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 Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:03 am
Area 51Arden 'meets' Gideon Joint RP #1 Tsunake "Warning. Warning. Speeds have surpassed the recommended limit. Hull has been breached. Survival rate of crew is now less than three percent. Activating reverse thrusters now. ...Warning, critical brake system failure has extended to the whole of the vessel. Survival rate of crew is now less than three percent..." The smooth and polished voice of the computer was lost within the furious howling of rushing space and relentless gravity that ripped them all down to their deaths. In eerie harmony to the chaos the symphony of dying and wounded men cried out in broken voices, some as rasping screams while others choked and gurgled feverish prayers to whatever gods they believed in. They had all been plunged into darkness, swallowed and smothered with a physical representation of blindness; they didn't know what would happen next, couldn't see it, afraid to think it. And yet, there was always that brief moment of clarity--the backup lights would tremble and weakly lift their eyes to illuminate the decimated interior of the ship for only a moment--the realization that they were going to die. The lights would then freeze, their incessant flickering stilled by sheer terror before they plunged the vessel again into a cloak of darkness, hiding the horrible truth from the few men that were still coherent enough to think. Trapped underneath some godforsaken scrap of twisted, melting metal, he fought to free himself from its seething embrace, metal-clad fingers raking fruitlessly at the filthy floor. The air was thick with the stench of charred flesh--wounds made putrid by the toxins of Phazon that the Space Pirates deployed in their weaponry. Someone was rasping for breath, dragging in each lungful with such labor that he swore his own ribs ached in sympathy. Only when the chest cavity of his armor began to grow moist and sticky in the midst of the chaos did he realize the roughened sounds were escaping past his own gritted teeth. His breath was foul, washing up against the inner visor of his helmet before coating his own face with its warm desperation even as he summoned all the strength he could muster and heaved his body forward. The wreckage attempting to crush his armored legs groaned, reluctantly shifting to offer the man a futile inch--just enough to spark hope within his pain-clouded mind. He'd been a fool, thinking he could face death without a tremor or a flicker of doubt. Arden Valkov, a fine Marine for almost ten whole years now. A trained warrior who'd stared death in the face without so much of a flinch... but this. What was this? Defeat? Beaten down and slaughtered by a much weaker enemy that had overwhelmed them by sheer force. He himself had been knocked unconscious when the first Space Pirate craft had rammed right through one of the Valkyrie's sides, sending him flying until an unyielding wall of steel had reared up to smack him to the ground. His comrades were dead or dying, and he had to wonder just how many times he'd heard the screams of his allies, of young, good men being dragged into the depths of Hell before their allotted time. The Valkyrie quaked underneath his pinned frame, and the man struggled to twist his head. Streaks of fire danced down his spine even as he made to eye one of the gaping rends that had been torn into the hull, his attention seized by something that struck him as so bizarre that it overwhelmed his agony. Light. Piercing, bright, and beautiful. The belly of the holocaust-seized ship was skimming the horizon of the planet, and a new dawn would smile upon whatever carnage the Valkyrie left behind upon its unexpected arrival. Muddy eyes rolled in frenzied panic for a moment, fingers scraping against the dented floor until they went lax. He would not allow fear to rule him in his last moments. His world went black then, blind to the blurred snatches of sky visible outside and chaos around him, deaf to the lamentations and the cool, female voice that gently reminded them that their chances of survival were grim. Ironically, it was the crushing pressure of the debris still sprawled atop his prone body that would save him. The impact of the ship smashing itself into the grassy fields sent a shockwave through the vessel that instantly killed whoever was not strapped down or otherwise secure onboard. Metal ripped through the earth who screamed and screamed until the horrendous bulk of the foreign beast came to an uneasy, shuddering stop. It wasn't long before one of the engines combusted, and the interior of the craft was choked with thick, stifling smoke. Arden awoke in Hell. His entire body had been consumed in greedy flames, fueled by spilled oil and electrical sparks that had blossomed to overtake the whole of the ship. Though the battle-scarred armor that covered him had warded off the worst of the heat, it wasn't enough to keep him from being slowly cooked alive. The energy reserves plugged back into the suit were draining--warning screens were crackling like lightning across his visor. "Waa...rrnnnii-ii--ii--" The main computer whispered through the hissing of the fire. Arden filled his lungs, ignoring the spasms of pain that wracked his broad frame, and found that his filter was still working, letting him breathe in the asphyxiating environment. He lashed out with his legs to kick the greatly damaged wreckage off his form and bit off a scream when his left kneecap threatened to fail all together. Live. Live. Look towards the light. Gasping for breath while unbidden tears rolled down his cheeks, the man hauled himself through the flames, relying on the strength of his arms to let him reach one of the many rips in the ship's side. Survival motivated him now, and it was sheer, animalistic willpower that enabled him to haul himself through the jagged metal crevasse. He tumbled to the ruined soil below, the drop far enough to break whatever ribs were still somewhat whole. Arden was dying. The crash hadn't killed him, nor had the fire, but the extent of his injuries were draining what little life remained in his body. Yet, as the glazed brown of his eyes watched the sun lift its golden head to demurely peer at the destruction, there was hope. Hope. He had one last energy tank, still strapped to his back and in prime position to be activated. His bruised and battered arms began to shift, freezing when the pain that overtook him was great enough that he choked and watched the world go dim. He had to do this--there was no choice. It wasn't his turn to die yet... not when he'd been so clearly given a second chance. Lady_Ourania The wave had hit him miles ago, back where the twisted shapes of trees exploded like matchsticks and the earth's trembling turned over a darker, poisonous soil beneath the parched layer. It was a whitecap crested by diseased misery, pounded into the surf by long-dreaded misfortune; an event that made the wolf in him howl anguished notes at a moldering satellite while the god churned with irresolution. Something had happened, momentous and intractable as he'd covered acres on aching paws, feebly trying to escape the delicately fashioned carbuncle he carried everywhere. But now he was racing toward the heart of whatever carnage had been unleashed in his absence, long legs pumping and sending shocks through his joints as his canine-shape loped across the wreckage of the world, the smell of death permeating everything when even the barest semblance of life stopped trying.
As a wolf, Gideon bristled, feeling the effects in the sky through the air he breathed in increasingly winded pants, through claws that rent pathways into an already disheveled land. But it was the man that was truly uneasy, his thoughts contained in spite of the surrounding wilderness, trying to keep pace with the intricacies of whatever act he had blundered into while slipping sideways onto the stage. This entire thing had the stink of Destruction about it, of such he was certain. That god couldn’t wipe his a** properly without first dispatching all kinds of disturbances for those bystanders who dared to keep banked on the plane of existence. It was almost as though oblivion was the preferred alternative, something where he could no longer reach out and grab the nearest body, taunting it into animation before crushing it roughly, mercilessly, and all with the same hand.
His hate burned hotter than the lactic acid, pushing him relentlessly forward, toward the grandson he had left in the supposed safety of a redheaded goddess’ quarters. Now there was only the doubt, the frustration, and even a keyhole of anxiety unlocked by this manner of disruption. He did not know who was safe, who was alive and well. He knew only that he needed to determine the casualties for himself.
Wrapped up in his own thoughts, the temporarily four-legged host did not initially notice the humming atmosphere, attributing it to yet another random bit of backfiring as the universe began to collapse in on itself like a toddler after a long day of innocent participation. But the sound eventually broadened into a dull roar that made him whip around with his fur standing at full attention, the white of it blazed with the slightest hints of red while yellowed eyes narrowed around small pupils. The heavens were on fire, orange collaborating with navy to make a terrific spectacle as something beyond damaged plunged downward with a cohort of smaller, broken pieces following alongside. The charred thing didn’t even bother to pull up before it smacked the terrain, some rat of a meteor expecting an easy take down and encountering only the dull crash of muscled resistance.
The wolf stared at it for a long while to observe the molten skeleton of its previous splendor, identifying it as some sort of modified dirigible just before it began to billow grey clouds into an already heat-mottled area. He might have turned away then, having no interest in airships or their more stable space-counterparts, already knowing that any remaining crew had either evacuated or disintegrated into the lightless lands on impact. But an amused whisper of intercession from War made him pause grudgingly, an ear swiveling backward while his black nose flared, trying to catch a scent. There was a peculiar, biting acridness still wafting through the flames that spoke of manufactured venom, stinging to his sinuses even as it traced other origins. People, plenty of them, but corpses now from what his nose could gather and his ears could catch over the crackling laughter of devouring elements. Nothing was alive in there. Even if someone had been unfortunate enough to survive the spine-unhinging collision, the mechanical fires would have certainly spelled a roasting end. He could already smell bodies burning; a metal bird reduced to a crematorium that indiscriminately twined and spread the ashes of the same lives it had been designed to protect.
It was a curiosity to be proven wrong when groping hands appeared from the demolished hull, soon giving way to a bloated head that he realized was actually some kind of overblown helm protecting a fragile human skull. A whole body eventually slid from the provided opening, weak as a baby from the womb and lacking a physician to catch it as the individual was instead delivered into the rough hands of a dying planet, struggling to complete a task that seemed beyond his condition.
It took a moment before the phantom shape approached; picking his way through the cooking debris with light steps, mind buzzing outraged ferocity at the delay that Melanthos’ sadistic intrigue had caused. In the end, it seemed that it mattered little, the sensitivity of his nose able to catch the aroma of fatal injuries even before he was upon the man, recognizing gender through the stench of hormones and sweat while his nose lowered to almost press into the visor separating elongated snout from primate flatness. He grimly pondered an unscheduled return to his human shape in order to perform a mercy killing, aware that biting through the suit to reach the man's throat would take more time than simply finding the appropriate switch to open it and finish what bullying gravity had started. Tsunake Robbed of their armor-coated treat, relentless tongues of flame poked through the very hole from which the man had made his inelegant escape. Hissing and spitting hot ash, it prodded in seeming madness for the feebly twitching being still sprawled at the base of the blackened, twisted metal. The distance between them was still too great, and the frustrated fire twisted its many faces up towards the skies themselves, illuminating the early morning with an eruption of heat and fiery fury. His breath was flecked with crimson now, obscuring what little view he had through the crackling flames and smoke. The combination of the crushing weight that had kept him pinned before and the fall from the destroyed vessel had done more than just injure his ribs, Arden realized with a strangely distant sort of jolt; it'd paralyzed him. Cracked lips moved without sound, a silent, furious protest to the inhumanity of his fate. The energy tank was right there, literally still strapped to his back, and he couldn't do a goddamn thing to save himself. After all that--after ten years of serving and fighting, he was going to die here on the soil of some unknown planet, his body likely to be consumed and devoured by native scavengers. No one would know his story, or the story of his crew. No one would understand how, unexplainably, their ship had began to malfunction only seconds before the Pirate attack, how each and every man on board had been gripped with gut-wrenching terror and agony. Hell, he didn't understand even now. It had to have been some new weapon those bastards had developed. The light his unfocused eyes had so desperately sought was beginning to fade as his conscious began to drift, and the sweet song of darkness welcomed him into its soothing arms. Life form approaching.It took him a moment to register the static-imbued words that crackled across his monitor, and even by the time he'd forced his mind to comprehend them, they were gone. A strangled wheeze caught in his chest, choking him until he coughed and coughed. The blood ran down his chin, and Arden felt the darkness rise up once more to take him. It descended, brushing gentle lips against the front of his visor--and he realized then that twin pinpricks of light had bloomed within the shadow, morphing into something purely alien and alive. He'd never seen a creature such as this before, sickly bubbles of blood still pushing at his lips while the dying soldier stared uncomprehendingly at the beast. Scavengers... Was this one of many who would squabble amongst themselves to breach his armor and gorge on his flesh? Arden was surprised by the intelligence he could sense in the creature's gaze, and deluded desperation was enough to force his broken body into action. "T-Tank...s-strapped...strapped to my back..." The voice emulator of his suit had suffered, the choking gurgles of his speech underlined with a queer crackle of failing mechanics. "Push it," Came the ragged request before he was overwhelming by another coughing fit. If the energy tank could be properly connected to his suit's reserves, there was a chance that it was still functioning enough to save his life... But if this beast was nothing more than truly an animal in mind, his last efforts and energy reserves would have been wasted. He had no choice; he could not accept dying in miserable silence until he had exhausted all other options. Lady_Ourania Colorblind as he was, Gideon could still distinguish the frothy mixture falling from the other's mouth and nose in oxygen-deprived bursts, the absence of a familiar hue only leaving him vaguely irritated instead of perplexed. War had lost interest the moment he'd seen the extent of the wounds, seeming to finally agree with his transport that it was too late to do much of anything beyond observe another life as it spilled messily out into nothing. It pleased him on some vicious level to have been proven right, even at the expense of this poor b*****d's twitching, gasping end, their gazes meeting through a shield of thick glass that reflected the horizon line in his eyes.
Roughly triangular ears quivered and flipped back to flatten against his skull when a voice rang out under a great deal of technical interference, his lips folding above his teeth in dislike even as he sorted through what was being said. Surprise flickered across a face not intended to display it when he finally caught on, eyeing the dying man with a great deal of suspicion. Did he recognize what he was? If not him personally, than the intertwined species that made up his skewed genetics? Canine frame imbued with only the barest blunting of human intellect... why else would a metal-clad man be addressing a wolf that would sooner chew through his armor to get to the warm flesh beneath than save him?Desperation. The word had a cutting edge, like pieces of colored glass before they were joined together to become a whole window panel. Hope. Call it what you like. He's brimming with it.The mammal huffed a sigh, hot breath fogging up the view between them even as he considered the task set before him with critical indecision. He could see the piece of equipment being indicated, something lacquered black on the top and segmented with blue in the middle, the whole of it emitting a chemical smell his nose didn't appreciate in the slightest. Still, the instructions seemed clear enough, and fairly uncomplicated as far as last requests went. He hadn't asked him to track down his wife and fourteen children spread across the far reaches of space to relay some petty final message, after all.
Gideon considered his paws before stepping back a few feet to give himself room, wasting no time as the dull crack of bones adjusted to bipedalism, the noise offset by the slink of muscular tissue gradually organizing into a better representation of humanity. Fur retracted back into a less fantastic hint of fuzz, his head growing a mane that fell down toward his back in the form of pale, untamed hair. At length, he returned to the stranded man's side and squatted down, peering with gold-flecked eyes through washed out bangs before reaching to shift him into a more accessible position. The hand used to compress the tank was the one that contained the arrowhead of his demise, planning to denounce the god at any available moment and feed on his dignity that way. Once he had completed the move, the brazenly unclothed being settled the man back into a more comfortable position, expecting a second, more rational appeal to be made. Tsunake The glowing orbs flickered for a moment, the bold spheres reflecting the dancing flames all around them, and withdrew without warning, leaving the dying man alone once more. He wasn't sure if it was the sound of his voice that had frightened the creature away, or even if perhaps it'd gone to gather its fellows for the kill. Something popped faintly, and the flames hissed with greedy--he merely assumed they'd found something like timber to consume. It didn't matter much anymore. His time was up. The hoarse rattles in his throat slowly quieted as the satin curtain of darkness returned again to drape itself lovingly across his face, dimming the harsh glare of the flames and swallowing up the pale light of the morning. Damaged armor groaned as he was gripped and shifted backwards, managing only a choked sigh to express the way his bones and nerves screamed. There was pressure then against his back, sending raw waves of agony ripping down his spine as the tank clicked cheerfully into place. The results were nearly instantaneous; the entire canister hummed low and rich while the liquid contents within lit like they were radioactive. The azure substance began to drain, pumping furiously through specially made valves within the man's suit to access his vitals, enveloping them in the rich, healing fluid and forcing their bleeding to stop. Torn and crushed nerves were next, firmly flattened out and forced to reconnect with their brothers and sisters to channel proper signals to his limbs. But one tank could only do so much--and by the time it began to mend the marine's bones, it had drained itself dry. Arden, rigid as any corpse gripped in the throes of death, suddenly sank back into the earth as though praying it would swallow him whole. Armored fingers clawed to give him purchase before he hauled himself to a sitting position and exhaustedly pulled his damaged helm from his head. A mess of shortly cut auburn was plastered to his skull, and the man angled his bruised jaw before spitting blood, hoping to rid his mouth of the irony tang. "Thanks." He intoned in a hoarse, accented tone, finally shifting brown eyes over to where he thought the beast might have gone to. There was no creature there--but a man, stark-naked and completely unashamed of himself. For a moment, the man looked surprised, but the inevitable exhaustion and hurt from his pains soon settled across his masculine features. "Federation Marine, Arden Valkov at your service, sir." He kept his eyes on the other's face, shifting his legs faintly as though wondering if they'd hold his weight. Somehow, he doubted it. They were throbbing like that goddamn pile of wreckage had fallen on them all over again. With an almost guilty start, the man hauled himself to his feet to stare at the burning Valkyrie, quickly yanking his helmet back on. Switching to Visor Mode, he sought to scan the ship, hunting for any vital signs of his comrades... but the blips remained dark, indicating that his fellow men were dead. Arden slanted his eyes away and back to his unknown savior, knowing that there'd be time later to grieve. He couldn't lose his head yet--not with Space Pirates still circling the stars above. They might follow to see the end product their destruction had wrought. "...What planet is this?" The man questioned softly through garbled mechanics, twisting to fully face the other with his hands free and relaxed at his sides. He'd lost his assault rifle... but whether his gauntlets still functioned, he wasn't quite sure. If anything, he was secure in the fact that his armor was in relatively decent condition, and would last him until he could find a safe place before he began taking steps into attempting to contact the Federation. Lady_Ourania Chapped lips tightened when the lazuli core began to gleam and slosh against polished walls, the scruffy male resisting the urge to back into a defensive posture when it vanished from sight with a low, thrumming resonance. His first thought was to scour the ground for signs of what had occurred, wondering if he had cracked the casing somehow and sent the innards trickling out. But he could find no growing puddle of phosphorescence that indicated a leak, and the smell of the compromised flesh beneath the protective gear had started to change noticeably. A reflexive growl bit the clan leader's throat when the wounded shape shuddered out of the stiffness that had infected it, his mind still involved in animal processes while higher cognitive reasoning tried to explain what he was viewing. Still, even his human half was at a loss when the form sat up and seemed to shake it off, suddenly fine when, mere heartbeats ago, he had been convinced that the only remaining potential was that of becoming a corpse.
