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08-12-2012, 09:38 PM
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.
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.
