.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
09-01-2015, 12:33 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ Continuation from here. ]
Don't—
Just don't—
His cry had gone out—seemingly unanswered at first, as nothing stirred but a slow-seeping rage at the bottom of his soul—and it was all that he could do.
It was all that he could do.
A part of his soul was dying and he was fucking helpless.
She was lying there, between his front feet, so small, so.. so perfect, even with her feathers ruffled and something, somewhere, bent out of shape—even in the tide of oblivion threatening to sweep her away (for forever) she was beautiful, because the darkness in her mind was warm.
It was warm. Warm, unlike the flood of black cold pushing against the last, breaking barrier of her mind.
"Don't," he sobbed, black nose next to her, tear-glazed eyes stuck on her, because—because if this was going to be the last time..
Shit, he couldn't even think it, couldn't even comprehend it—a darkness too vast for the confines of his skull, so it just exploded out in a hail of thought-shards and, and, and pain.
He supposed that was were the tears came from—all those things he couldn't feel, because they were too great, and all those things he could not think, because he had no words.
"Please," he begged of her, but she could not hear, and it felt stupid to ask more of her when she already gave what she had. His eyes closed, horn scratching the ground as he bowed towards her; he had cried out for help, and for a time, it seemed like none would come. Like none had any to give. Or like none cared.
A God had died.
Helovia was safe. Their duty fulfilled.
Who needed to care about a decrepit old stallion minutes from losing the best piece of his soul?
But then, there was a presence. Someone said his name. Tear-blurred eyes slipped open to a world that had no right to be so beautiful (because the most beautiful thing was slipping away), and to the familiar, diffuse outline of a giant stallion. Tembovu, saying something about the Edge healers. Tembovu, trying to fix this broken mess.
Tembovu, cleaning up the shit the God had left for them.
But he didn't understand—he wasn't linked to the tiny creature on the ground, couldn't feel how tired her heart was of beating when blood kept leaking out where it shouldn't, he couldn't know the shadows haunting her, hounding her, herding her closer and closer to the point where he could never follow—
"There's no time for that," was all he said, grief leaking out through his eyes, his mouth, every pore of his body—and it clashed with the voice saying you should try, you should try anything, what if she holds out long enough and you didn't send for them—
He never got so far, though. He never managed to say any more at all to Tembovu, because—and he sped up this part of events a bit—some black-and-blue little shit came and yelled at him.
She'd come padding up to them, all soft and silent, drawn to his grief like moth to a flame.
She had said, what have you done, and Mauja wondered the exact fucking same thing. What had he done?
Killed a God.
Yelled for help.
But apparently, he had done something—he, exclusively, because the mare shrieked in his face, and he didn't have a single clue what was going on.
Maybe it had something to do with that colt he'd flung to hell and back.
(Hey, it was an accident—)
He had more important things to care about than some poor sod already dead.
So he simply flipped his ears back and glared at her, unsure of what to say. Something along the lines of 'get the fuck out of my face if you can't help me' was on his tongue, but someone else cut in—a complete stranger, hissing at the ball of black-blue fury.
And then, she simply took control of the situation. "Move!" she snapped, pushing against the bodies blocking her, fire dancing along her spine—
—fire.
(He's torn between shying away, and charging her.)
But he didn't have the time for either. She fell to her knees by his feet, muzzle reaching out to touch his owl (his owl), and if he could've, he would've beaten himself senseless.
I don't know if you're saving her, or ending her.
Trust had never been his forte.
But this time, it wasn't like he had a choice. There was no one else here that he knew, that he could call upon, that.. that.. that could do anything, and so it was, reluctantly, that he left his place towering above his fallen friend and pressed into the side of Tembovu.
Anxiety written plain all over his face.
The King is dead.
The warmth in Irma became a little easier—a little less tense—a little more stable. Mauja simply closed his eyes, unable, and unwilling, to put words on it anymore. He just let himself go, drifted into the mind of the owl drenched in the heat of a God who had turned its element upon them many times—basked, in the warmth that fell into her in the shape of little sparks. Floated away with her in a river of sunlight.
No longer did the Door of Death cry out her name.
"Thank you," he whispered, the words low and stuck in his throat—his head had fallen back to ground level without him noticing, shoulder still thick against Tembovu, Diego sitting on his haunches (he hadn't even noticed him return). The impassivity in the owl's eyes spoke volumes of the fear he had felt.
Slowly Mauja lowered his head further to breathe warmly upon Tandavi's forehead. Now.. a few things remained. (Finding out what that first mare had shouted at him for wasn't on the list, but he had a notion he wouldn't get away from it.) The most important was somehow moving Irma from the ground and up on his back. The others.. well, take a look at what had happened with that poor sod of a colt he'd probably killed. Making sure this slender young mare who had saved his heart was alright. Checking up on the other Edgers around, if they hadn't drawn back already.
So much to do and yet he was stuck there with his nose against his owl, staring vacantly into the disturbed, bloodied ground.