Gideon stayed crouched while the headpiece was removed, clinically studying the features presented beneath the short cropping of sweat-soaked hair, trying to determine if the entire scene had been some skilled ruse to waste time. The flying wad of bloodied saliva went unmentioned, though he took it as a sign of authenticity, giving only a slight nod of acceptance to indicate that he had registered the gratitude. The face beneath the visor was young, or at least younger than his, though he hardly looked like any manner of ageless, fey thing that might have quickly healed on his own. Again, the pale-haired warrior regarded the newly emptied tank with distrust, drawing sketchy conclusions that he would wonder over without ever bothering to ask the source directly.
It wasn't until the pain wilted stare finally found him that he realized the boy had no idea who or what he was in spite of having spoken to him expectantly, seemingly surprised to find a man waiting where the feral creature had stood before. He chewed on the interior of a cheek, agitated with the press of spent minutes versus distance left to traverse and answers still to be found. The introduction drew at least some of the restlessness out of his body, familiar with the branch if not the agency attached to it. A soldier then, a man hardened by battle and bloodshed. All that fire in the sky looks to be birthing soldiers. How convenient. The rasping laughter of long anticipated entertainment made him shudder slightly, muscles trembling as though overexerted or cold before accomplishing their unyielding stance once more. But then the cruelness of an addition nearly knocked him down again. It seems only appropriate with the careful Moon distant as ever and the sweet Mother barren, doesn't it?Ignoring the bait proved harder than it should have, a delicate balance struck between his emotions and whatever War was feasting upon. "Gideon Silouanos." He returned belatedly after he had calmed the internal furor, tone rough as sandpaper while the marine slammed his helmet back on and performed a double check to make sure the ruination of his vessel was complete.
He grimaced at the question that managed to erupt through the scratchy distortion of technology, rising to a stand as well and paying the landscape around them a cursory glance. "... Doesn't matter. They're all dying. This is just the seat of it." The place where all the chess pieces were assembling while he was stranded in a space off the board, chatting up a stranger beneath a shrieking firmament.
"I'm going." He remarked gruffly and without preamble, taking a few steps away and looking back over his shoulder to pin the still injured man with grassy blades of severity. "Lose the armor if you're coming. It'll slow you down, and I'm not the waiting kind." Tsunake The crouched, somehow menacing display of both body language and vocalization struck him as odd, though he assumed it was merely native custom. Who knew all what resided on this alien planet? Besides, if this was the worst thrown at him, he could shoulder the brunt of reality like it wasn't even there. A shiver rippled through the form of the wolfish man and he caught it with cool, if careful scrutiny. A mere observation at best, for he had no idea of the cause and reason for its unexpected appearance. The rough words were taken in with the same measure of evaluation, and Arden nodded slowly to the slow response to his introduction--perhaps the man was still wary of him, afraid to hand out titles so easily. His next statement confirmed it, and the marine had to wonder exhaustedly if perhaps a war or feud of some sort was gripping this planet. It wasn't uncommon. "What's happening?" He made to question, and instead fell into silence as the man roughly announced his departure and was off. Arden gave a slight jerk of surprise, balking immediately at the thought of discarding his armor. Without it... Well, it was the only source of protection he had, the last scrap of home and his life, still clinging to his body. The armor-clad warrior tilted his head downward for a brief moment, never one to brood, and whittled down his options. His armor--and the armor of his comrades--might still be here when he returned. As injured as he was (and his swollen kneecaps were beginning to throb from standing), Arden knew he wouldn't last the night if he was set upon by predators. It pained him as he pulled his helmet again from his face and dropped it carelessly on the charred soil, nimble fingers quickly activating the releases for the rest. The sleek metal sighed softly as it loosened its hold upon the man, and, though with difficulty and the occasional twitch of pain, he managed to pull himself free. Though the heat of the flames was uncomfortable now against his skin-hugging under suit, Arden also felt a brief twinge of pleasure from his unburdened muscles. Still, he was unhappy and set his bottom jaw as though to better stifle his emotion. At least, he briefly reassured himself, he still had his fists. The first step he took, unaided by the embrace of metal, nearly made him stumble before the man pulled himself upright. Tension gripped him like a vice, a temporarily impenetrable shield to pain that allowed him to function, regardless of damage wrought to his injuries. He asked no questions though his mind burned with them--a silent soldier awaiting commands from one who knew the land much better than he. He could only pray this Gideon wasn't leading him into something worse. Lady_Ourania He waited long enough to ensure the threat was taken seriously before dropping down to all fours, shedding humanity with the same briskness that the other man displayed in abandoning his equipment. A symphony of pops and damp tearing beneath the flesh eventually resulted in his return to a more obviously predatory shape, rapidly altering vision scanning their surroundings to decide if they were still clear for travel. Shifting so often was beginning to take its toll, however, his body throbbing with muted protest, paws fitting wrongly into the hominian mindset still dominating his brain. The great wolf shook out the whiteness of his pelt until it felt properly affixed onto his frame, snapping his jaws to reassert authority with a brute's unbending will. It was reckless, but necessary, any allotment of time he had been given unknown to him, and therefore to be utilized as quickly and effectively as possible under the circumstances.
Unfortunately, it appeared as though they were not going to make it to the Pantheon in a punctual manner, the standing Arden Valkov had done to admire the death trap he had pulled himself out of hardly an indication of walking prowess. The brief sign of weakness accompanying the marine's first step made dark pupils dilate with interest, taking a cocksure step toward him before his thoughts plunked into proper order and stilled the impulse. It would take a minute for everything to settle, for all of the checks and balances to establish a decent system in him, and he loathed the idea of waiting even that long. How much of a lag would the half-crippled space boy create?
Gideon circled ruminatively around the stationary figure, tempted to clack his teeth near the other man's heels and see if that didn't help. His patience was a fragile thing at best, even with common sense and a fellowship based on strife to fortify it. He lowered his snout to press lightly into the back of one knee, not exerting enough force to cause Arden to pitch forward so much as applying an unscheduled inspection. He rested there while thoughts took turns chasing each other down the intermediate route of his two primary personalities, pride stalling any concrete resolutions. The soldier wouldn't get far on his own two legs - that much he could surmise without difficulty - but anything beyond that and he arrived at an impasse. He could persuade the mortal to stay near his demolished ship and return to collect him later, when the call of duty had lessened and the world was a more agreeable place. The only trouble with such a scenario was that there was no guarantee he would come back to find a living, breathing person waiting for him, and warrior sensibilities recoiled at the thought of leaving a downed man behind. The other option...
A bass rumble originating from his chest built rapports up his neck and into the many sharp teeth to be found in his mouth, bristling with displeasure even as part of him relented. He stepped around to the front of the male, bumping a little roughly against his legs to indicate they were no longer needed, tail thrashing in a distinctly unfriendly way. His back was broad with plenty of areas where steadying hand-holds could be found, his form burly enough to provide the barest of accommodations while they covered ground at an accelerated pace.Playing pony now? Where did all that dignity go, soldier?Go ******** yourself. The snarl echoed into reality, his muzzle wrinkling with animosity while the gold of his eyes threw molten sparks. It was bad enough that he would be forced to offer something of this nature, straining even the drawn lines of domesticity, but he needed to move, and he needed to do it without stopping every few feet to make sure he hadn't lost sight of the one he'd inadvertently saved. Tsunake His pain-laced stride was forced into a jagged and uneasy halt as Gideon seemed to fall to his knees, gripped with the sudden awareness that the man might have injured himself as well. Did he inhale too much smoke? Ringing ears barely caught the moist rip that signaled the start of a transformation he would not soon forget. Arden watched in a mixture of horrified awe as bones cracked and hair sprouted, as flat facial structure thrust itself outward into an unmistakable snout and the two-legged biped morphed into a four-legged beast. The creature he saw from before--they were one in the same. The thing cracked its powerful maw together, the sound not unlike a gunshot, and the armor less soldier tensed in preparation. Men that could turn themselves into beasts... He could only see the gleam of the creature's eyes as it watched him, taking a slow and purposefully predatory step in his direction. Had the man merely wanted him stripped of his armor to make an easier kill? Arden quelled the urge to glance at where he'd discarded the body suit, knowing the beast would be on him in an instant if it truly wanted to. He was circled like some dying prey animal, only twisting his head as far as he could to follow and feebly track the other's movements. With legs too crippled to pivot as quickly as he would like, Arden feared any sudden movements that would send him toppling, therefore exposing his throat to the teeth that the beast seemed more than happy to display. It was clearly thinking, though he couldn't hope to fathom just what about. And what sounds it was making... Fine hairs on the back of his neck, already slathered with sweat, prickled with not only unease, but the sense of a potential fight that brewed within the heat of the still-roaring flames behind them. The creature's nose was pressed against his hamstring, and from the growls that flowed thick and furious from its throat, Arden was ready to feel the excruciating pain of teeth ripping through tendon and muscle alike. It seemed his mental preparation would be wasted; nimble steps brought the beast directly in front of him, unscathed and with no new wounds to bear. Pain flared, hot and without restraint in his bumped kneecaps and the marine choked back a curse. One hand unconsciously gripped the animal's fur to steady himself, though the snarl that erupted soon after from that razor-lined maw was enough to make the appendage drop back to his side. His brow creased faintly and the man looked politely puzzled, aching fingers flexing unconsciously into a fist and back as he sought to understand just what it was that Gideon wanted. "I don't understand what you want." He said simply and allowed his hand to again reach for the lupine, palm pressing faintly against one shoulder. A second snarl would be more than enough to let him know that such was the wrong decision, and his line of thinking was incorrect. Otherwise... Well, from before, it almost looked as though the beast had been ready to bodily haul him to wherever it was they were going. It--he--certainly looked big enough. Lady_Ourania The apprehension coming off the human was palpable, something that stuck to the overheated air in stagnant clumps and directed an idle spike of annoyance to a worthy cause. The soldier was wary of him: of what he was and what he was capable of accomplishing under animalistic directives, retaining his skepticism despite the show of goodwill he had performed already by doing as asked. Minutes before, death was inaction, spelled out in crushed vertebrae and darkening blotches of internal bleeding. If the Were had any intention of causing further harm, he would have done so earlier on instead of lulling the other with insipid tunes of false security, his healthy leverage complete enough that it did not even require elaboration. If he wanted him dead, he would be.
A hand clutching onto a fistful of his coat earned his attention too late, only feeling when it was quickly plucked away as though burned by the intensity of his hate. The prudent motion extinguished the seething noise pulsing over his tongue, understanding suddenly that it was not entirely Valkov's fault that a seed of doubt had been planted. His internal turmoil was dripping into the environment, intimidating the younger man without meaning to, making it almost impossible to instill even a tenuous idea of immunity from his temper. Something reminiscent of a sigh escaped Gideon's maw while thick limbs tried to don an attitude of relaxation, turning a resigned eye up to gaze at Arden when he admitted confusion. It was only to be expected that his unspoken command had trouble finding purchase, the limited communications between man and savage well-known to him.
When another attempt was made, this time with the palm in clear view as it alighted on his thick shoulder, the wolf remained deliberately silent by way of encouragement. An awkward side-step brought his body nearer, the ridge of his spine close to the upright man's belly, all along trying to ignore the implications of offering his back to another male. As a one-time alpha, the thought of being mounted sent electrical currents of resistance through every pathway, jarring to his feral side even as he repressed it with careful bands of purpose. He would not enjoy this, but then again, the ride would not exactly be smooth for his fellow warrior either. He was not a horse - he was not built to carry a heavy load of any variety, with any sense of comfort still intact - but supernatural brawn would substitute in areas where nature had neglected to tamper, and his burden would have to make due without a saddle. Tsunake Whether it was his radiating unease or the words from his lips that caught Gideon's attention, he didn't know. The beast's shaggy head shifted faintly to lock eyes with him, and a sigh so unmistakably human heaved itself from a pair of enormous lungs that Arden unconsciously felt himself relaxing a little. Though the other now wore the face of a predator, he could still see the man inside. The rigidness faded from the mammal too, spine and limbs notably growing lax as though to help further reassure him. The hand that connected them shifted upward, more towards the back of Gideon's neck. His fingers, though separated by fabric, could detect the thick coarseness of the animal's pelt, suggesting that the beast was able to travel through some of the colder weather that might grip this planet. He knew his analysis would need to wait until; Gideon suddenly shifted closer, and Arden realized how easily the other would dwarf him if he were to rear up on his hinds. Heavy silence weighed down on them both, but the marine would accept it as a favorable sign to his presence. His other hand slowly ghosted to grip the matted ruff presented to him, and with a low and pain-seeped grunt, he swung a leg over the beast's side. He nearly slipped off entirely at first, the slickness of his under suit and Gideon's current build informing him that not only was he poorly dressed for such a maneuver, but that the other wasn't exactly meant to be ridden. Arden had never owned any pets as a child, nor been in friendly situations with animals as a whole--he simply didn't know how to treat them. The fact that this monster was also a man who'd saved his life... well, it enabled him to gingerly lean forward, not-quite vertical against the withers of the wolf. His hands still sought to retain their hold on shoulders and ruff without yanking fur anymore than he had to, and he was careful to stay away from Gideon's throat to avoid accidental choking. This, he realized with a faint, deepening sort of gloom, wasn't going to much fun for either of them. He hauled his knees up so his feet would no longer touch the ground, hissing a curse into one furry shoulder from the resulting throb. The ride would be brutal, and he knew it. Better than staying here as easy pickings near the wreckage, still burning like some great signal fire to announce his untimely arrival. "As you will." Arden managed after a moment, resisting the urge to bunch up his muscles to better prepare himself. Lady_Ourania The sensation of being unthinkingly stroked, of gloved hands running through the curly knots and tangles that made up his bestial covering prodded Gideon into rearranging his feet, the pressure deadened through the thickness but still detectable. He was not some common mutt, not a dog that could be appeased through gesture alone, but the animal in him receded slightly anyway, gentled by what it perceived as submissive contact that was not wholly unlike a pup attempting to groom with poor motor skills. Comparing Arden to a less informed version of Milo got them through the part where a leg was laboriously lifted and thrown over him, his ears rotating while he kept his eyes at half-mast.
Prepared as he was for the outraged shock of accepting another's weight, it still took a great deal of convincing to avoid whipping around and biting a sizable chunk out of the closest appendage when the man finally lowered himself down, shattering the spell of pretend into rocky pieces. It was only a steady mantra of reprimand to his canine half that prevented an embarrassing breach, his sides heaving in measured breaths while he calmed his overwrought nerves. To promote endurance and safety for the marine, the wolf held his head low so that his muzzle was posed just above the fetid earth, puffing air through his nostrils and dissecting the ground with a glance. There were no insects to be found in the blackened soil, even the heartiest species either relocated or wiped out, and so his self-provided counseling stirred mere clods of dirt that could not writhe with protest.
Small tremors ran along his flanks while Valkov adjusted his position into something less compromising, aching to swerve away from being clumsily boarded. He persisted in absolute immobility until a hissed oath made him cant his head slightly to see what the man was up to, appraising the situation and turning back. When an invitation was finally extended, he surged forward without even a warning tossed over his shoulder, more than ready to be on his way.
His stride was bumpy at first, compensating for the load on his back that made him stagger a little, trying to acclimate by shrugging and swaying until Arden felt evenly distributed. The journey after that was more fluid, but still a far cry from anything resembling luxury, his legs stretching longer than normal in the misguided hope that they could make it to their destination sooner. The scenery breezed by in blurred sepia tones and capillaries of charcoal, all of it disregarded as he set his sights on a distant city and rocketed blindly toward it.
By the time he arrived at a stop, his mouth was lathered with pinkish saliva that dribbled down his neck and dotted his cheeks, his legs wobbling while he hacked on the rank air with full-bodied spasms of pain. The cracked streets that he had been maneuvering for the past twenty minutes all looked the same, his spotty vision demanding a reliance based completely on his nose. It had led him easily to the center of the uproar, a building of colossal standing that stood erect where all the structures around it had crumpled or been flattened by an unseen force that still skulked close by. The Pantheon was dark and foreboding even to his untrustworthy senses as he hauled himself and his cargo exhaustedly up the steps, pressing his furry head to the door to take another breather while his wet mouth tried to find a way to coax it open. Something was definitely wrong, the climate closest to the house of the gods oozing like a wound gone septic. He caught whiffs of blood and things yet more sinister, all of it condensed enough that it was almost solid. There had been dead creatures in the streets, the corpses of people, pets, and wild things lured in by the dizzy landscape. Would the story be the same on the inside? Tsunake Coiled muscle trembled against his aching thighs, every inch of it emerging from the lean, raw power of the beast underneath him and Arden could fully appreciate evolution’s ingenious design. How those sides heaved underneath his weight… The marine gritted his teeth to better bite back the unexpected wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. Little more than a sack of bruised flesh and broken bone, he was helpless to ease the burden that—to him—Gideon had selflessly taken upon himself. He would do what he could, but there was no doubt in his mind that this journey would strain them both to the point of further injury. The best he could hope for was that it would be a short one. The other lunged forward a mere instant after his softly spoken speech, all bristling fur and heaving strength. Such propulsion practically unseated him, slick fingers clawing for a better handhold while the danger of falling off became very real to the young soldier. Pain was a mere, trifling obstacle; he was worried that the creature, so driven in his desire to go, wouldn’t bother to come fetch him. Every jolt that twitched through the body of the beast seemed to knock the wind out of him, forcing him to huddle more firmly against protruding shoulder blades even as they pounded against his chest. He didn’t know how long they kept up their awkward pace, his body so wracked with pain atop the tiring creature’s back that the looming city seemed some god-blessed miracle sent in disguise. Arden kept his gaze skirted low, ignoring the wind slapping plaintively at his eyes as they pushed closer and closer to the outskirts. Gideon soon swept them through mounds of ruined stone and choking smoke, leaving the marine to wonder if his assumption of a war had really been so far off. This place had looked beautiful once, or so he detected from what whipped by at the edges of his periphery. But now… what had happened? The effort that gripped the creature as it hauled both their weight could be felt through his exhausted limbs, and Arden winced with each rasping cough that shuddered through its frame. Attention soon snagged by the looming behemoth of a building before them, his dark eyes quickly strained to take in the magnificent whole of their apparent arrival point. Despite its grandeur, his guts were writhing with unease at the silent sight, and, so caught up in his misgivings, the man realized with a jolt that they had finally stopped. Arden forced himself to slip from the ruffled back of the wolf to better relieve him as soon as possible, only to teeter on weakened limbs that collapsed when he offered them his full weight. He hit the cold stone hard, feeling the grit scrape mercilessly against his chin and scrape open a raw, shallow wound for the acrid air to bite. With a grunt, the man gave himself a feeble shake and let his palms take the brunt of his bulk as he pushed himself slowly up; pressed a beaten shoulder against the door that Gideon was so furiously seeking entrance too and sought the handle. A throaty sound slipped past his lips as it slowly gave way to his efforts, and, though ashamed of his weakness, Arden stood firm despite his trembling form. He would wait for the other to lead the way, not trusting the darkness or his own unstable feet in this unknown environment.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:04 am
Lady_Ourania Dead weight sliding down from his back to briefly caterpillar across a side of his enormous ribcage finally drew the Were's attention away from the door, pink tongue lolling long enough that it threatened to drag on uncaring cement. The yolks of his eyes silently observed as the human plummeted in an uncoordinated movement not entirely unlike the one his ship had displayed upon landing, limbs buckling beneath him and causing his jaw to smack soundly against the floor. The smell of fresh blood swamped the older examples momentarily, but he ignored it to better decipher what Arden was doing as he scraped himself up off the ground and fumbled toward the door, seeming to have as much luck with opposable thumbs as he'd had with a cheek filled by teeth.
