranger, bare rump cast in the stallion's direction as I create a distance. "Death, old friend," I mutter, white eyes flickering across the surface of the swamp as my goat hooves finally cease their motion and dig into the mud at the shore. There is a strange silence as I contemplate the circumstances and cut out the stranger from the scene. His presence could mean no less to me- regardless of his intrusion I shall continue to act as I always do. For who is to argue that I, this great being of power, should change my ways? I twist my broken neck to look towards him once more, part my lips for a question: "Why does he wander here- why does he stay?" Mauja the FrostHeart March 3rd, 2012 at 1:01am As much as Mauja was intrigued and disgusted by the dead thing that masqueraded as a child, he pitied it. If being impaled on icy spikes didn't kill it then what would? It would would walk forever in the body of a child while its mind aged and it gained knowledge. No one in their right mind would ever want to get close to it for fear that it would turn on them and eat them or turn them into some sort of walking dead abomination. Still, it could be useful. A dead army would never be defeated. "Are you alone?" He asked as he lowered the spike back into the ground to allow the boy's hooves to touch the ground again. "Are there more like you?" More would be good. Very good. The only question would be how to control them. That would be something left to figure out some other time. Mauja's ears tilted back when the boy-thing spoke to itself. He snorted loudly and rolled his eyes. Of course the dead would only have half a brain. What was he thinking, really? It was probably half rotted in its head to begin with. A rotting brain could retain no knowledge. The dead were utterly useless. Prometheus March 11th, 2012 at 8:31am My eyes narrow at the question, for the king standing before me seems to have forgotten my previous responses. I speak to him with no clarity, and yet he persists- asking, asking, asking about things that are none of his business, none of his concern. Never before have I been anyone's concern, how could I be now? The stranger in white, the winter king, asks if I am alone- did I not just tell him the answer to this? A quiet hiss escapes through my exposed teeth as they chatter continuously. His presence does not displease me, but irks me. He is here for a reason, why will he not say what it is? "Always" I whisper faintly, my white eyes darting from his captivating blue gaze to the pebbles that line the dead shore of the river styx. It occurs to me that, as he asks his own question, he has failed to recognize the existence of mine. Why should I gratify him with an answer, is he no student of common courtesy? Dead eyes the color of the maggots that crawl across me in those brief hours of rest turn to look towards him with accusation. Respect is mutual, no matter the company. "But I sense you hope to change this- so tell me, why does he come here?" Mauja the FrostHeart April 8th, 2012 at 8:08am "Always. But I sense you hope to change this- so tell me, why does he come here? The more the child-thing spoke the more unnerved by it Mauja became. Yes, he was intrigued but it was strange. The walking dead were unnatural. They should never be and yet here one was in the rotting flesh, and there he was wanting more and more to gain control of an undead army. "Perhaps I am here to end your loneliness." Mauja said. "Perhaps I am here to offer you a new place to call home." He wondered what Psyche would think if he showed up with a walking dead minion for The Plague. Mauja stepped closer to the child-thing, his blue eyes sweeping over the damaged body. "A home among the strongest and proudest of unicorns." He wondered if, in life, the child had been raised to know that unicorns were the pure ones. They were the supreme race. If he hadn't he wondered if the child-thing's view had changed since his death. |