[ @Tembovu @Ampere @Tandavi -- this doesn't have to be long or anything but it felt better to do it like this instead of clogging up the SWP thread :x also @Random Event because blood falls herpes! ]
Don't—
Just don't—
His cry had gone out—seemingly unanswered at first, as nothing stirred but a slow-seeping rage at the bottom of his soul—and it was all that he could do.
It was all that he could do.
A part of his soul was dying and he was fucking helpless.
She was lying there, between his front feet, so small, so.. so perfect, even with her feathers ruffled and something, somewhere, bent out of shape—even in the tide of oblivion threatening to sweep her away (for forever) she was beautiful, because the darkness in her mind was warm.
It was warm. Warm, unlike the flood of black cold pushing against the last, breaking barrier of her mind.
"Don't," he sobbed, black nose next to her, tear-glazed eyes stuck on her, because—because if this was going to be the last time..
Shit, he couldn't even think it, couldn't even comprehend it—a darkness too vast for the confines of his skull, so it just exploded out in a hail of thought-shards and, and, and pain.
He supposed that was were the tears came from—all those things he couldn't feel, because they were too great, and all those things he could not think, because he had no words.
"Please," he begged of her, but she could not hear, and it felt stupid to ask more of her when she already gave what she had. His eyes closed, horn scratching the ground as he bowed towards her; he had cried out for help, and for a time, it seemed like none would come. Like none had any to give. Or like none cared.
A God had died.
Helovia was safe. Their duty fulfilled.
Who needed to care about a decrepit old stallion minutes from losing the best piece of his soul?
But then, there was a presence. Someone said his name. Tear-blurred eyes slipped open to a world that had no right to be so beautiful (because the most beautiful thing was slipping away), and to the familiar, diffuse outline of a giant stallion. Tembovu, saying something about the Edge healers. Tembovu, trying to fix this broken mess.
Tembovu, cleaning up the shit the God had left for them.
But he didn't understand—he wasn't linked to the tiny creature on the ground, couldn't feel how tired her heart was of beating when blood kept leaking out where it shouldn't, he couldn't know the shadows haunting her, hounding her, herding her closer and closer to the point where he could never follow—
"There's no time for that," was all he said, grief leaking out through his eyes, his mouth, every pore of his body—and it clashed with the voice saying you should try, you should try anything, what if she holds out long enough and you didn't send for them—
He never got so far, though. He never managed to say any more at all to Tembovu, because—and he sped up this part of events a bit—some black-and-blue little shit came and yelled at him.
She'd come padding up to them, all soft and silent, drawn to his grief like moth to a flame.
She had said, what have you done, and Mauja wondered the exact fucking same thing. What had he done?
Killed a God.
Yelled for help.
But apparently, he had done something—he, exclusively, because the mare shrieked in his face, and he didn't have a single clue what was going on.
Maybe it had something to do with that colt he'd flung to hell and back.
(Hey, it was an accident—)
He had more important things to care about than some poor sod already dead.
So he simply flipped his ears back and glared at her, unsure of what to say. Something along the lines of 'get the fuck out of my face if you can't help me' was on his tongue, but someone else cut in—a complete stranger, hissing at the ball of black-blue fury.
And then, she simply took control of the situation. "Move!" she snapped, pushing against the bodies blocking her, fire dancing along her spine—
—fire.
(He's torn between shying away, and charging her.)
But he didn't have the time for either. She fell to her knees by his feet, muzzle reaching out to touch his owl (his owl), and if he could've, he would've beaten himself senseless.
I don't know if you're saving her, or ending her.
Trust had never been his forte.
But this time, it wasn't like he had a choice. There was no one else here that he knew, that he could call upon, that.. that.. that could do anything, and so it was, reluctantly, that he left his place towering above his fallen friend and pressed into the side of Tembovu.
Anxiety written plain all over his face.
The King is dead.
The warmth in Irma became a little easier—a little less tense—a little more stable. Mauja simply closed his eyes, unable, and unwilling, to put words on it anymore. He just let himself go, drifted into the mind of the owl drenched in the heat of a God who had turned its element upon them many times—basked, in the warmth that fell into her in the shape of little sparks. Floated away with her in a river of sunlight.
No longer did the Door of Death cry out her name.
"Thank you," he whispered, the words low and stuck in his throat—his head had fallen back to ground level without him noticing, shoulder still thick against Tembovu, Diego sitting on his haunches (he hadn't even noticed him return). The impassivity in the owl's eyes spoke volumes of the fear he had felt.
Slowly Mauja lowered his head further to breathe warmly upon Tandavi's forehead. Now.. a few things remained. (Finding out what that first mare had shouted at him for wasn't on the list, but he had a notion he wouldn't get away from it.) The most important was somehow moving Irma from the ground and up on his back. The others.. well, take a look at what had happened with that poor sod of a colt he'd probably killed. Making sure this slender young mare who had saved his heart was alright. Checking up on the other Edgers around, if they hadn't drawn back already.
So much to do and yet he was stuck there with his nose against his owl, staring vacantly into the disturbed, bloodied ground.
[ @Tembovu @Ampere @Tandavi -- this doesn't have to be long or anything but it felt better to do it like this instead of clogging up the SWP thread :x also @Random Event because blood falls herpes! ]