When it swung back into the dark interior, Gideon wasted no time in entering with a nose wrinkled against the miasma of intrusive stink, the distinct clack of his nails gobbled up by the shadows laying latent in the carpet. He circumvented the stairwell while running high on ambition and low on energy, hackles raised and fangs glowing between ragged intakes of oxygen, trying to pierce the bloated murk. The smell was overpowering, battering his heightened senses with hooks of rotten taste that punctured his tongue and soft, half-noises that whispered menacing portent into his poised ears. It was foulness and wrongness and badness, the most base of descriptive words someone clanging true. The throne room lay just beyond him, hushed as the rest of the House, but infinitely more dangerous. There was something in there, something corrupt enough that it slithered through walls, seeped through ground, contaminating effortlessly and quickly. It wanted him. It wanted him to venture forward so that it could reach out and seize him by the throat, turning invisible pegs and tightening strings until he snapped like an instrument's elegant neck. It wanted to paint itself in his blood, wear his shriveled organs and bones, and break his voice with its howling. It wanted an ending, and it was going to deliver one.Gehenna... It was matter-of-fact, any awe obliterated before it could register in their shared consciousness. The Moribund Shape; Herald to the End of Days. Destruction has fallen and He isn't getting up.He backpedaled instinctively, skin creeping with ill-feelings like carrion crawling with maggots. The apocalypse... even expected, it was still a terrible blow, the last in a series of cheap shots all imparted by the same figure. How did Kishara fare? He had caught more than a hint of her blood welling from the sovereign room, knowing all along that there was no favorable reason behind it. And what of Milo, the boy he had failed so utterly in kinship? Of the aoide, Alexander, who had helped to raise his grandson and tend to the greenhouse? Tilion...
The wolf turned with a snap of his tail, thoughts boiling as he took up a spot in front of Arden, mouthing a trembling hand to give it a tug of command. He would carry him no further. The man was on his own to traverse the final set of stairs that separated the devastation of one floor from another. Tsunake Gideon plunged into the darkness, seemingly indifferent to the notable stench that drifted gently forth to stroke at his comparably feeble sense of smell. The soldier, in the meantime, resisted the urge to take a step back, squaring broad shoulders and slipping silently inside. Every sense was tingling, and even without the much-needed aid of his visor, Arden carefully scanned what he could of the gloom and listened with ringing ears for any sound that might give way to someone lurking in the dark; the scrape of claws against stone, a tiny exhalation of anticipated breath… Though he was both blind and deaf when pitted against the natural gifts of the wolf, he, too, could sense the despairing disarray of this place, and could only wonder what in the name of hell had caused it. He swallowed, spit scraping like sandpaper down the sore interior of his throat and let booted feet carry him after the whipping plume attached to the other’s hindquarters. Gooseflesh prickled underneath the ebony covering of his suit, and the garment seemed to shiver before it clung even closer to the battered body beneath. Never before had he felt so fully exposed to unseen forces, and Arden felt dull surgings of freshly wakened fear prodding tentatively at his resolve. What was this? Nothing, nothing that made his heart shudder so within its weakened cage of rib and cartilage would bring him any closer to finding a way to contact the Federation, and a slyly gentle thought of retreat whispered through his consciousness. A coward’s thought. It was just the slap he needed to force exhausted muscles back into stiffened readiness, and he crept with a turtle’s pace after his only guide. Summoned by thought, the wolf bounded forth with glowing eyes and unsheathed fang, lolling tongue still blanketed with flecks of bloodied froth from his earlier labors. The wet and threatening interior of the beast’s mouth sought his poorly protected hand, teeth nimbly rolling over flesh and knuckle without ripping through. A clear command—one that Arden tiredly noted with the barest nod. The stairs. He’d seen enough to know that they were his next destination, no matter how badly his knees ached at the thought. “Tell me what’s happened here.” The young marine managed before taking the first agonizing step of many towards the looming steps of stone. To be briefed, granted even the vaguest pieces of information would be enough to satisfy his burning need to know what was going on. Fighting blind was something he had grown used to, but left a bitter and unsavory taste within his mouth. With a grunt, Arden hauled himself up the first few steps before his legs gave out, clumsy hands smacking against the rail to catch most of his weight before the stone could kiss his countenance once more. Though his arms ached too, his lower half relished its brief moment of uselessness while bulging biceps flexed to better haul him the rest of the way. The railing groaned softly in lament at such rough treatment, and the marine shuddered to a stop the few times he accidentally bashed his knees against the upraised steps. To think that reaching the peak would offer such relief… He sprawled hard against the floor of the upper level, gasping for breath through a building curtain of bloody phlegm. The rattle built for a moment until Arden finally spat, one arm wrapped around his chest as though to cease the stabbing pains. Sheer willpower alone forced him again to his feet, and the man leaned heavily against one wall while sunken eyes searched for the shaggy form of Gideon before halfheartedly attempting to scan his surroundings. Lady_Ourania He did not wait to see if the soldier understood and acted accordingly, the snowy shapeshifter already crawling up the slope when a bid for information pattered swiftly up behind him, tugging at his ear like an infant that knew no better. Tell him, he said, as if the answer was not scorching enough to the retina, lumped before them in all its putrid grandeur. Even with senses inhibited by his race's singular, helpless form, it seemed unlikely that he had overlooked the nonentity bearing down on him through the blubber-dense dark, wanting to dismantle. And yet here was the suggestion that it be vocalized as well, a narration to give substance to the shapeless, to grant design to the amorphous. It had not crossed his mind until that very moment that the boy might have hit his head a little harder than was healthy when he'd paid a unintentional blood oath to the front steps. And if he genuinely expected a response, he would be bitterly disappointed by the lack of a comprehensible one, canine mouth and tongue not built to carry anything beyond growling syllables.
There was a diffused sense of light on the upper level, a detail that made no difference to him but would provide Arden with something to judge the area by if he sought to appease wariness. Gideon ignored the state of the hallway, already moving on to a door that he realized with a cold knot of alarm was wide open to whoever might have strolled by. Kishara's door, the one he had walked through countless times before, had ridiculed as a sliver of a barrier that divided sacrifice from refugee. His door.
The wolf's claws stirred brittle brown worms that had once been spry stalks of greenery, crumbling them as he pressed deeper in, gaze flicking across the ruins. The plants had withered into husks of their former, lush glory, struck by the drought of their keeper's influence and ushered on into lethal desiccation by the death of an era. The slim goddess herself was nowhere to be seen amidst the tragic autumn landscape, her absence simultaneously relieving and unsettling to him. She would not have appreciated the upheaval of her estate, and he could already pinpoint the inheritance of small carcasses Gaia would be handed upon her return, birds and rabbits and all manner of beasts that had retreated from the unforgiving outside only to be followed by a harsher alternative.
The unusually still environment allowed him to pick Alexander out easily, the aoide curled over himself, knees drawn and arms hugging protectively. When Gideon rumbled a soft note to warn the nervous creature of his presence, the face came up swiftly and wet with tears, frail wings quivering to an erratic rhythm."Gideon..." His name was a choked sob on the other's lips as he began to unfurl by slow degrees, sensing safety in his appearance. "Gideon, what happened? Where is my Lady? Why is this place... why is this happening? Tsunake There—the broad shoulders of the pale beast had already slipped through the gaping maw of an open door, leaving him with a mere glance of that flicking tail before Arden was left alone once more. Rooms, he realized with a sudden start, dozens of them lining the hallway. But just who lived here? Gideon? Choking on a pained wheeze, the marine forced his trembling legs to stagger forward after the elusive creature. The wall proved to be a somewhat decent substitue for his weight, though telltale smears of darkened crimson showed exactly where and how the wounded man had dragged himself along. Once-powerful fingers quaked as they wrapped around the doorframe, growing lax with surprise at the sound of a voice, high and hushed with what he assumed to be fear, rushing through the open door. Whoever was in there, they knew Gideon—and knew just as much as he did about what had happened. A civilian perhaps, maybe wounded. That meant there’d be others too. Having spent his energy far beyond its usual reserves, the man sagged against the groaning wood and shook, seeking both the wolf and the owner of the voice. “Someone there?” Came the hoarse call, worn ragged and thin by torn tissue and freshly healed internal injury. It was like the sound of his voice alone disturbed the dead souls that littered the floor; shriveled greenery rustled with unease, and the smell of death clung to the air so tenaciously that Arden wouldn’t have been surprised if it had always smelled so. He caught a flash of the two living bodies, one remarkably more humanoid in shape before the world swung itself sideways, leaving the soldier to crash haplessly to the floor below. Feebly cradled arms saved the breath from being knocked from his body, though the shock of the plant-littered floor beneath his face, prickling into his skin through the thin covering of his undersuit numbed the man’s awareness into a state of semi-consciousness. Air still fluttered past his cracked lips, and he did struggle once to rouse himself by slowly twisting his head. He was tired though, so very tired, and the darkness he’d conquered for all this time finally descended to claim its little lost sheep. Through half-lidded eyes, Arden watched the shadows spin and chase one another across the floor until they simultaneously meshed, forming a flawless blanket of ebony. His flickering gaze now obscured, the marine shuddered once and stilled while his thick and choked breath tumbled past his slackened lips. Perhaps he would sleep for hours, maybe days, but he could take no more for now and would drift into nightmare-wracked slumber, followed by the palpable stench of death until he woke again and remembered nothing at all. Lady_Ourania Where he had sneered at Valkov's official entreaties to be informed, he could not completely neglect the aoide's raw beseeching, knowing that the anxiety pushing out of the other's blue eyes was going to herniate into something far worse if not confronted. But it was just then that his stare locked onto the bundle that Alex had been huddling around, a ball of black fur and stillness that stoked the embers of enmity in his heart until they roared in bonfire pillars. He charged without warning, indifferent to the way the immortal shrank back from his abrupt movement as he instead opened his jaws and seized the smaller creature, gently, so gently it hurt his mouth to exercise such care. He pulled Milo out of the other's arms, fatigued limbs giving out a mere moment later as he lowered the pup into the cradle formed by his forelegs, nuzzling into the silky fineness of baby hair with a low, constant hum of sound pouring from his throat. The child was inert in his embrace, quiet where he had expected a whine, wished for a whine. He prodded the boy sharply with his snout, rasping out another, louder tone of urgent persistence, abating only when the pup squirmed weakly in response. A rosebud for a tongue peeked out under his dry nose, trying to find the leader he knew so well with his eyes still closed, latching on and suckling a matted piece of fur on his chest like a newborn."He said he wasn't feeling well." The voice quavered like delicate china on an upset table, struggling not to shatter. "He said he felt sick, so sick, and then he c-changed, and he wouldn't move... the plants, the plants died all at once, they just... stopped. Everything stopped. Died. She isn't here."An interruption from the door silenced the aoide immediately, and Gideon turned where he lay in a protective curve around his precious charge, teeth bared while his shoulder wrenched to better support the ailing child. But it was the marine, clinging to the frame like a man drowning in the fumes of spoiled life before he succumbed completely to it, obliterating a crackling ocean that was too late to skitter away as he toppled. The gasp that clawed its way out of Alexander was cushioned by his own hush, not worried for the sprawled man as his heartbeat was still as real as the ugliness of their situation. He watched without a word as the winged gardener scurried out of a fetal position to attend to the fallen warrior, murmuring worriedly while checking his vitals with slender fingers, tail feathers spread uneasily. "Sir? Sir...?"Gideon settled his great, shaggy head onto the floor, pressing the pup firmly between his cheek and his leg so that he could feel the tiny pulse fluttering through the roundness of the boy's belly. One ear remained cocked back to listen while the slow, somewhat painful shuffle began as Alex gripped a much sturdier shape and started to carefully drag him along the floor. When he was positive that the destination the blue-haired pixie had in mind was the bed set against a lifeless wall of vines, the wolf allowed his mind to drift, considering all that he had heard and seen in such a short while. Gehenna seemed an abomination to essence, the latch pulled to drop the bottom out of existence and all who participated; it crushed those without the strength to persevere early on, but it would come to them all in time, squirming through the skin, into the denser tissue, circulating and bombarding until all was ash in spiraling space. How many had fallen on this day alone? When Destruction's crown of horns scraped the world open and the emptiness in him burned bright and began to inhale, there would be no jewel of resurrection left behind.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:05 am
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:07 am
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:08 am
Week of WarJoint RP #2 Ithiltari As eager as Jin Huang had been to come to the Pantheon, he was now equally eager to leave it. Meeting his brother Zhijian had been a stroke of luck, one that furthered the dragon's plans. Therefore, when Delmin insisted on staying and looking around, even though they should be headed home, Jin Huang evinced some surprise. You didn't even want to come here, he complained, eager to leave and get his little excursion over with. "Yeah, well, I'm not so keen on leaving on some weird dragon...cat thing's instructions," Delmin replied once he was absolutely certain Zhijian was out of earshot. "Maybe someone else around here knows something." Jin Huang didn't bother replying, emitting only a small 'hmph' while watching as Delmin roamed the lower hall, not entering the Throne Room. Maybe upstairs?"Hey, a suggestion. What a change," Delmin said, heading for the wide staircase. Merely pointing it out. You didn't seem to have noticed it. This time, Delmin was the one not to reply, other than a small jab at the gem set in his chest. Tsunake Life was the quietest it'd been in weeks for the stranded marine. There'd been no sign of physical threat on this planet so far, save the ruin he'd witnessed when his battered body had been hauled to this place. The Pantheon, that woman had said. Home to gods and goddesses--ones that were being revived, even now. Told him she was the goddess of Insanity. And, with that ironic bit of information, he'd had enough, excused himself from her presence, and slunk off to nurse his still-sore muscles while wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into. What she said had sounded crazy. Was it just the culture here, or was everyone losing their goddamn minds? And then, there'd been that woman with the horns and the cloven feet... Another time, he'd have been ashamed at his lack of self-control. But there was something wrong with this place, something messing with his mind and crawling under his skin, even now. His fabric-embraced fingers flexed mindlessly against the glass of water he'd gotten for himself to better express his agitation. The broad shoulders of the man were hunched slightly, bottling up the subtle urges that had only been growing worse as of late. Conflict and strife. How he craved it right now, to be back in battle with his comrades against the scum that ravaged the universe. Threat laced the air, made him feel vulnerable and weak being so damaged and lacking the sturdy protection of his armor. Hell, what he'd give to have his assault rifle back... Arden mindlessly took to tracing the thick, knotted scars against his neck that Phazon had ate away at, calling the memory of the battle back to savor. Muscles throbbed as though to better rouse the marine into action, though a subtle clench of his jaw stilled them for now. He didn't need to be looking for trouble, not with his body still on the mend. But, Arden gruffly had to admit, if he thought he could make his way back to the wreckage site, he'd definitely have set off to recollect his armor. Assuming it was still there, and the place hadn't been picked over by the scavangers by now. It was the rogue voice, low and definitely male, that forced him to pay attention to where he was again. Muddy brown eyes flickered over his shoulder, and though he remained seated on the barstool in the kitchen, Arden made sure to give the stranger a good once over. He wouldn't say anything if the man didn't see him, having never been one for words. And as it was now, he really didn't feel much like talking--especially since the guy seemed to be talking to himself... Ithiltari The hair on the back of Delmin's neck pricked and stood up as he placed one foot on the spiral stairs leading to the upper floor. He stayed like that for a moment, debating whether or not to turn around and see what had sparked such a reaction. We're being --"Watched, I know," the man replied with a slight frown. