the Rift


[JUDGED] We're Comfortable Killers [Confutatis Challenge]

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#1


He fed on friction, on maelstroms, on bedlam, on puissance and decadence, sought and chased it down on the threads of insurrection. The contempt, the abhorrence, burned intensely within his chest, distorted, knotted, and gnarled, filtering into the malicious slide of his bones, the menacing motions of his existence. Heedless, unrelenting, a new purpose savored across his tongue and relished in his infidel footfalls. Infernal indignation, curled and coiled like a spring, taut, and unyielding, a ferocious force and blistering barbarism, twisted through the warrior fluidity of his movements. Deimos carved through the lands, a shadow, a devil, a monster, on the slivered and slashed horizon, churning, boiling, and funneling rage into purpose, into motivation. For too many hours they’d been pricked and plucked against, barbs thrown and landed upon Basin hides, a Regime scratching and rasping their claws down mountainside caverns, cackling in the wind. It was all a vicious, unwinding cycle, Illynx chasing a skulled-harpy away from the borders, children and their mother absconded, tortured, and the icy assailments bristling in reply, in response, mauling and pilfering their leader, and with a damning conclusion: the wench freed from her icy prisons. Then Confutatis was ignored, her kind, her ilk, her empire, left for naught – until she set herself upon renewing the sequence. She’d snaked her talons into warrens and caves, set her aim on more of the Reaper’s sovereign, and the Lord, in response, sought out her blood, her suffering, and her misery.

Even while he maneuvered across the worlds, a heathen on his favored turf (war, battle, bloodshed – it undulated and pulsed in the avaricious quiver of his muscles), his calculations couldn’t quite understand her motivations. Why would she seek out the Basin for obliteration time and time again? Hadn’t they destroyed her once before? Hadn’t they stolen her from her webs, hadn’t they snagged and ensnared her into their glacial whims? Hadn’t they shown her their power, their domination, their superiority? Or did she just yearn to remain a blister, a scab, in their minds, seeking to weave havoc and anarchy? It seemed entirely nonsensical, and all he craved, all he coveted, was her devastation for hastening one more nettle. She’d awakened the beast, the Mephistophelean statue, the depraved oeuvre. Provoked and instigated, potent and finessed into the forbidding annihilation, into the seething maelstrom of their carnivore designs, the ethereal, eldritch titan marched into devil’s clarity and drummed smoking savagery. She’d see her foolishness riddled and mired in her ruin. Enough was enough.

She wouldn’t touch them again. He’d protect his herd, his people, his patriots, over and over until she faded away, until acrimony finally caught her, until death ultimately condemned her.

The behemoth’s brow was reticent, but his core feral, fierce, ignited and kindled, lacquered and layered in predacious grandeur. The temptation of treachery furrowed deep into his soul and bristled, seared, scorched, along the edges of his dangerous entity, crossing into the copse and firs of the Ancient Rotunda, where the Regime once reigned, small, stupid, irritating. He didn’t bow beneath the archaic structure, the hues of kaleidoscope skies and marble arches. He didn’t simper in the bright gallows. Instead, the King invaded her terrain, raising his cranium amidst the untouched columns, the overwhelming, overpowering bestial flame seething and unraveling, waiting for the seditious plunge of his sword into her chest, into her skull. A ravenous appetite eager for a bite, restless for a taste of her flesh, of her ignorance, of her ineptitude, unfurled the penetrating, piercing shade of his vocals, calling for Confutatis; for supremacy, for dominance, the pattern continuing, the onslaught persistent, the rhythm relentless.

[0/4 posts. 605 words. Challenge for Confutatis: Deimos is seeking her bone armor and dominance over her actions. I’m not sure if it’s viable to challenge her to leave the Basin alone (maybe an admin could confirm this for me?) If not, then I’ll be satisfied with the latter. ^_^

Setting: Ancient Rotunda, end of Birdsong. Deimos is currently waiting in the center of the rotunda. ]






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We're Comfortable Killers [Confutatis Challenge] - by Deimos - 01-31-2015, 09:04 AM

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