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12-20-2015, 08:54 AM
Intrigued – the Reaper stayed in his portending, silent void, hollowed and hallowed, watching and attending as the occupants stated their responses, Ode who died and came back and died all over again, Ashamin who thanked, Zandora who appeared, and the God, who chided, who listened, and who took a moment to savor the sliding whims of the Plague. Deimos was careful about how he proceeded, because the deity oversaw everything within their corridors, would know, would recognize, the fall of the Plague (probably laughed when the King attempted to reunite them beneath the folds of that silent, eerie tent, and falling into the abyss when only a few remained; chiseled in their beliefs). Everyone else within the scene was likely ignorant of the ways they’d mauled the earth; too young, too innocent, to be dragged down into furtive flames and unwinding, obliterating hatred – but with Illynx’s disappearance, with Deimos’ lack of charisma, the ways in which they’d yearned to destroy had shifted. So he parted his mouth with no lie on his tongue, with no menace on his mouth, partaking only in the vague, only in the shift of a brow, only in the pondering of how far the Spark God’s powers reached and how much he’d seen in the years that’d come to pass. “Not lately,” as if that summed up the entirety of the Plague’s actions; they hadn’t done anything lately, they hadn’t murdered anyone lately, they hadn’t concocted new schemes lately because there was no one around, because there was no leader, because it’d fallen apart like splintered factions – leaving everyone else to conjure their hate by other means. “We will utilize it more in the future.” To what purpose, he didn’t say – likely meetings for the entire herd, where birds and gliders and others couldn’t hear the whisper of their plans, where prisoners could be tortured while songbirds sang nearby, oblivious to the loathing and abhorrence inside, where secrets could be shared with none the wiser.
Instead of peeling away the bounty of their wares, he aspired more to the grand notions of recent ventures – remembering the shifting of this Rift, of Gods falling apart at their feet, at destruction uncovering new lands and deceit unfurling foreign kingdoms. A portion of him worried about his herd, how to serve and ensure their security with these incoming threats, with these strange creatures, with these molten, shattered remnants of deities splintering around them. He recalled Ming Yue’s words in their passing, in her acceptance, in unexplainable connections, sickly deadly places, how they were once magnificent, then exposed into decaying, dreadful whims. “I am curious about the new lands and fallen Gods,” here, he paused, layering the questions tactfully, trying to pinpoint exactly which avenue he yearned to traverse. “I have spoken with Ming Yue, who claimed her land became connected to Helovia – that it had been dying.” Was theirs to succumb eventually, too? Would they rot and decay and become shadowed, like Isilme, like his beautiful Moonlit Tides, washed away by darkness and the void? “I wish to guard the Basin as best I can – will there be more Gods to destroy?” His nonchalant gaze became one fractious with something else, something unnamed, something foreign, tangled and nestled along his brow, along his face, as he continued amidst reflections and divine ones. “Are there other means to annihilate these foes?” Is this what they would be doing until the end of time, harpooning and massacring (because while he was glad to spend his last days in barbaric haste and bestial glory, he had to think about his kingdom, his people, his land)?
Instead of peeling away the bounty of their wares, he aspired more to the grand notions of recent ventures – remembering the shifting of this Rift, of Gods falling apart at their feet, at destruction uncovering new lands and deceit unfurling foreign kingdoms. A portion of him worried about his herd, how to serve and ensure their security with these incoming threats, with these strange creatures, with these molten, shattered remnants of deities splintering around them. He recalled Ming Yue’s words in their passing, in her acceptance, in unexplainable connections, sickly deadly places, how they were once magnificent, then exposed into decaying, dreadful whims. “I am curious about the new lands and fallen Gods,” here, he paused, layering the questions tactfully, trying to pinpoint exactly which avenue he yearned to traverse. “I have spoken with Ming Yue, who claimed her land became connected to Helovia – that it had been dying.” Was theirs to succumb eventually, too? Would they rot and decay and become shadowed, like Isilme, like his beautiful Moonlit Tides, washed away by darkness and the void? “I wish to guard the Basin as best I can – will there be more Gods to destroy?” His nonchalant gaze became one fractious with something else, something unnamed, something foreign, tangled and nestled along his brow, along his face, as he continued amidst reflections and divine ones. “Are there other means to annihilate these foes?” Is this what they would be doing until the end of time, harpooning and massacring (because while he was glad to spend his last days in barbaric haste and bestial glory, he had to think about his kingdom, his people, his land)?
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
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Tagging @Ashamin next simply for plot reasons. Post order has become a lie.