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned, placing a small and obviously forced smile upon his face. How long had he been sitting there? Zhijian had been the kitchen prior, but where that dragon had gone after Delmin and Jin Huang's brief look outside was unknown. Likely into the Throne Room, to better guard what remained of the Crown. The light from the windows cast a sullen red hue over the man seated at the bar, which did little to reassure Delmin as he changed course and began a slow walk over. "Hello," he greeted cautiously, as there was something in the air, in more than the air, that wanted to make him fight, but he fought it instead, offering welcome to the stranger. Tsunake The subtle furrowing of his brow might as well have been his version of a sworn expletive when the man suddenly froze upon the steps under the steely weight of Arden’s gaze. There was a tension to the soldier’s angular face saved only for battle, seldom seen under the protective curves of his helmet. Now, it was laid bare, exposed in a feral expression that suggested the broad-shouldered warrior wouldn't hesitate to act should things turn less than favorable. With stilted grace, the stranger turned to lock eyes with him, facial muscles straining to offer a parody of warmth in the form of a smile. A feeble squeak of protest floated from the barstool as Arden swiveled to bring him face to face with the other, even as he began a slow approach. The wary greeting tossed so freely in his direction seemed to rouse the marine from his tension, slicing through whatever he was feeling so that common sense could better sink its claws into his jumping muscles. "Hello," The words rattled like gravel through his scarred throat, forcing a slight cough from his bruised chest. Even weeks after the crash, his body was still slow to fully recuperate. Something bitter still made to tease at his tired mind, jabbing with bony fingers at fraying nerves as though to better rouse him again into fury. He sought to clamp down on the urges, knowing, somehow, that they were not his own. It was this planet, something thick and almost stale within the air that kept his mind reeling over and over again. Would it end? Was it permanent? "Arden Valkov, at your service." The last bit sprang to his tongue, so instilled into his mind that he hadn't quite been able to rid himself of the habit just yet. This, it seemed, would be a good start; he could battle more easily against the demands of battle then he could other, more carnal needs. Still, the thought that his sanity might be slipping through his fingers even now perched like a grim and ugly beast on his thoughts--impossible to forget. So long as he kept his cool and wits about him, the marine reluctantly decided, he would fight these feelings until his mind cracked from the pressure. Ithiltari Everything in Delmin that had been screaming fight! when the man was first noticed was now pushing for the opposite response - that of flight, as he knew on a deep level that if it did indeed come down to a fight, there was no way he could emerge victorious, let alone unscathed. It seemed, however, that the small bit of courtesy he had offered towards the other was enough to engage the rules of civility, and Delmin breathed a small, relieved sigh. Rather than offer a hand to shake, the man tucked his into his pockets, briefly surprised at the gemstone he felt in one. Leave it alone, Jin Huang requested sharply, causing Delmin to arch an eyebrow at the tone. He removed his hand from around it, however, and only lightly placed his fingers on it's surface. Thank you."Delmin Brock," the man replied absently, as if he wasn't quite giving Arden his full attention. "What brings you to the Pantheon?" he asked, focusing his gaze on the other for only a moment before it clouded over slightly and lost the sharpened intent. Tsunake The tentative greeting seemed to do its job, extending courtesy and further soothing the unspoken hostility between the two men who'd never even met before. It was likely the best solution in the end; though a simple observation was enough to assure him that he could normally take the other out without much of a struggle, his current condition put him at a severe disadvantage. One good blow to the ribcage would have him sprawled out on the floor, gasping for breath. The mental image distracted him from realizing the other man had deliberately kept from offering his hand, provoking another mild flare of irritation to spark through his tired thoughts. As though sensing his chagrin, the stranger arched a brow, and Arden slowly set his jaw to keep from snapping. He grunted an acknowledgment to the name offered, satisfied at least with that much. "...Dunno. Got brought here after someone found me half-dead outside. Safest place right now." Or so it seemed. He didn't know what the hell was going on, and Delmin's character didn't particularly persuade him into spilling all the details of his craft's crash landing. On top of that, this entire planet seemed to be turning itself upside-down with disarray. "It always like this?" Came the short, blunt question. Courtesy was lost in the face of his agitation, and Arden fixed a level stare on the distant man. Was he strung out on something? Or maybe the people here were as mad and vague as he'd seen from the woman before--Calico. But what he wanted to know was if this world always seemed in such disarray. People were dying--dead, and it was only getting worse from here on out. Ithiltari Blithely unaware of any annoyance he may have caused, Delmin waited attentively for the other man to speak. "Oh, probably," he agreed, taking a hand out of one pocket long enough to wave it around. "It would hardly be appropriate for the home of the gods to be easily attacked by mortal forces," the man continued, biting sarcasm dripping from every word of his last sentence. It was obvious that there was something deeply and personally felt between Delmin and the beings who claimed divinity and residence within the building. He rocked back on his heels slightly, taking a moment before answering the question. "Not always this bad," came his reply finally, thoughtful concern displayed on his face, dark eyes focused on something likely in the past. "That is, the world has obviously been falling apart for a while, but all of this particular mess is a fairly recent development. Or so I've been told," he finished dryly, any hint of amusement or warmth leeched from his tone. Must you be so curt? Jin Huang asked, sounding rather irritated himself. Tsunake The mention of them. Again. And to think he'd first hoped this guy to be somewhat steady in the mental department. Bushy brows furrowing with surprise, the soldier was silent for several moments. "...Gods?" The gruff question finally forced itself out into the open, otherwise gritting his teeth to refrain from saying anything he might regret later. Damn right this entire world was falling apart. And it was picking away at sanity, first. A moment of breathing was enough to calm him down again, though the urge to crack his neck or roll his shoulders--anything to relieve tension--was overwhelming. "Told by whom? And what is this world?" The thought of being able to glean some scraps of information was too tempting an offer for Arden to resist. The man wasn't all there, that much was obvious. His face was blank, voice empty, and the whole thing was making him uneasy. Armor-plated fingers were slowly flexing, working on easing out his agitation through the sounds of protesting armor. He wasn't sure he could trust this Delmin character, especially in a time like this. Ithiltari "Do you not believe in them, then?" Delmin asked, curious but intent. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, but..." He trailed off, looking about helplessly. It was certainly easy to say that the gods did not exist, but surely the other man was not naive or dumb enough to think that this was all a purely natural occurrence. He looked hard-bitten enough to have acquired some common sense, but apparently appearances were once more deceiving. "Have you looked in the Throne Room at all?" Even disregarding the rather forceful manner in which Delmin had been introduced to the truth of the matter, the thing in the other room would have been enough to force some kind of terrified belief out of him. "That's what remains of a god, if you've got the courage to take a look. The one who caused all of this," he continued, visibly growing a bit frustrated, though Arden hadn't said anything. Why are you so concerned about this? Jin Huang interjected before his host's emotions escaped his control completely. It is his choice. Compelling worship may very well be in the scope of certain powers, but to compel true faith is more difficult by far. And of limited reward. The dragon paused thoughtfully, struck by an amusing thought. He'll be in for a rude shock if one of the truly ascended find him. It was only when he went to continue the thought that Jin Huang realized his host was speaking to Arden again. Paying only scant attention to the dragon's attempt at soothing his temper, Delmin took an aggressive step towards Arden. "You really want to know who told me?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head. "I doubt you'll believe a word I say, but what the hell." Taking a deep breath, he began to speak of what Jin Huang had told him, of how the gods died long ago from lack of faith, of belief, and how the only one who had remained was now ironically the one who had died. He spoke of the god of Creation and Destruction, and how He had gathered the remnants of the others, sealing them into gems and stones of various sorts. To demonstrate the point, Delmin unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, revealing the sparkling stone set in his chest. Continuing, he related why the host, why he was needed, linking it to a need for the worship and faith the god had lost, as opposed to true reason, need for soul and body. When he finished, voice somewhat scratchy, the man stared challengingly at Arden. Tsunake He had to bite down a scathing reply about no, he didn't believe in these gods or what everyone was going on about here. That woman who claimed she was the goddess of Insanity had been all he'd needed to throw him for a loop, but he suppressed his temper long enough to only stare mulishly at the man. "...I don't know where the Throne Room is. I'm telling you, I've only been on this planet for... for not very long." How long had it been? Days? Weeks? He didn't know anymore, and his fraying temper made it easy for him to not particularly care, either. The remains of a god--and what about... "You mean all this?" Came the rough demand, carelessly flinging an aching hand as though to gesture to the ruined landscape around them. "You know who's doing this?" His broad shoulders straightened with faint twinges as the other man took a step towards him, animalistic rumbles echoing through his chest as though daring Delmin to push his luck. It took a while for the man's words to sink in, Arden preoccupied with gritting his teeth and casting out a harsh stare. Soon his tension would ease as he became aware of whatever it was implanted within Delmin's very skin, disgust mingled with interest pulling at his lips before he eventually settled for a bland sweep of his eyes. Stones of power? Perhaps seen as gods, but couldn't possibly be... "You think these stones will help whatever the hell is going on here? Help stop it?" Arden articulated slowly, carefully watching to see if the man would dare take another step in his direction. He wasn't sure he could contain himself, if that happened. "Where do you find them?" Ithiltari An irritated gesture at the large, half-open doors indicated where the Throne Room could be found, before Delmin continued his speech. Staying where he was, for now, the man crossed his arms and refused to answer. He had explained, as best he could. That knowledge was all he could offer, and he could not, would not, tell more. Especially of where to find a gem. If Arden had been called, then he would find his stone, directions or no. Stubborn, stupid...Why ever did I attach myself to you? Jin Huang complained, asking and recieving permission to ease his host out of the way. "Your pardon," the dragon said, formal and restrained. "But it seems as though Delmin has reached the limit of what he would say on this matter. Myself, I am not quite bored of the conversation just yet." His voice was different, a smoother and deeper baritone, although a slight rasp remained. In fact, his entire bearing was changed, from Delmin's tensed, ready to fight posture, to something more relaxed and composed. Liar, Delmin accused. Just because he asked about finding one of these damned stones doesn't mean he's supposed to get one. Jin Huang ignored the outburst, keeping his attention on Arden. "As for whether one would help? I can't see that it would harm," he replied with an elegant, boneless shrug. "I do not think one fit for such as you would be found within these walls. Perhaps a search elsewhere might prove fruitful."Tsunake The careless gesture, the stubborn refusal to say anymore was enough to set Arden on edge. He wasn't sure how long he could contain himself, anger pumping soundly through his veins while his teeth scraped against each other as though raring to sink themselves into flesh instead of one another. When had his instincts rendered themselves to something so primal? He didn't know, didn't care--and was forced to draw in his rage less it be drowned by the sudden confusion he felt. The voice the man suddenly spoke in was different, elegent and smooth where he'd expected the grating to but him the wrong way once more. "You are?" Arden said roughly, then took a deep breath as though to regain his .composure. "...One of these gods?" It was hard to forget the stone he'd seen, and now he was wary. It was one thing to be mad--but this seemed quite the act if it were anything but true. He wasn't sure if the words that accompanied that smooth shrug were supposed to be insulting or not, and he felt his hardened face pull itself into a frown. "Outside the walls? ...How do I know if I see one?" But how many stones must there be on an entire planet? It sounded impossible, and he was already shaking his head. "...Even if I was gonna look, it doesn't seem like..." Like there was any chance in hell he'd actually find one of these things and try to help this world Ithiltari "In a manner of speaking," Jin Huang replied with a slight bow. It seemed the man was confused enough already, and while it was always satisfying to remind and teach others just what he was, it would likely only confuse him further. An irritated sigh almost escaped the dragon, but he held it back, not wanting to provoke Arden further. An eyebrow arched upwards at the further questions, and a patronizing smile slipped carelessly onto his face. "Certainly, not all will appear as mine do," he continued, idly tapping his chest, producing a muffled metallic click. It was slightly unnerving to hear such a sound where one would expect only the tap of flesh on flesh. "But I hardly think a true gem of this sort would go unnoticed, yes? There is power within them, one not easily overlooked. If you were meant to find it, of course." Jin Huang cast a quickly searching gaze over the man and nodded once, almost to himself. "You may not find one," he said, spreading his hands wide in an unaggresive gesture. "But you won't know unless you look." Tsunake That would mollify him for now, and he'd hold his tongue from further questions. This... whoever this was, he was being much more helpful than Delmin had been. He didn't quite flinch at the tap, the metallic sound almost ominous. So, he would only find this gem if he was supposed to find it... It seemed to make no sense at all to him; if it was lying in plain sight, how would he not? Still, the soldier would only offer reluctant nod, too tired to allow himself to be riled up anymore; this mysterious voice was, for now, an ally. "I understand." Arden said finally, rubbing at the back of his neck with a sigh. He'd better start looking then, and began to get to his feet as if ready to go. "...Thank you, for your help." Ithiltari Jin Huang continued to look slightly amused, and nodded once to the other man. "I have no doubt that you'll find what you deserve," he replied, heading for the large doors that led outside the Pantheon as he spoke, words echoing back over his shoulder. "I have some other business to attend to, but perhaps we shall see each other some time." He paused, and turn to look at Arden, a sardonic smile clearly visible. "I'm quite interested in the results of your search, you see. Fare well, Mr. Valkov."
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:09 am
The Beginning is the End is the Beginning, pt. 1
Week of Famine
Solo RP #1
He’d always been told that he and his kind had been men of another class, another color. Selflessness was harder and harder to find among the genes of humankind, even among those who had pledged themselves to the greater good of man. But his type, people had said, were different; they risked their lives out in the heat of battle against the alien opposition that threatened to swallow what safety still lurked on the fringes of the galaxy. Arden had never taken the time to reflect on it as deeply as he was now. It was strange, considering that of all the chances to wonder if it was all worth it in the end, he’d chosen to do so now. Death was his hooded companion that trailed him always, caressing him from time to time like a cherished lover, leaving its mark upon his body in more places than one. As though sensing his thoughts, the ragged scars across his throat pulsed with phantom pain and burned with remnants of acidic gunfire.
He stood alone at the gaping, desecrated maw of the Pantheon, his eyes distant and unseeing as he gazed out into the rapidly descending dusk. Delmin’s words… Could he trust them? True, the man had spoken like that other woman—of gods and rebirth and the ending of the world. Arden had assumed she was mad, couldn’t stand to listen to ramblings and had fled as quickly as his wounded body would allow. Perhaps Delmin had been mad as well. But there’d been a cunning to the other’s words, like he knew so much more about what was happening here then the marine ever could. Their meeting had given the man a bit of clarity in the darkness that had swamped him since his arrival, and for that, he was feeling soothed. This was just another world who’s balance was threatened by forces that most couldn’t begin to comprehend, could only accept that they were evil and would undoubtedly spell the end for them all. And what would he, a marine of the Federation, sworn to defend the universe from potential threats, do? It’d be all too easy to sit back, sit idle and watch as the world crumbled into dust underneath the heels of his booted feet. But now he knew the madness he’d felt over these past few weeks had an identity, and seemed hell bent on destroying not only the planet, but each individual inhabitant’s sanity along with it. The soldier had struggled through the trials seemingly sent by higher powers, and his finely honed discipline finally began to crack when lust for battle had gripped his broad shoulders with its steely talons. But this was something new, something he’d faced only when strewn on some godforsaken planet and was too busy fighting for his life to snag something to eat.
A thick hand lifted slowly to his face so the man could muse over its appearance, noting how the ebony under suit hung limply from his forearm, bunched in the crease of his elbow. This suit had been specially tailored to his body, designed to hug close to skin and muscle to prevent chafing from his heavy armor. Now, it seemed too big. Fingers trailed slowly up his ribcage, and the marine’s hardened face creased with a faint frown as he slowly counted out his individual ribs. He wasn’t eating well…. but only because there was nothing to eat. Silently, he gave name to this new threat—famine. It had no face, no living body that could be combated and repelled like an enemy force in war. It merely took, and took, and took until at last it was sated when every living thing withered from malnourishment.
The end of the world, Delmin had said. But perhaps, it could be stopped. The gods might find a way… and if new ones could be found during this time of crisis, given substance and new life, it would only be best for the people. Unconsciously, his fist flexed until the veins reluctantly rose to the surface of his skin even as the suit masked their efforts. He could not sit and watch this world die. It was true that his body still ached from his latest brush with Death; his ribcage throbbed plaintively from the kisses that had bruised and torn his lungs. But pain was temporary. His mind wandered to the burning wreckage that had nearly allowed Death to claim him for good. His armor, his weapons… Thick auburn tufts furrowed over his muddled gaze as Arden slowly pondered, plotting out this risky, but necessary course of action. It would take him a few days to reach the site, damaged as he was. There wasn’t even a guarantee that anything would still remain. But, as he was, he was useless; any remaining technology from The Valkyrie would give him the means to begin his search for these so-called gods. He didn’t know if he believed in such a thing, even now. But Arden had no more options, no more time to lose. He was a soldier, and it would be all too easy to accept his orders without daring to question them.
Jewels, he remembered suddenly as he limped down the cracked steps. Delmin said these not-gods could be found in the form of jewels. The information was shoved into the back of his mind as Arden stepped forward into the oncoming night. He’d dallied long enough as it was, and the journey would only get rougher from here.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:10 am
The Beginning is the End is the Beginning, pt. 2
Week of Famine
Solo RP #2
Pain was temporary. It’d been a lesson drilled into his skull ten years ago, and he’d repeated it silently to himself with each step that took him farther and farther away from the Pantheon. Pain was nothing more than an obstacle, and with enough willpower, could be overcome, pushed past, cast aside until there was another, better time to handle it. Death was always too close in the heart of a battle to afford the luxury of discomfort, so Arden could easily cope with the way his legs had been throbbing. He could handle the freshly-healing wounds that threatened to split open from his exertion, and the stabbing ache in his sides had been firmly ignored until exhaustion had claimed him. This, in essence, was a battle—a battle where he was again but a simple soldier, awaiting objectives from an unseen voice that claimed to be his superior. He could dirty his hands when no one else would, for war had shaped him into a tool that could be used for seldom else. Yes, pain was always temporary. Hunger, however, seemed to last a lifetime.
He woke to the anguished lamenting of his guts, half-stiff with reflex to ward off an impending threat though the fields lay grim and silent before him. Barren. A husky sigh slipped past his lips as tension loosed like coiled springs from his body, and the marine slowly edged himself into a sitting position. The infertile earth was all too willing to push him away, disgruntled that the man had dared to use it as some primordial bed when he could find nothing else after walking for miles through the night. Arden could feel his muscles murmuring their distress, and a slow, if firm arch of his spine forced them to wearily grow taut.
Patiently, he began to lull himself into a familiar rhythm of twists and turns to loosen his aching body, while careful eyes kept up a steady scan for potential danger. Yet, as with all the places he had wandered through so far, his search proved to be little more than a poor waste of energy. The man slowly stilled once his muscles ceased their grumblings, only to wince at another pang of hunger. Fingers clenched against his gut to stifle the onslaught of noise, knowing the protests would go unheeded. He had nothing to fill his belly, and no amount of clever stretching would do any good to ease his discomfort.
Still bleary with sleep, the man slowly licked his lips as though to ease the cracking there, noting the bitter, almost acrid taste that blanketed his tongue. It was likely due to a lack of water, provoking the marine into voicing his first compliant since his departure in the form of a low, growling rumble. A few days without food wouldn’t kill him—but no water undoubtedly would. It’d be easy enough to attempt an extraction of moisture from the local plant life, but his lacking knowledge of the local fauna almost immediately overruled that notion.
