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10-18-2015, 07:05 AM
Death and persecution fit him like a glove, bending and breaking until there was naught left but the soulless damnation of one more character, one more essence, one more life – and he took it each and every day, proclaiming oblivion and massacre with every breath. Hollowed away from the hallowed grounds, he was satanic and Machiavellian, blending into the folds of Stygian beliefs and Lucifer atrocities, seeking mayhem and depravity between the gallows and the sunlight; heeding nothing, caring for nothing, until the ruthlessness was over and he saw the piles of bones, the lined carcasses, the misshapen figures of those he once knew. The stag was another beast intending to take the plunge, too proud to fumble and stumble in the wake of his death, in the foreshadowed lines and stanzas of what was to come, and they were followers in its stead: forgoing the notion that they too would become him in time, aching for release but too determined, too resolute, too damned to ask for anything more than one last battle, one last folly, one last run into the noose. Instead of slithering into melancholy and the void of their own future, he relished the reverential qualities of the hunt, the carnivore substances, the predatory gleam, the varnished, awakened, tantalizing allure of demise and ruin, a barbaric witness to Thranduil’s thundering longings, to Hotaru’s brewing capabilities. Naught more than a shadow whispering on the wind, a quiet, everlasting opus of scythes and catacombs, he was delivered a kick to the left shoulder, altering his course with an inaudible grunt of pain and a burrowed growl, drifting into the shadows to study, to muddle, to scrutinize where his influence best fit. His cold, calculating stare regarded the motions and movements of his allies closely, paying no heed to the blood dripping down his sword, to the besotted wickedness of his invocations chanting for release, to take away the creature’s life, to put one more knot in the rope and throw him off the ramparts. Instead, the beast, the monster, the Reaper pushed off the ice and rime and frost, pulsing with a grand madness, a sharpened edge, a keen, rapacious gleam, avoiding his compatriots and delving into absolute brutality, barbarous and unstoppable, aching and unwinding, aiming his blade for the elk’s left flank, intending to leave it completely, utterly vulnerable, weak, decrepit, begging for its thread to be snapped.
[Tries to avoid getting in Hotaru or Thran's way. Aims to cut the stag along his left flank.]
[Tries to avoid getting in Hotaru or Thran's way. Aims to cut the stag along his left flank.]
Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
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