He hauled himself to his feet after a moment more of brooding, and felt the cracked earth give a little beneath his heels. The sullied tips of his gloves slowly dragged themselves through the unruly mess of hair that clung to his scalp in some halfhearted attempt to comb it before he gave up the fight and allowed the appendage to drop to his chest. Time to get moving. The center of his palm pressed itself flat beneath his sternum, lips briefly tightening from the mild flare of pain that encased his lungs. Even as the ache began to fade, his skin prickled slowly as the thin suit against his body was stimulated into life. The electrodes laced against both the suit’s (and his) spine buzzed a decibel too low for human hearing and sent a gentle charge rippling up the base of his neck and soon into his brain. As with all of these garments, this one had been specially attuned to his armored plating, and therefore served as a navigation system. It’d been said to have been based on the same instincts the birds of Earth had used when beginning their migratory cycles… but Arden knew very little on the specifics.
The man set off again at his slow, if steady pace across the plains, wandering blind save for that ‘feeling’ in his mind that told him he was headed in the right direction. His only experience with this place had occurred atop Gideon’s back, and Arden had been too preoccupied with hanging on to actually study the scenery that had whipped past. Funny to think it’d been dawn then, too; his eyes flickered briefly across the misty pinks and sullen oranges that bled slowly into the waning grey of early morning. With luck, the sun would carry in warmth along with its light, for hot muscles moved more readily than those still gripped by cold.
The throbbing cadence of hunger constantly rumbled through his stomach like a war drum, eventually ringing through his ears with each step he took. Chilled breath was slowly sucked through his gritted teeth, scratching at his throat and eventually his lungs, but it did good to distract him for a moment. Gods. Not-gods. His mind clumsily latched onto the thought, forcing his hunger aside for something more important than his temporary suffering. Where could they be sleeping, hidden and oblivious to the world while it choked on its own blood? Locked away, guarded, or strewn somewhere so remote that not even tens of thousands of men could hope to venture out and retrieve them safely? He didn’t know. It was frustrating, to be sure, but Arden eventually buckled down on the exhausted ramblings of his mind and forced it into silence. All he needed to focus on was one step after the other, bringing him closer and closer still to his suit.
Sheer luck alone enabled him to stumble across a feebly trickling stream sometime later, and the sight of running water was enough to bring him to his knees. He stole what greedy mouthfuls he could, though it was almost agonizing to force himself to drink it slowly. Getting ill out here all by himself, however… Well, he’d already had his second chance at life. No one would be there to save him from Death if ignorance brought about his undoing. The marine made to scoop some of the precious liquid into his palm before lifting it carefully to his lips. It was cold enough that his gums ached, and the man carefully swished it around before he crudely spat to get rid of the foul taste from before. A low, rasping sigh rumbled low in his ruined throat, and Arden rocked back on his heels to avoid drenching his knees. Now that he could reflect on it, he was sorely regretting not looking for a canteen of some sort to take with him. Transporting the water otherwise was virtually impossible, and it was with great reluctance that the soldier eventually rose again.
The bloated sun had hefted its bulk into its throne of clouds, casting down a scorching blaze that, though pleasant enough at first, had slowly made him sweat—essentially stealing what water he’d managed to put back into his system. Booted feet scuffed awkwardly through the underbrush as Arden forced himself forward, made woozy and disorientated from both heat and dehydration. His mind, too, was a spinning haze of confused thoughts while his body heaved with rough breath. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue like this, and the soldier became slowly aware of his own queasiness despite the lack of sustenance in his stomach. His vision swam and the ground suddenly skittered beneath his feet, rolling and heaving until the man tripped and went down hard. The dusty earth raked at his cheek, whipping up his nose and searing his eyes until he was practically gagging. He felt like he was boiling alive in his clothing, sure his skin had melted to little more than goo so raw, red muscle could chafe against the inside lining , could almost smell the churning smoke wafting off his body, licking his nose—
--and as Arden forced his watering eyes opened, the twisted hulk of stained and shimmering metal, the broken body of the Valkyrie slowly loomed into view. It was a terrible thing. The sleek war craft was nothing more than a ruined scrapheap, still sighing forth choking tendrils of flesh-fed smoke. So one beast remained still unaffected by the fast that had been forced onto the rest of them… The irony was bitter at best, and his jaw tightened until teeth threatened to crack from sheer force. They had been his comrades, and though he often kept his silence amidst all their nervous chatter, Arden could still say he deeply regretted their loss. He could lament over the wrongness of it, the unfairness, but it was simply another, brutal reminder that this was war.
His fingers clawed into the dirt, scrabbling for a hold before the soldier could gracelessly stumble back on his feet. The effort made his muscles quiver, threatening to fail and dump him right back in the soil but Arden only swayed for a moment, fighting to regain his sense of balance before he dared to take a step. One led to another, and soon the marine was lurching unsteadily across the horribly strewn earth where the vessel had gouged a deep wound upon landing. And there, nestled under the blackened belly of the beast, his armor lay collapsed with its interior exposed like some sort of skin he’d shed after he wrest his way from the burning cocoon of the Valkyrie. Another shudder twitched up the base of his spine and the man collapsed once more, though not entirely against his will this time. His hands betrayed his excitement, snatching eagerly at the suit even as his legs kicked at the ground to push him closer.
His tired limbs rebelled at being shoved into the dark, slightly cramped interior, but the metal groaned and yawned wider before it swallowed him up. Pressurized valves automatically gave a soft, hissing sigh of release before the dented armor slowly closed around the fleshy mortal, locking in place with a familiar sense of security that was nearly enough to crack his composure. Guarded fingers clanked against the helm he’d discarded all those nights ago, lifting it slowly from its grounded resting place to slip it over his head. Another soft hiss, mild pressure against his shoulders and neck, and then sweet, sweet oxygen slowly flooded into the interior for him to gratefully inhale. Crackles of static rippled across his visor, distorting and skewing his perspective, but it was a flaw he’d have to deal with; the smoke would suffocate him if he tried to venture into the bowels of the downed ship without his helmet. Some flickering memory of charred and mangled bodies threatened to rise up, but he crushed it mercilessly before it could do anything to weaken his resolve. He needed to gain access to the Valkyrie, if only to check for weapons that might have survived both the impact and the flames that had roared forth to consume them all. A low rasp of metallic joints signaled the marine’s rising, and the heavy sound of his iron-clad feet bounced off the beaten hull of the ship as he moved.
The front of the craft was circled once, twice, searching for the telltale slits where smoke was seeping through. There—a gash about waist high off the ground belching thick, cloying blackness from its depths. His armored chest scraped against the ragged metal as the marine pressed himself close, knees bending briefly before he jumped. A screech erupted from the protesting surface as his body was hauled up and over the twisted lip, leaving Arden eventually able to get back on his feet. A slow, careful sweep of the area told him it was clear, though the fuzzy view through his visor made it difficult to truly pinpoint anything. It’d have to do.
The broad-shouldered soldier did what he could to stumble silently in the dark, expecting charred and gnarled fingers to reach for him suddenly from the shadows. He had seen death before, saw how it could subtly sway those into apathy, make it seem like crushing a life was almost nothing at all. When that happened, not even your own comrades would be able to trust you. Without trust, courage, a sense of morals… well, there’d be nothing to separate that particular soldier from some ruthless and bloodthirsty beast.
A smattering of static suddenly hissed and swallowed his vision, forcing the marine to give a distracted shake of his head. It was no good though—the mechanics had all frozen up. He’d have to get rid of the helm, at least temporarily. The smoke inhalation would kill him after too long, but it was too stupid to wander blind. The metal plating of one shoulder grated against a nearby wall, which reluctantly bore his weight as the man made to tug his helmet free again. The smoke lashed at his eyes and throat, and Arden coughed miserably while squinting through the darkness. Still-glowing embers lit up the interior a little bit, but not enough to fully reassure him.
The dark and ruined corridors lead him deeper into the bowels of the dead ship, but his eyes failed to pick out any notable difference between them in the dark; his helmet was eventually pulled over his head so he could steal a breath of oxygen. This was bad—it seemed even the auxiliary lights had failed in the crash, and obviously the backup power was down, too. Despite the heat still licking the twisted metal walls, the marine had to fight back a shiver. For hours it seemed, he stumbled through the darkness with only the soft, hissings of smoke and the weary groan of ruined structure as company. His shoulder thunked unexpectedly into another wall with a loud clank, the force earning a grunt from the exhausted man. Corner. He obediently turned, froze, and squinted into the gloom.
Static continued to ripple and dance across his eyes, parting teasingly to offer brief snatches of light filtering in through the gloom. Arden unconsciously felt his gut clench with relief rather than hunger and slowly, warily circled closer. Another hole, from the looks of it. He could see the outside, see the ground, knew he could probably slip out and touch the sweet earth again if he was careful and slow steps brought him steadily closer until he could almost reach out and touch the frayed rim…
Crunch.
Breath choked to death in his throat at the unexpected noise, at the feel of something snapping underneath his booted heel. He didn’t want to look. It hadn’t sounded like something manmade, more like something with organic origins, and his eyes traitorously flickered downward, stared at the misshapen husk of a man seared a crispy brown, looking so small and shriveled and hairless, so damaged and utterly inhuman in the warm and gentle light—
He jerked back without thinking, a dry and wordless rasp of disgust raking claws against his larynx. One of the crew, the poor b*****d, looked like he’d ditched his armor for speed in an attempt to find some sort of refuge. Arden swallowed whatever gorge had risen in his throat, shaking his head and muttering something intelligible under his breath. The movement frazzled the static once more, giving him a better view of the situation. Or, more importantly, what lay nearby the body. He could feel his lips pulling downward in an incredulous frown, hands grasping the side of his helmet to tug it off his head. Was that… an assault rifle? Standard edition, no less.
Hastily, Arden dropped to his knees, and the resulting sound echoed through the long-dead ship. The smell of burned meat made his nostrils flare, but the man firmly kept a hold on his queasiness and reached for the weapon, pulling it closer. It was damaged, surely, but the fact that it was still in one piece suggested that maybe it could be fixed. A somber glance was offered to the mangled corpse before Arden found himself doing a double-take. Something was still stuck there, half covered by a flaking ribcage. With thinning lips, the man leaned forward just barely, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was. No good—the body was shadowing whatever it was from the light. Arden reached out to firmly grip at the corpse’s shoulder and gave it a gentle push, and the object rolled free into the faint snatches of light.
The surface of the marble—no, too big to be a marble—seemed tarnished somehow, as though it, too, hadn’t managed to escape the licking flames. Its sickly green hues seemed more ill than beautiful, and Arden reluctantly reached to grasp the sphere in his gauntleted fist. It was a sight to behold among the ruin that had taken place here, but that was his next question; why was this here? And more importantly, what was it? A stone of some sort. A gemstone... Was this one of the ones Delmin had been talking about?
He hesitated for a moment before decided he’d take the gem with him, at least until he got back to the Pantheon. What harm could it do? He’d show it to the man, and if he thought it was of any use, then he could deal with it. He studied the virulently swirling surface for a moment more before he absently tucked the gem under his chin, the cool, polished surface nestled against the worst of his scars. To set it down and lose it in the dark… well, he didn’t want to risk it, especially not when he needed both hands free. The rifle was picked up gingerly in the darkness, fingers tracing the sleek, powerful curves of the weapon before he slowly pulled it over his right hand. It was blatantly obvious where the heat had warped the gun, and Arden wasn’t even sure if it could fire without serious consequences.
That was about the time he’d felt the teeth plunge straight into his jugular.
The gun clattered against the ruined floor as his jaws stretched in a silent expression of shock. An enemy?! No, nothing, there was nothing, only the feel of something gnawing in a frenzy against the side of his neck--A gurgled grunt of raw agony shuddered in his chest, metal fingers clawing frantically as though to relieve him of his pain. They scraped up against something furiously evading his efforts by plunging deeper into his flesh. The gem.
…delicious…
An unknown voice whispered through his pain-seized thoughts, and the teeth bit down so hard that the darkness of the ship threatened to swallow him up too—
--and the pain slowly began to ebb, thick fingers drawing back without even the faintest traces of blood. The marine heaved for breath, starved muscles jittering from the sudden assault while his mind wavered between sheer terror and collected resolve. What the ******** had happened? His encased fingers hesitantly reached for his neck again, flinching back and away at the feel of something wrong there. He’d grown accustomed to the thick, knobby mess of scar tissue that permanently marked him, memorized their snaking routes by touch alone. Something hard and spherical was set there now, and Arden didn’t need to be told that it was the gem.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, made numb with realization, furious thoughts bashing into dead ends. What was he supposed to think? He’d sworn to heard a voice, but there everyone on this goddamn ship was dead besides him.
So had it been… Had Delmin, Calico… had they been telling him the truth? Gods? Not-gods? Was that what this was?
...beg…see what scraps you can glean from your master…
“The hell are you?” Arden questioned hoarsely, the aggression throbbing through his normally subdued voice granting it the strength to ring harsh. But the voice, that bone-dry whisper, said nothing more. Maybe it’d never been there at all. With another curse, the marine unsteadily got to his feet, snatching the assault rifle up with him. Delmin. He had to find him, had to get some sort of answer out of him, had to get this thing out of him. With that, the man clumsily made to slip out of the nearby hole, strapping the gun to his back even as he hit the ground. Exhaustion sent him sprawling for a moment, but he struggled again to his feet, staggering off in the pale light of dawn back the way he’d come.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:10 am
The Beginning is the End is the Beginning, pt. 3
Week of Famine--Ascension to Power
Solo RP #3
Keep on moving, boys! I wanna hear your muscles screamin'! If you stop, you better pray it's 'cause your legs are broken. You signed up for this job, no one made you! We took your sorry asses in and you better believe we don't have to keep you. So work hard, stay strong! That's the only thing that matters in this line of work!
The voice of his drill sargent pounded through his aching head, but it kept his legs moving. Kept 'em screaming. Made his entire body shudder and convulse whenever he started to dwell on it, nearly sent him sprawling face first in the dirt so he could just black out and forget it all. But that voice was like a bullhorn, bellowing through his jumbled assortment of exhausted thoughts and startled him continuously into action. Underneath the din was something softer, too, a scraggly hiss that promised him anything, anything if he could get back to the Pantheon. Food, water, and rest. Wouldn't he like that? He didn't like it. He needed it.
He didn't remember most of the trip back to the Pantheon. It was as though he wandered with both eyes closed, stumbling, staggering, tripping his way back through the scorched lands without a clue of where he was going. But somehow, something nagged in his mind whenever he started to veer in the wrong direction, firmly set him back on the right course before it vanished away as little more than a wisp of his imagination. But there it was eventually--the not-city that seemed to him like it'd come straight out of a nightmare. The smells of misery that still reeked from it, the distant shouts and chatter of gunfire. Twice, he thought about reaching for the heavy rifle strapped to his back. Twice, he almost fell.
The stones seemed slippery underneath his heels, and the streets rocked with playful ease as the marine fought to weave his way to the center. Everywhere. They were everywhere, jeering, laughing, mocking him. Watching him. He could feel the eyes on his back ripping through his armor, clawing at battered and beaten flesh to better force him into submission. A wild spin sent him reeling, staggering, bloodshot eyes straining through the malfunctioning helmet he'd been forced to wear in order to keep himself breathing on the venture home.
And then her.
A splash of crimson and platinum blonde. Bigger than he, nearly. Caution in the way she stepped, a swing of her hips drawing her closer, closer. One of the goat women--assertive, taking what she wanted, just like the last. She'd seized him by the arm before he'd realized it, hauling him upright and staring deep into the glazed eyes that hid behind the cruel metal helm. Not platinum, but yellow, bright, bold unafraid. Her eyes.
"Come." She purred, still searching, searching. Her delicate hands roamed against his face, the tips of her sharp nails screeching against the metal. Traced his throat with a low tut, slipped further past, towards where the gem was concealed with steel--
--he smashed her away, reasoning gone and made feral by the lack of basic human needs. "Don't touch me." Came the low snarl, gripped by red hot fury while the current source of his misery seemed to throb with amusement against his neck. He didn't want her to touch it. No one. It was killing him and he needed it. The tall creature had taken a step back with surprise, the gentle clop of her hooves resounding against the stone before a slow and sensuous smile pulled at her lips.
"Of course. Of course... You need to rest. Come." And it was the slender, crimson arm she offered him that made him bristle, but the nagging voice had returned. Food, water, rest. She offers it freely, why resist? Why say no? It's time to stop marching and just relax...
He grasped her hand more harshly than he should, too far gone to feel ashamed by the way his metal fingers threatened to crush her own. But she offered no wince of pain nor discomfort, only pulled him slowly towards the stairs. Up and up and up. His muscles screamed. He couldn't stop, though his breath came in ragged wheezes past his bleeding lips. Unconsciousness claimed him a few times, but the goat-woman was stronger than she looked; he was vaguely aware of his arm around her shoulders, felt himself being half-dragged through the hallways of the Pantheon.
A center room. Dragons, dragons of stone, snarling teeth and furious eyes, staring at him so hungrily as he was led further into the room. The smell was worse in here. Arden struggled for a moment to get his feet under him, his companion slowly obediently. Her gaze never left him, but he found he could not meet her eyes. A throne, in the center, above the last goddamn staircase. "Sit and rest." The purr washed against his ears despite the barrier that separated him from the elements. With her help, Arden obeyed. Up the last staircase, the elegant throne obviously not meant for him...
Her hands sought his shoulders after she'd slowly turned him around, pushing him with a firmness that made his knees buckle. The clank of metal striking stone might have normally made him wince, but Arden found himself beginning to grow stiff.
...clever girl...
The voice. From back in the downed craft, the one from the gem. "No." the whisper slipped pat his lips before he'd even realized how feeble it sounded. How afraid he sounded.
...Yes...Yes, I feel it, it is mine.... He could practically taste the foreign strands of influence that spider webbed across his mind, snatching up his stray thoughts and devouring them until there was nothing left. He tried to surge to his feet, to call out, anything, but his body was no longer under his control. A sharp tug against his skull and his helmet was pulled free, sweaty strands of hair plastered to his brow while muddy eyes frantically sought out whomever had stepped forward. The woman. She watched him with a sick sort of fascination, eyes aglow even as he screamed silently in his own head. Now rest. The mockery was clear in the creaking whisper, and Arden had one fleeting glimpse of the woman before he knew nothing more. She'd been smiling.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:12 am
Court of the Hollow Mouth
Week of FamineJoint RP #3 Tsunake How he loathed ignorance. It hung over this body like a plague and Bazyli had at last become irritated with the useless cobwebs stretched throughout the man's mind in place of tangible information. His Lord was gone--why else would he be stretched so luxuriously upon the throne?--but Famine knew not where. And that throbbing monstrosity of seeming flesh that had taken residency here... He'd musingly gnawed away at the man's mind in search of answers, amused with the feeble struggles Arden had attempted to put forth before he'd been unceremoniously swept aside and suppressed. "The end of the world." The rasped whisper ghosted among the silent, snarling statues of the dragons, and Bazyli thoughtfully stroked the thick jaw of his host with an armor-encased finger. That had been one of the few things of interest he'd extracted from his now-dormant host.
So there had been weeks... weeks where it seemed his brothers and sisters had risen to swallow the world with their influence. What was more fitting than for he to finally be awakened when the earth was teaming with his chance at power? He could feel it quivering through flexing muscle of his host even now, savored the taste with a slow, and rattling breath. Though Bazyli regretted the absence of his Lord Destruction, this surge of strength held its own sort of satisfaction. It finally seemed as though the world was finally taking a turn for the worst and the god Famine knew he required more information on the forces at work here. The dulled brown of the marine's eyes flickered minutely to the misshapen, suspended thing accompanying him in his moment of glory. He somehow doubted its significance as but a mere decoration alone.
His stolen fingers roamed across the gem implanted into the side of the man's neck, thoughtful now. Let the doors to the throne be open, then. They, both mortal and god alike, would come to him while he remained and relished in the famine that slowly ate at those who still lived. With luck, they would bear the fruits of knowledge his palette so craved. Cinderfae  Karaskis moved down the steps leading from the upper rooms of the pantheon she had just spoken to Ankou and the words and thoughts expressed with the Spirit Guide were still in her mind. Pausing near the door of the throne room she looked in only to see that another had taken residence upon the throne. She had heard of what had befallen their lord but had not seen the pod as it had been described herself. Turning some she walked into the throne room, her eyes going over the area looking toward the dragons and then toward the pedestal and the thrones. Her eyes first went to the one moving among them and then she spied behind one the pod as it had been described. Moving toward the dais she paused and bowed in a courtly manner, "and now who has ascended to the throne as we spiral into oblivion?" Her chaotically swirling eyes looked to the one upon the dais a neutral and somewhat thoughtful expression on her face. She wondered at the power they held and if they would be able to do anything, perhaps some of what she uncovered would be of use. Soon she would seek out the lord of Knowledge but her own curiosity had taken her off her path but for a moment. As she stands pausing in front of the throne, small amounts of smoke dance around her form. The goddess felt half formed, but was morphing ever so slowly to her host. From the hall her guard pauses near the door the elemental's eyes keenly watching the one upon the throne as well. But as all good guards Ashe waits in silence as his lady speaks and does whatever business she has. Tsunake Such a sweet scent of charred meat... It drifted to him long before the feminine form slipped through the gaping maw of the throne room. His muddy gaze drank her in, hollow against the gaunt cheekbones of his host. The smoke that coiled like playful, streaming serpents against her blackened skin was noted with the barest shift of his eyes before he devoured the information. Mortal, once. No longer. Bazyli inclined his head to acknowledge the bow, satisfied with the display of respect. He did not recognize her, but could sense the wild, crackling energy that separated her from mere elemental. So soon, and they were already beginning to flock to the Pantheon... It pleased him, and he rose from the throne with a rustling clank of pitted armor.
"Bazyli of the Hollow Mouth." The bone-dry rasp barely stirred the cracked lips of the man as he fixed her with an eternally hungry stare. "Oblivion... Such an ideal time to be reborn." He savored that phrase for a mere moment. She knew, then, of what was happening--more than his host did. "I do not recognize the body you wear now, but I can see your true colors beginning to show... If you would favor me with an introduction, my dear." He tilted his jaw only slightly, imploring her to humor him. She would. She had nothing to hide, not when she had sought him out first--and that was what probed his intrigue the most.
"So my brothers and sisters have already claimed this seat of power... But where might our Lord reside when all is plunged to hell?" He pinned her with another stare, the intensity to his gaze softened only by the lack of expression on his face. "I find ignorance... ill-fitting to my tastes, and your manifestation implies to me that you have seen what I could not." A thin, humorless smile unexpectedly pulled at the corners of his lips, and the god took his place on the throne once more. Limbs shifted and arranged themselves into a mocking display of comfort, and a steeled palm made a harsh cradle for his chin. "Indulge me with what you know. The way things are outside, I have all the time in the world..." Cinderfae Karaskis for a moment studied the host apparently he had taken some damage, with the way things were outside she was not surprised. Cinder's part of her mind looked over his clothing she recognized him as a space traveler of some sort. Information filed away for uses for another time or just filed away knowledge of hosts and the others were becoming less important unless they held value to stop the spiral as she had put it. "Karaskis, the Milagro Rampant." The reply to who she was was short and to the point but the goddess dusky voice mixed and changed with that of Cinder's as the two spoke as one. A strange sensation for both of them as the two melded they would indeed become just Karaskis and at the same time not destroy all that once was Cinder. Karaskis' eyes shifted toward the pod to the back of the throne room she did not blame the one upon the throne for not realizing that hidden within the pod was indeed their lord. "He resides within that," she gestured to the pod upon the dais, she herself had not seen it until now but she had heard of it from Jaster when they traveled. The goddess paused a moment to let the reality of the situation hit the other god before speaking again, "as you sit upon the throne you can likely tell that what is coming to pass is unnatural. A long time enemy the Grigori have played a hand in it. From what I have come to understand they have played a long time game. One that started during the fading, steps are being taken but all the help that can be found would be useful." As she spoke her voice fluctuated between Karaskis' and Cinder's and then at times both. ((as I know the voice thing is likely confusing. Blue is Cinder, red Karaskis, and orange both...two strong personalities blending and speaking from the same body. Tsunake "Well met, Karaskis..." The words slipped over a swollen tongue while their remnants rose to brush against a parched throat and faded into nothing. He permitted the bloodshot eyes to roam across his rugged, mortal form, musing over their milky quality and the still-human iris floating amidst the contrasting hues. He could hear the subtle undulations that told goddess from woman, though they did not seem to vie against one another for control; it was a simple, struggling union to remain a sole union. So, had she sought to merge with her host? Or perhaps simply had not crushed her completely? Such sentiments were beyond him.
A single brow arched to convey his surprise, temporarily caught unaware by such a bizarre revelation. "This?" His hand slipped so he could shift his head, taking in the massive entity with a more critical gaze. His Lord had sealed himself? By what means? But his newly found songbird was willing to sing him the details, and Bazyli listened with faintly narrowed eyes to the varying pitches. "Gehenna...." It was a curse that rattled forth from bruised lungs, and the not-man's face hardened with checked loathing.
"So the world will come to an end with the Lord's passing... What of the Grigori? They've broken the ancient pact set down--do they intend to do battle?" Curious and more curious. And then-- "No matter. I will offer my aid, though circumstances make it... difficult for me to know exactly what it is I seek. Is that all you know?" Bazyli paused for a moment, grimly amused with his next line of thought. "Surely you've come to appreciate the luxurious space within this throne room, where instead it should be teeming with those come to pay their respects. Have the others gone to prevent the End...?" ((Oh, gotcha. xDD Thank you for clarifying!)) Cinderfae Karaskis watched the host that Starvation had taken for a moment while he spoke and what the pod was sunk into him. She chose to ignore the looks that her and Cinder's voice tended to draw, if things were not so dire perhaps they would have spoken of such things and the reasons for them. Times however were dire so such things would wait and they would hope that in some instance they would come out ahead so they could speak of them. "Yes, Gehenna. From what I understand the state he has taken was caused by the head of the Grigori, Samyaza. She has stolen Gaia's arm and intends to use the flesh to create a gateway to bring the others of her kind. I would say yes...they are looking to bring a war." Karaskis remembered some of wars, her brilliant warriors fighting for deeds and reasons now long past. Just glimpses but not enough for true remembrance. Pushing the thoughts aside she continued to observe Bazyli without flinching the goddess feared not monstrosities and Cinder had seen her share as well as created them.
"Some of the others are spread it seems attempting to bring together pieces of the missing consort. Weapons have been spoke of as well however, one belonging to Harmodius, one to Gaia, one to the lost consort, and one to Rebirth. I intend to aid in finding these if possible they are said to be made in such a way that the void of the Grigori cannot unmake them." Quirking a brow she looks up toward the windows and gestures to them, "as each one breaks it counts down until there is no time for us anymore. But this Gehenna is before it's time so instead of respect the others have left in hopes of stopping it. I cannot tell you where they have all gone as I myself do not know, I do know however that I am seeking to find the lord of knowledge as he is likely the one that will know of where the weapons may lay. Even if some answer is found the Grigori will return and in our young and weak states we will not be able to battle them without some sort of help; for while we slept they did not and they did not forget." The voices steadied some as if the two had found some common ground to speak on. Tsunake Samyaza--a new name whose potency could not be mistaken. So the Grigori had forced this unfathomable transformation, ravaged the former Empress and now sought to stimulating the death of all. Petty revenge, or perhaps something more? Bazyli, too, remembered, and allowed himself a private reflection on ancient times, now eons past. Even if the pact was broken, the goddess' words rang true; they had been made young and feeble by the Fading, lacking the proper diet of power to struggle against such a threat. He more than anyone knew how to bear a grudge so deep that it consumed, and Famine was little surprised at how the Grigori were seeking to extract their bitter vengeance. What better than complete annihilation...? Had he been a neutral force observing the chaos, Bazyli would have been impressed.
His eyes traced her charred features without truly seeing them, lost in idle thought even though he was more aware than he'd been for years. "When their world leaks into ours, it will be the end." He intoned softly, eyes flickering up to the broken windows she spoke of. "Always with the theatrics... Mistake me not, dear lady; my withered ego can endure a lack of attention for some time yet. There will be plenty of time for formalities when this has all ceased. Weaponry, the lord of Knowledge, and the ever-lingering threat of a war that could tear them all asunder. "They will need to be crushed, eventually." Bazyli mused. "For now, we'll settle with undoing the damage. The sooner we regain our lost strength, the better off we shall fair against the Grigori. The throne has replenished some of which I have lost. The world, however, is mine." The sights, the sounds.... All he needed to do was focus. "I will listen and search for these weapons, though it would be a true blessing were I to locate anything."
Famine chuckled, a low, hoarse sound that echoed through his host's battered body. "My ascension it seems, was ill-timed." He'd let it sting later, and he regarded the partially-formed goddess with cool amusement. "What of Gaia? Of Rebirth? And the consort... Have they began their process of rebirth?" What a lovely little game, filled with riddles and what-ifs, though it was mention of the consort that struck a chord with Bazyli. "I assume he remains still lost to us." Cinderfae She listened and observed her thoughts on the god upon the throne hidden behind a neutral expression of flesh and the darkening that would become the skin of the fully awakened goddess. "From what was spoken of at least the account I heard of it. It perhaps is a bit of revenge and their own want and goals. The Grigori lost the war to us long ago. And lay in wait, perhaps if we had not faded there would not have been any troubles as we have seen now. But it is clear they have been planning for sometime." Karaskis stepped to the side in a motion of some pacing as she thought, the click of her grav-lock books on the tiles was somewhat calming to her thought process. "Crushed? Hopefully but only if we can survive ourselves. And a war is coming, repairing the damage will not be enough Samyaza will return and she will either have others or bring such with her." Karaskis spoke her dusky voice thoughtful as she did the smoke that glided with her swirling some what with her words. "If you do manage to locate anything I would like to know as I would retrieve them with what little power I actually do have at my disposal.""Hmm, and your ascension will be fleeting as it has been for the others that sat before you. So use your time wisely if you are able." Karaskis watched the other her fiery eyes churning as they did offering little in the way of emotions when she wished. "The others...I have met Rebirth though his abilities I am not sure of he seems further along then myself with his transformation though his mind is much like that of a child. Gaia I believe has also started but I never met her myself and the consort is still in pieces some of which I possess." Pausing she stopped her pacing and seemed thoughtful, "we are only shadows of what we once were..."Tsunake "They've had centuries to seethe. What better a time to boil over then when we are but newly born babes...?" Bazyli countered, and a wheeze of laughter swelled in his throat. "We could sit and analyze their intentions, or merely accept them as fact; they want us dead, and there will be no shame in returning the favor one this is all said and done." His muddied eyes tracked her restless movements, observing as the patient predator. "Don't be so pessimistic, my dear. Your earlier sentiments have filled me with satisfaction; no need to tarry and dwell on what might happen. Focus on regaining possession of the weaponry, speak to the lord of Knowledge on what can be done next." He dismissed her concerns, refusing to dwell on the thought of eradication during his moment of glory.
"You will be the first to know." He promised with a tight-lipped smile, as though grimly amused. "It is indeed a pity. Famine ravaged this land for some time before I took the throne; I doubt I will regain my seat here for much longer." He held her smoldering gaze for a moment, lips cracking apart in what was likely a grin. "Think not of wars to come--if we can survive the first, then we shall have time to fret."
He listened patiently to what little she knew, musing over both Rebirth and Gaia's current states. "So, they will be able to offer what aid they can." It was satisfactory, though by no means the best he could hope for. "Do you?" Came the deceptively absent reply, and his eyes probed her as though to search for these so-called pieces she held. "How many pieces are left to gather?" Difficult for the consort to wield a weapon if there was no physical body to do so with... Cinderfae Watching Bayzli a moment with her fiery gaze she responded, "it seems our enemy has only yet gained freedom though they did not fade as we did. Pact or not - I do not know of such but I have heard they were trapped and now have set upon us. At least in this case we are awakened instead of never being and having the world end without us." Drunk with power upon the throne or not at least famine seemed to want to make some sort of progress. "Depends on what war you mean, if we are to survive any rallying those of us that are awaken will be needed as will the weapons. Of course stopping our lord for an untimely end will also be needed for one cannot win anything if there is no world." Karaskis' eyes set toward the pod with some worry, emotion swirled before disappearing into the inferno. "There are seven pieces, the last two are being collected as we speak. The question is once they are gathered...how does one then put a fractured being together." Karaskis paused in thought, "all things in time I suppose."
"Interestingly enough we did a search on the name Samyaza, a rather mundane search actually. And found it associated with a being known as Satan in some cultures...an ultimate evil. Perhaps, that is not too far off. For the void is an end to all..." Her eyes went to the windows again in some thought before looking to Bayzli. Tsunake "No, Fate would preserve them so they could set upon us as their leisure--what's to a world when things are not falling amuck?" He seemed amused with the notion, though a rueful nod was offered to acknowledge her sentiments. "Too true, my dear Karaskis... To die in ignorance is more loathsome then anything the Grigori wish to accomplish now; I'd rather watch the world shrivel to a dead and barren husk rather than spend my remaining weeks in this pretty coffin." Armored fingers scraped gently against the side of the sickly gem embedded into the taut skin of Arden's neck.
"What we face now is no war." He corrected dryly. "It is annihilation. Your words hold truth in the sense that, without our Lord, we are without means of retaliation. To save Destruction will then lead to the bloody senselessness that emerges from a so-called righteous cause. We are too feeble... Too few. And the world--well, hard to wage war without a battleground." A mirthless chuckle drifted from him, and Famine listened to the other in silence. How he wondered if she'd changed her tune once the funeral pyres began to burn...
More riddles, it seemed. "I doubt if even Gaia's strength would aid her in such a feat... Perhaps Rebirth would have better luck." The not-god mused to himself before absently dismissing the motion for now. It would be dealt with in time. And, it seemed Karaskis' usefulness had not ended yet.
"Samyaza?" An auburn brow plucked itself slowly. "The so-called Devil of the Christians. Fitting indeed." A pleasure to know that their opponents held the same sort of sick humor that he did, truly. "Time is short, but it seems as though you've made much progress. But did you not intend to seek out Knowledge? I hardly wish to be the cause for your delay." There was something mocking in his tone that failed to reach his expression, and Bazyli inclined his head minutely towards the Milagro Rampant. Cinderfae Listening the Goddess' lip twitched her eyes over the form that had been taken for Famine it seemed to fit him admirably. Such a craven angry beast within a burnt out husk, she wondered if they survived how it would change as he grew more powerful, humility she decided may in fact be good for him as well. "It seems we have come to a point of talking in circles," Karaskis smiled though it was not an overly friendly expression at the time.
"Well now you have some information on your crumbling throne enjoy what time you do have," Karaskis stepped back slightly preparing to leave. "And do not fear Lord Famine I will not tarry here long. Though I feel it prudent that you keep in mind that hubris is the downfall of many a great men and perhaps it was even our downfall in the past." Turning slightly she started toward the door, "also your time is fleeting upon the throne, so such thoughts will be useful for you. As you may find that once you do not hold such a position others will more then happily turn you over their knee if you do not keep those lessons in mind." The strength in the voice was Karaskis' but she and Cinder truly were becoming one as she spoke the words turning and walking from the throne room.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:13 am
A Brotherly Reunion
Week of FamineJoint RP #4 Tsunake Karaskis had proven herself to be a useful ally during a time where information was more sacred then life itself, offering all she knew to the newly awakened Famine. His hunger for knowledge, as expected, was endless, and though he was reluctantly satisfied at the end of their meeting, he wanted more. He immersed himself in the power of the Throne, spreading his influence across the world itself so his jaws could fasten upon whatever scraps and specks of the Grigori, of the weapons, and even the rest of his kin that he could find. All seemed to be as the Milagro Rampant had said. How... disappointing. Though they had their reasons for being absent during his finest hours, Bazyli could not help but feel silent twinges of remorse and regret. No matter. He would reacquaint himself with those of importance at a later hour, perhaps even with shreds of his former visage and strength.
He harbored sick pleasure in knowing the starvation plaguing the planet had at least played its role in toning his vessel's appearance into something more fitting. Cold, steel-encased fingers trailed along Arden's gaunt cheekbones, traced the fine, broad jaw that seemed more skeletal than masculine now. He'd played his part well, this little marine... A rattling whisper of a sigh escaped past cracked lips as Bazyli reclined into the seat of his Lord, allowing his thoughts to slowly turn to those who'd claimed this seat before he. His brothers and sisters--how did they fare? Surely they'd received a better turn out, and the thought made his lips part in the slightest sneer.
It was fitting, he supposed, for them to finally reign without precedence, to bask the glory that was Destruction. Bazyli paused in the analysis of his host's face, letting his armored hands settle to clasp the arms of the throne. But as with all good things, his time was bound to come to an end; his eyes slid across the unbroken windows that would mark his end. Such precious, little time left. With that thought in mind, he let his eyes close, and again opened himself up to the world. Yes, he'd search for those weapons... but there was nothing that forbade him from enjoying the starvation that brought Hell down on all who still lived.
Shkhin  The low rumbling of his stomach for the past few days had made Sh'khin acutely aware of his eating habits. Normally he ate fairly little -- though he always had a hearty bacon-and-egg breakfast, most of the time he wouldn't eat anything again until dinner, which would normally consist of a small meal of some sort of protein, vegetables and pasta or rice.
The trumpet that had heralded in the week of Famine sent a chill down his spine, and almost immediately, his stomach had begun growling.
Upon returning to his quarters in the evenings, there was little in the way of food. Aeneas did what she could, always at least finding meat to cook for her Lord. The vegetables she did find were bruised and a bit past their prime. She'd cut off the bad bits and use what she could to create a healthy meal for the Contagion, but as the week wore on, food stores had gotten low.
Sh'khin had yet to find time to check the throne room and see if another of his siblings had taken the throne. He had been busy in the labs. But he could feel something different -- it wasn't as powerful as when Phaedra had ascended -- but it was different than the weeks where no god had sat on the throne. Perhaps Famine had been reborn...
So, after another night of rumbling stomach and a poor meal, he decided to check out the throne room.
Descending the stairs, he pushed the door open to survey the scene. The chrysalis was still there, 'breathing' slowly and looking larger than it had a mere week before. And on the throne sat a man -- a large man, who looked shriveled, malnourished, but intimidating nonetheless. He bowed deeply, respectfully. And then, standing again, he moved closer to the ascended god and spoke. "My brother," he smiled wickedly, pleased to see that yes, it was the return of another sibling. "I am pleased to see you born again. I do not know if introductions are necessary, as we both know one another. I am called Sh'khin in this age -- The Contagion."Tsunake It could have been easy to overlook the presence of someone entering the room, had he been truly focusing. But Bazyli found the hints that the goddess of flames had offered him to be rather... insubstantial. There were millions, if not billions of weapons scattered amongst the continents, and, starved for company as he was, he couldn't resist to seize the chance.
The dark, almost murky sheen to Arden's eyes would be the first sign that the man was something more than mere mortal, and he almost lazily drank in the voluptuous figure. The smell of disease, putrid and sickly, delicately washed up against flaring nostrils, and an arched auburn brow signified Famine's dawning realization. The bow offered his way was ignored, for, with the heavy clank of armor plating, the not-god made to rise.
"Sh'khin," Came the low, undulating rasp of sheer pleasure before Bazyli canted his head lightly, a simple gesture for the other to join him near the throne. "How many ages it's been... Surely there's no need for such formality? But, as you wish." He himself then sank into a bow, and his host's spine groaned softly as if in protest. "Bazyli the Hollow Mouth, born anew while the world suffers from m namesake." Lips thinned into an unpleasant smile, as though savoring the chaos.
"Tell me, Sh'khin, is it not true that this is all that remains of our Lord?" A nod was offered to the silent chrysalis, and the man's hardened features seemed to curl with distaste. "And of the Grigori..." Had Arden's salivary glands been working properly, it might have crossed his mind to spit. "So much I have missed, dear brother... and so little time to see that things are set right."
An armored hand was waved then in casual dismissal, for he sought to focus on other things than bemoaning their supposed fate. "You look well." He noted, paused to allow a sly sort of smile to crawl across his thinned face, then added, "You look to be almost your true self again, save your newly acquired figure." Sizzla As Bazyli stood, Sh'khin got a good look at the host he had chosen. A strong, hearty man, he looked almost militaristic, though he now looked gaunt. This seems about right, he thought. Famine could ravage the body as much as Plague.
The voice was exactly what Sh'khin had expected of his brother, the raspy death rattle appropriate and telling, sending a slight shiver down his spine. "Ah brother, such formality is necessary on occasion," he said. "I thought that you might appreciate it, seeing as how you have ascended the throne of our Creator and Destroyer. I will show you the same respect as I have Him, in greeting at least." He was glad that his brothers and sisters seemed to be close, requiring little else but presence in court, though Sh'khin thought a little formality couldn't hurt. It was polite and respectful.
"It is a pleasure to see you again Bazyli. I am glad to see you were able to take the throne -- several of us have not yet been reborn, so it is always a welcome sight to see one of the Seven on the throne. Once I began to feel the growling in my stomach, I knew your week had come."
He looked to the chrysalis and back to Famine, nodding. "Yes, our Lord sleeps inside the cocoon, evolving. Though what he shall become, no one knows. Many of the gods are making efforts to change what may be wrought, for if we are not able to change things, the End shall come again, even though many are newly reborn, like yourself." He paused. "The Grigori are warring again, but this time only one came to take Him down. Their evil Queen, Samyaza, did this, and then stole the arm of Gaia, to use as a portal back to this world."
After the quick confirmation of Bazyli's knowledge, he smiled as his brother complimented his looks. "Thank you," he said. "The body I have taken was that of a young woman, and even upon morphing, I was left with some of her," he said, poking at his chest. "But she has proven to be a fine host, and surely when I ascend again into godhood, I will no longer be left with these. During my week, they disappeared, but once it was over, they again regrew."
"It looks as if you have molded your host quite well also. I see he retains some of both of your features. It was probably wise to find a strong one, as I know you will wear him down over time." Tsunake "But of course." He intoned dryly, and damaged lips pulled themselves into a tight, if amused smile. "Don't think I won't accept your lavish praises--I merely regret not being able to give them in turn." So Sh'khin had risen to power already; what a sight he must have made. Despite all of Bazyli's 'protests' at such formality, his reactions would have been less than kind if he had been treated so ordinarily. Hypocritical? Perhaps. But Plague was a clever creature, and most of their brothers and sisters had a streak of rampant pride that needed to be nourished on occasion.
What a wonderful source of information his brother was proving to be. Something like a rumble rattled through his host's bruised throat in mocking parody of laughter, and Bazyli smoothly interjected with a question. "How many of our kin have been reborn? The more, the merrier..." Until they grew sick of one another, but that was neither here nor there. "It is good to see you again." He mused slowly, savoring the thought. "I realize with how things currently stand," A dismissive wave to the shattered windows, the silently pulsing cocoon, "The others are preoccupied. But such a bitter twist of fate, mm...?" A chuckle rasped through his chest while the marine gave his head a slow, mirthless shake.
"Samyaza..." His brows furrowed briefly, picking the name from his encounter with Karaskis. She'd said something about researching a name, though the fool had forgotten to mention it was the name of the Queen of the Grigori. "A clever b***h, to be sure... "
There was an idle curiosity as his brother made to describe what had once been his host, provoking a low chuckle when the leftover remnants were emphasized. "You picked well, from what little I can discern; young and healthy, fully able to survive the rigors you must have put her through." Yes, it'd been a shame he'd snuffed his own out so quickly, though Arden was not completely gone. He knew, grudgingly, that his control over this damaged body would recede when the week had passed.
"A manner of luck and personal taste." Bazyli noted, nodding slowly. "I remain but an influence in his mind yet... It was the least I could do to trim some of the excess bulk." Though the raw power of simple, human muscle could be appreciated, it sat poorly with him. Why not enjoy this body in whatever way he liked before being banished to the dark crevasses of the soldier's mind? "The rest of his comrades were dead. He came in search for resources amongst the dead, and found more than he bargained for..." Such delightful, twisted turns fate could take when one least expected it. Sizzla "Ah, it is no bother," he replied, glad that he had pleased the enthroned god. "I sat on the throne a mere week ago. It is unfortunate that you did not return during my reign, for it was a sight to behold."
The throaty chuckle was unexpected, and the answer to the question he asked was uncertain. "I do not know exactly how many have been reborn, but those I have met (and this includes all of our bretheren, and not just Destruction's Seven) include Knowledge, Rebirth, both Dreams, Gaia, Underworld, Magnetism, Love, Assassination, Suffering, Trickery, Poison, Greed, Science, Oath and you." He thought for a moment. "But there are more that I have heard have been reborn, though I have not met them -- Hunt, Light, Water, the other Love, Universe, Music, Medicine, several of the Dragons, Fire, Silence, both Numbers, Winter, Forge... I am sure there are more, but I know not who they are."
"Yes, many others are occupied with thoughts of saving Him, and our world. None of us wants to face the apocalypse when we have just been reborn," he said, looking to the slighted windows and the breathing chrysalis. "Even I have things in the works to help prevent disaster, but there are only a few pieces of the puzzle missing until my plans are complete."
As Bazyli laughed over Sh'khin's dislike of his chest, he thought of Iris, who had been stirring more in the back of his mind over the past few days. She still did not speak, but he knew she was there. "Yes, she was everything I needed -- young and healthy, yes, but also full of knowledge. As a physician-in-training, she was to become a healer. And she wanted to specialize in viruses... I took a keen interest in her, and though she fought me, we came to a mutual understand, I think."
"Well I would suggest enjoying this week as much as you can," he advised, knowing that Bazyli would have little control once his week of power was over. "Once you are powerful enough, force yourself out through him -- it is not so difficult to control your host if you take the rest you need when you need it. No need to tire yourself instantly. It is a mistake many make, I'm afraid. I have done it myself, when I was new to this body."
"Ah, he did find much more than he had expected," Plague chuckled. He could say the same for most hosts, he thought. Tsunake "A mere week? Bah, a shame." It truly would have been a spectacle to see his brother back to full strength, and how his true form bled forth in the form of ravaging illness to grip the body he'd claimed. "I expect to see you whole again soon enough, however." And by that time, he hoped to have retained shreds of his former countenance as well.
Bazyli was silent as the other made to recount their awoken kin, tilting his jaw ever so slightly as though to place faces to names. With most, he could not; only bits and pieces of familiarity made to brush his consciousness. "So few, both in gods and our numbers as well." He'd seek them out eventually if he wished to exchange pleasantries, though a thin smile threatened to pull at his lips from the thought alone. He wondered if they'd all grown soft and sentimental in their time away, casting his glazed eyes towards his brother once more. "Oh? Tell me of them, brother; I admit I find it...irritating... to feel my time draining away, but know little of what I can do to aid." It was about as much weakness as he'd ever be willing to admit, but Sh'khin was doing wonders to batter away the cobwebs of ignorance.
His lips curled with distaste as Plague made to further describe his host, no longer so interested in the details. No, it was that last statement that he'd latched onto with his taste, more than a little revolted. "A mutual understanding? You too, Sh'khin? Tell me this persona is solely yours, and you didn't foolishly bargain some of it away so she could ingrain herself into you...?" A slow and rueful shake of his head before the armored man began to gently pace. "I met with Karaskis, Fire, to find that she'd allowed herself to merge with her host. Why?" It was a hoarse, rattling sound, filled with mirth despite the way the man's grizzled face had hardened. "Because she had allowed her sentiments to overrule her better judgment, allowed herself such weakness as to feel."
Famine eventually slowed his pace, regarding his brother with veiled irritation. "...I can sense this is not the case with you, or at least I hope." Surely his brother would never do something so ignorant, and the not-god knew his outburst had not been directed solely at Plague. "Such a waste." He murmured, before arching. a brow at the offered advice for taking control. A slow and stiff nod seemed to be his only answer. "I will remember. This one will struggle--his thoughts are filled with self-sacrifice for the 'greater good'... To resurrect one of the Seven through his efforts is ironic--too sweet to simply rush through without sampling a taste."
He seated himself slowly again upon the throne, his gaze sunken as it trailed over he diseased body of Sh'khin. "Have they all truly lost their biting edge?" He rasped aloud before the feeble sound blossomed into a laugh. Sizzla "Yes, it was such a short time. I did manage to get a few things accomplished, but overall, I wish I could have had more time," he said. "Be sure to make the best of your own time on this throne," he warned his brother.
"I am not sure what to tell you of the others. There is much to learn about each of them, and I have only had short encounters with most of them. I find they are quite grateful to be reborn, no matter what host they have chosen. Most have reclaimed their bodies entirely, while others have allowed some part of their host to live on. I know one of the Dragons has left most of his host intact, forming a new persona of sorts. It is strange, but perhaps it was in his best interest. I do not knokw really...
It was interesting to see Bazyli judge those who had mixed with their hosts, but Sh'khin could not say he was entirely surprised by his reaction. "Ah, it is not so much that my host has ingrained herself into me, but has influenced me and my thinking about certain things. I have found that I appreciate humanity more than I did before -- at least from what I can recall. Mortals are necessary for our survival, as you well know, dear brother. Without the worship of mortals, what would we be?"
He paused to consider his words. "I do not know why some have chosen to merge entirely with their hosts. Mine is just a voice in my head, but little else. And now, with so much destruction about, her voice has been growing softer and weaker. I am not sure she will last long if things continue to deteriorate as they have been."
"As for the others, not all have lost their edge," he said, thinking of the rest of the Seven. "I think you will find Greed little changed," he grinned, thinking of Phaedra. Tsunake "I will do what I can. I regret that I only managed this ascension with such little time left--most of my time has been spent gathering knowledge already known to those whom have suffered through the process of rebirth." He didn't allow himself to dwell on the fact that he would be again confined to the shadows of his host's mind when the week was up, unable to suppress his lips from curling in disgust at the thought.
He was silent as his brother sought to explain what he saw as nothing less than a stain upon their title, their stature, unaware of the scowl that slowly settled itself upon his strained countenance. "I see. Yes, a second chance at life is always to be appreciated... Perhaps some of them simply don't want to remember what they once were." He'd never admit that his temporary power-high had undoubtedly clouded his judgment--but even so, he trusted the word of his 'sibling' than he did of the goddess of Fire. He wasn't quite sure if Sh'khin's answer sated his appetite, but the other brought up several valid points.
"I will be the first to admit I have spent little time in this body. My... host of sorts doesn't even fully understand what I am, and what I will be." He was musing now, an armored finger scraping languidly across his chin. "We shall see. Breaking down the barriers between us will prove interesting." Yes, he did look forward to that, knowing that he knew little about the man in exchange for his sudden acceleration in power.
He tilted his head slightly as Sh'khin revealed his host's prevailing weakness, intrigued. "Affected by the Gehenna? So you are able to survive now without her existence, should it come to that..." Until then, however, it seemed Bazyli would be stuck with the mortal until his influence was powerful enough to sustain itself.
His lips drew back to bare themselves in a gritted grin of amusement, murky eyes flashing at the mention of one of their siblings. "Ah, Lady Greed... It will be a pleasure to make her acquaintance once more, I am sure." Sizzla "Yes, I can imagine that it would be tricky to try to rule the throne in a brand-new body. It took quite a bit of time to become accustomed to mine as well, but now I have fairly good control over it. It's a test of strength and endurance for yourself, this much is true."
Sh'khin turned to his right and began to slowly pace the room, looking from wall to wall, examining the changes that had occurred since the previous week. Things seemed to be crumbling further; there was no hope in sight for the world around them if the gods couldn't succeed in their mission to save Him. But it was a fleeting mental thought, as Bayzli began to speak again.
"I'm sure many have regrets from their past incarnations... A clean slate is not necessarily a bad thing, is it?" Though he could only remember a little of his past -- just those most important to him really -- he had his own regrets. Things he would try to change in this life.
As Famine spoke of breaking down his host's 'barriers,' he chuckled. "So have you spoken to him, and he to you yet? How did you introduce yourself?" It was always something he was curious of, after his own introduction to Iris.
He paused, thinking that he -could- keep this body, should Iris die. At least he thought he could. "I feel fairly sure that I would still live if Iris died now. Since the body is at least half mine at this point, I think I would survive without her. Something would definitely be missing though..." Tsunake Endurance, strength, perhaps even the cunning of mind. Bazyli knew, though perhaps he would not admit, that this sudden gift of power had left him spoiled--the real challenge would begin as soon as this week ended. "Your earlier mention of an agreement still intrigues me, dear brother. Does she, or could she fight your hold now?"
Muddled eyes swept slowly after the pacing other, noting the feminine curves of his body enhanced with a masculinity that could only be Sh'khin's. It was a fascinating metamorphosis. it amused him, to find himself brought back only in a time where the world itself was beginning to rot. Fitting, almost. But Bazyli was confident that it would end, that answers would be found and He would rise once more.
The question, however, was enough to earn a period of brooding silence from the man. "...No." Came the rasped agreement, thoughtful and musing once more. "I remember the others... but the rest feels like a haze. The more intent I am on making things clear, the more easily they slip away." A new slate? His lips tightened in a grimacing sort of smile. Perhaps.
"I've spoken only vaguely to him. I know not his name, nor he mine. In truth, I do not believe he understands what has happened." His lips pursed faintly; that was something he'd need to fix. "In truth, I've seen him little more than a tool--there was no need for pleasant conversation when the power of the throne was presented to me." Was he apologetic? No. Willing to rectify? Mm, more than likely.
"So in some ways, you still rely on her..." This was something he took careful note of. "Once-worshipers, now sacrificing everything for the old gods..." Fitting. Still, the thought of allowing himself to diffuse into the mind of a mere mortal made him rankle, sneering openly as his thoughts flicked back to Karaskis. When the time was right, he would crush this host and take the body for his own. And until then... well, all the better to find out as much as he could about how this world--and its people--had changed. Sizzla Sh'khin shook his head in response to Bazyli's first question. "I doubt if she could now. The destruction of our world has weakened her considerably. I was surprised she didn't fade entirely after the Wave hit. Perhaps if she was storing her energy somewhere, but I doubt it, as she hardly speaks to me anymore. If she is not strong enough for speech, I am sure she is not strong enough to take over this body again."
Sh'khin pondered Bazyli's relationship with his host, wondering what it would have been like had he never explained anything to Iris. What a confusing relationship that would have been. He knew others felt the same about their hosts as Bazyli did, but Sh'khin could not imagine taking the body of a mortal without giving them some reason as to why...
"Ah, so you have not had much time in this new body?" he asked, curious if the god had merged with his host very near to the time of his ascention. "So will you speak to him at all, or just take him when you have the power to do so?"
He pondered Famine's question about Iris, knowing that what he had meant did not seem to have sunk into the god's mind. "I don't think it is so much that I rely on her, but rather that a piece of myself would be missing with her quiet voice silenced..." He paused. "But she did not take my invasion willingly, that much is certain. But my jewel called to her and she couldn't resist."
Tsunake So it was the weak, the unworthy that were left to face the brunt of the Gehenna's wrath. How many had been eliminated? Would his current host have died, or made too ill to set out on the foolish journey that had brought them together? So many questions that would never be answered--and Bazyli did not have time to waste on frivolous 'what ifs'. "So you would not yet be complete if she passed. Interesting..." His curiosity was roused, but he would not wish such a fate on Sh'khin. Karaskis, perhaps... The thought almost made him grin.
"A day or so at most. One faithful to me guided him to the throne, encouraged him to sit and rest... He did so, unaware that he was granting me full control in the process. No, I imagine I will need to establish some connection with him soon. Currently, I am too.... lacking in strength to send more than a whisper of influence without the aid of the throne." But soon, soon. He would consume the strength of this body and master it.
"I will speak with him." Bazyli conceded after a moment, a wry smile pulling at thinned lips. "I will need some sort of entertainment until I am able to usurp his control." And this opened a whole new door of possibilities; would he present himself as friend, or enemy? Would the man loathe and fear him, or would he confide in him? How satisfying.
"To be complete." He offered, a finger resting against his temple as his gilded palm cradled his chin. "I will be able to better understand what you mean eventually." He dismissed that train of thought for now. "Perhaps I will be able to converse with you about it later... Assuming we all aren't wiped out." Another smile, this one dry and cruelly amused. He would not go without a fight.
Sizzla He shook his head. "No, if she died, I am not sure what would happen to me. I am definitely not complete without her. Her life is integral for my own survival. Her soul must be strong enough to sustain me even now though, so perhaps her silence is just her holding on to whatever is left..." He hated thinking about it, but knew that if Iris died, he would too. Even now, long after his integration with his host, he needed her.
"Enjoy the powers of the throne while you can brother. I think you will find it difficult to be a subordinate in your body again after your week of glory has ended..." Sh'khin had felt his own sense of discomfort after his ascention, and he craved that power again. But that power would be a long time coming...
"I wish you luck in conversing with your host. Mine was, and is, I suppose... difficult. She was quite angry with me most of the time, which is understandable considering I took her life from her. Even now, she can whisper snarky comments at me if she wishes to -- and she enjoys it thoroughly." He paused, thinking of Iris, and grinned. "Still, I appreciated that spunkiness and fight in her. I will always be grateful for what she's done for me." Not that she could have stopped it...
Sh'khin nodded at Bazyli and gave the god a bow. "Of course brother. Feel free to call on me any time, for anything. I reside behind the verdigris door upstairs," he said, pointing to the staircase that led to the god's hallway. "I would think you'd like to have your own rooms here as well. Destruction gave mine to me, though I don't think his powers are necessary to carve out a spot for you. My rooms grow as I need them to -- it's quite magical. Why don't you try to find yourself a place here? Unless it is not what you desire, of course."
Giving a final bow to the ascended god, Sh'khin gave his farewell. "I am sure we will meet again soon brother. Enjoy what is left of your Hungry Week." Tsunake This was good, valuable information. He had treated his host carelessly so far, reveling in the sheer joy of being alive and powerful once more to care much for his well being. But if the man was needed for his survival... well, then the God of Famine could prove to be kind. A slow, thoughtful nod was offered to his brother, perhaps sympathetic for his--their--plight. So close to freedom, and yet not nearly at all. Well, full control over this body would be a step in the right direction.
"It will be humbling." He offered, sounding amused. He was no fool. "I am certain I will loathe it with every fiber of my being... but I am patient. Better to have a mere promise of power than fruitlessly waiting for a host to arrive." He said that now, but would he be able to endure when the time came to test his strength? He had no doubts.
There was a faint quirk of his lips as the other wished him well in dealing with his host, chuckling deep in his chest. "Continued defiance is a sign of strong will. I suppose I would prefer that over a weaker host, even if it would allow the process to happen more smoothly." So Sh'khin appreciated his host. Hm. He could not relate. Perhaps he would, in time--but there would be no tears shed if the man was forever a dismissive object in his mind.
The bow was received with an absent nod of his head, and Bazyli stretched back into the throne. "I will remember... and shall see about arranging as such for myself, soon. My power is bound to the throne, as you know, but perhaps when my host is more compliant..." And when the threat of the Gehenna was over, of course. Then he would see about making himself more comfortable. "Sooner than you might expect." He offered with a mysterious smile, though his eyes looked dead.
"My well wishes in your search to find a way to stop this." An absent hand gestured towards the chrysalis before Bazyli closed his eyes. He was finished here--and there was still so much to try and do before he was robbed of his strength.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:14 am
What Goes Up...
Week of Decay
Solo RP #4
His time was running out. He could feel it in his very bones, his murky gaze focused on the windows that littered the hall of the throne room. Once shattered, he, too, would break. The not-god inhaled slowly, taking in the foul air of his own accord. The urge to pace like some pent up beast was strong, but Bazyli was calm, almost frozen as his armored fingers curled around the arm rests of the throne. His time would come again. Though the thought of again being sealed away after a taste of freedom was maddening, there was little point in wasting his strength in a childish fit of rage. One day... One day soon, he would breech this stupid mind, and seize these limbs again for his own purpose.
Without warning, the blare of a horn and the unmistakable tinkling of spilled glass filled the Pantheon, and his facade of indifference was gone. A snarl twisted at his lips as he felt the power leeched from his veins, limbs beginning to tremble and shake without his command. To fight the inevitable or merely succumb; neither were particularly tantalizing, and Bazyli only sneered as he struggled to hold on. Though valiant, his efforts were, of course, in vain. Soon, soon, soon, he would taste this world again, he would leave his mark and...
......he had fallen from the cold seat of the throne in his unconscious struggle for control, and his limbs curled toward him so he could shiver to himself, armor rattling against stone like frightened teeth. Sickness wafted over him in chilled waves, and his body felt wronged--not only rattled by its forced control of another, but by the lack of nourishment that had reduced him to such a wretched state. Resisting the urge to gag, fingers scrabbled at the floor, and his limbs trembled as the man slowly pushed himself upright.
His insides were writhing like a thousand, angry snakes, and the soldier briefly considered passing out as he rose onto unsteady feet. The darkness, however, was not as sweet as he once remembered it, and the thought was shoved away with a violence that was unfitting. He wanted to be awake, needed to be aware. In afterthought, his muddy eyes jerked about the throne room, searching for the crimson skinned she-devil before confusion furrowed at his heavy brows.
Blank.
He reached again for his thoughts, struggling to recall what had happened after he'd sat down...
Darkness, laughter, agony, nothing more, nothing ever again.
Blank.
Trembling fingers lifted to touch at his skull-like face, recoiling as a fresh wave of pain filtered through his guts. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days with the way his guts were rumbling. After a moment more of silent scrutiny, the marine shuddered to himself before he slowly began to make his way down the stairs. Glass crunched underneath his feet, the brittle sound mirroring his own unease and long legs unconsciously sought to move him faster. Broken pieces... Hell, he didn't even have that much to try and put back together so he could see the whole picture.
A shaky sigh slipped past his lips before Arden did what he could to straighten and slipped from the room, trying to escape the terrible weight and feelings that accompanied it. What time was it? What day was it? He needed to find someone--anyone--and find out. Even if they could provide him with no answers... well, the sight of a living, talking body would at least ease his jittering mind.
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:15 am
The Sundering
Month of Hell
Solo RP #5
The smell of rot... It was somehow more sickening then the stench of slaughter. He could recognize the scent, even the taste of hot, fresh blood, but this was a whole new beast. So many dead. Everywhere he'd looked, there was grime and decay, like the life was slowly draining itself from this planet. Cracked open so all sustenance could drizzle out until there was nothing left--and there was a feeling in his gut that something wrong was happening outside, even now. Something was going on here, like the world itself was shifting and shuddering in its place within the galaxy. His tired legs let him stumble blindly through the Pantheon, and aching fingers pressed against cracked stone in order to support himself while he surveyed the chaos, the destruction. What was he searching for, or hoping to find?
Finding himself on the maw of this hellish sanctuary brought no comfort to him; there was only death beyond this place. Even the soil seemed barren and lifeless, cracks rippling through its form like little mouths gasping tenaciously for a breath of water. It would harden, grow compact and huddle together soon, and the entire planet would shrivel like a sponge... A chill laced itself down his weary spine, but the message had been full instilled. The planet hadn't died yet--how long could it keep struggling until the inevitable?
He wavered there for a long moment before an armored heel slowly lifted from the crumbling stone to press into the soil. The first step soon led to many, and he was walking back into the inhospitable lands that had nearly killed him the first time. And so he wandered, never straying too far from the Pantheon--not when his chest was still sending bolts of fiery pain through him if he started to move too fast. The air seemed thicker somehow, its smell enough to make his lips threaten to curl with disgust. What was it, though? Something different, something off.
It was about that time that he heard the earth shift near him, a deliberate sound to draw his attention. The marine spun on instinct, but only the empty, lonely ground awaited him. He'd heard something; had it only been his imagination? No. But the man could only give his head a rueful, uncertain shake, slowly beginning to turn once more. His nomadic impulses, however, had died. Stupid to keep himself out here, better to remain where there were walls and false promises of safety.
He was aware of the way his limbs were starting to quiver even as he turned around, had to wonder how long he'd been blacked out and without sustenance... and there was a graininess in the corner of his eye, something perching there and peering at him. Not daring to move too quickly, Arden shifted his thick jaw to catch a better glimpse of whatever it was. A pumpkin.
...What?
The soldier felt his muscles slackening as he turned to stare at the thing, not distracted by the strange, darkened color so much as he was by the.. oozing. His throat tightened as the neon blue goo jolted back painful memories, phantom heat searing down gnarled scar-flesh that had forever branded him as a victim of war. Phazon? Why was it here, were there Space Pirates--?
Something shifted from behind the pumpkin.
His throat dry, the soldier forced his thickening tongue to shift before he wasn't able to get a sound out. "Who's there?" But he hadn't expected to see the child--was it a child?--lift his small head up. His eyes trailed over the strange, greenish grey of his skin, the blue lips that immediately brought drowning or suffocation to mind. Lingering for a moment on the half-lidded eye that almost screamed of cynicsm, it took him a long moment to understand why half of the youth's face was obscured in blue.
It wasn't paint, or even phazon, but bone.
"I've finally found you." He rasped, leaning forward slightly so an elbow could perch upon his rotting pumpkin, a leer twitching at disfigured lips. "Welcome back, oh master-mine..."
And Arden had heard enough, the rasp enough to curdle his blood. He'd spun about and fled, ignoring the squawk of surprise and indignation from the rotting child. Soon heaving for breath with barely-stitched lungs as he scrambled back into the Pantheon, he rubbed at the gem socketed into his flesh, the skin around it suddenly beginning to itch and burn as though the sight of something so similar to the acidic neo goo had brought the phantom searing back in full force. Whatever had happened to this planet while he'd been unconscious--well, it was getting worse. Or had that been something.... native?
~
"He's gone." The Aoide grouched to his companion, pouting childishly and looking horrendously put out. Only a rattle of bones and still-rotting sinew served as an answer, and a tall, cowled man suddenly seemed to materialize at his side. A bright blue eye focused on the other then, always amused by the undead rogue's ghastly appearance. Bony fingers tugged the cowl around his lopsided mouth a bit more tightly, as though sensing the teasing gaze, but he didn't answer.
"You are sure that he is the one?" Came the death rattle, and he impatiently pushed stringy, graying hair out of his eye sockets, empty save for the sick, yellow glow that fluctuated feebly even now.
"Of course I am! You think I'd mistake my own master? If you aren't nice to me, I'll ask that he seal you back into Hell if we aren't all consumed first!" The boy stuck out his tongue with a nasty giggle, but the rogue only grunted.
"Watch yourself, Phaaze. Forsaken we may be, but no one will ask if you're suddenly missing a few limbs." With that, the undead's form seemed to ripple before he'd cloaked himself once more, the tell-tale crunch of his bare, skeletal feet signaling he was following after the armored mortal.
Phaaze all but cackled at that, shaking his head with a leer while he strained to spot the body now masked from his sight. "Well I hope he chews you up and spits you out!" He hollered even as he scrambled to his feet, normal and mutilated hand both snatching the pumpkin's stem so he could better haul it along, heading back to a safer spot for now. He'd been lucky to find only Geir out here--too many other nasties for him to stay out and play now that that rift was causing trouble!
-fin-
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:16 am
Geir
Month of Hell
Solo RP #6
The stitch in his side continued to grow worse with each step he forced himself to take, and a hand clamped itself over his armor-covered ribs as though pressure would help hold his guts in place. Still, that didn't stop his heart from rattling about in the feeble cage of bone and bruised flesh, a frightened animal unable to escape the phazon-smeared gaze of a predator. What had that been all about? Had that child truly been inflicted with phazon? The way his skin had muscle had been eaten away suggested as much, and the thought sent shivers down the burly man's spine. Who could have done that, to a child? Why was there phazon here?
...Why had he run away? That was the worst realization, and his guts clenched with miserable guilt at the thought. He'd seen things like that before, thing that wore the guise of something innocent and feeble only so their teeth could sink into throats when the unwary stooped to aid them.
Master, it had called him. Had that simply been babble? There had been an almost malicious intelligence to the humanoid, and Arden found himself uneasy at the prospect. Limping down the ruined halls, he hoped that movement would help with the restlessness now roaming through his veins as he continued to pick apart his instinctive decision. Since when had he been the sort to run away from things, despite his condition?
Had death frightened him that much?
With a cough that made his lungs constrict in agony, the man continued his mindless wandering of the Pantheon. This entire world felt as though it had roughly shaken free the pieces of his morality and character before roughly stuffing them back into place, forcing them to fit despite the way edges splintered or stuck out at odd angles. What was he doing here, what purpose was he intended to fulfill?
It was hard to think with the constant jittering of his skin, the way his eyes rolled to stray shadows as though expecting to again see that leering, rotting face. To ground himself, he focused on the individual pains and aches that gripped his body, refusing to relinquish him just as he continued to cling to his sanity; if he let go, if they let go, would it be forever lost? But thinking, too, was tiring, and he numbly realized he was back in the main hall when he paused to give his surroundings a quick once over.
But just as he was so intent on his surroundings, someone was intent on him.
The undead rogue was still masked by whatever magic he’d manipulated to conceal his body from plain sight. It had been too easy to simply trail after the stumbling suit of armor, and dead eyes remained fixed on the man’s back even now. Still, Geir could not help but feel disappointed. He had been promised that this had been one of the Dark Ones—or, at least a vessel for its coming. Nothing but the weakened sack of flesh stood before him still, and he mulled bitterly over his thoughts; had Phaaze lied to him? He’d be sure to snap the boy’s brittle neck if that were true, but he would still tail the man to make sure he didn’t wander too far.
He knew not of the process that took place in order for god to replace mortal, and patience had never been his strong suit. Still, he would obey. There was nowhere else to go, save for the pits of Hell once more, so he would take his chances with allying himself with a newly born deity. Besides, the confines of flesh would render such a being weak and almost powerless itself, would it not?
Swollen tongue twitched underneath the cowl that masked his rotting face, feeling dead flesh attempt to twitch into a smile.
If that were true, then this newborn godling could still be killed... That would certainly make it more ready to comply if he held a poisoned dagger to its fleshy throat, no? But all in good time; Geir felt his patience renewed even as the soldier stumbled onward once more. As he silently stepped after the other through his shadows, he allowed his mind to play over just what he would ask for first...
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:17 am
The Injection
Week of ParadiseSolo RP #7 How was he supposed to react when the first thing he'd noticed was the absence of the stars within the sky? There were no clouds to mask their subtle glitter, not even a shred of the space he'd once known so well. It was like it'd simply vanished. Gone. Swallowed up. Something inside him was deeply amused at his choice of words--the voice who had no name. The weakness that had kept it at bay was slowly beginning to fade. Arden could feel it. Would it rise up and devour him again? If so, when? He didn't know. He was skating by on stolen minutes while his sanity was gnawed through, and he just wasn't sure how much more he could take. The marine had stumbled back inside with a heavy heart and a busy head when he spotted it. The noticeboard. Sh'khin - Plague I have returned from Science's labs with a vaccine to protect us against the Void. I know that the ritual is coming up very soon, and I wanted to finish our creation before it begins, as I think it will provide us with the necessary protection -- in case we are interrupted by the Grigori. Please come to the end of the hallway of the gods to receive your vaccination. It is by choice that you come, of course, but I encourage everyone to do so. I myself have taken the vaccine and have yet to experience negative side effects. It has actually been somewhat rejuvenating. Combining the DNA of Gaia and Rebirth, as well as using my own created bacterium to transport the vaccine throughout the body seems to have worked well. I do hope you all will receive the vaccine and protect yourselves. If you do not find me at the table at the top of the stairs, please come to my rooms and I will take care of you -- I reside behind the verdigris door. Sh'khin, Plague The words barely made sense to him, despite the flowing handwriting that just beckoned to be read. A vaccination, the void, and a name... It bridled with familiarity, but Arden somehow sensed that he wasn't the one who recognized it. "Sh'khin..." His clumsy tongue sought to form the sibilant title of sorts, flinching as a whisper of laughter trailed through his thoughts. ...find him...It was weak, lacking the substance that had once overwhelmed him, choked him until his world went grey and eventually faded into nothing. The marine mutely stared at the noticeboard, his eyes glazed with memories until he gave a rough start and shook himself. A hesitant step back, a twist of his body, and then forward into the depths of the Pantheon. Yes, he would proceed. What else did he have to lose? A verdigris door... He spotted it after moments of wandering aimlessly, allowing a broad shoulder to unconsciously sink against the surface as though he was ready to simply smash it down. Like any other mission. he listened for a moment, lifting a hesitant hand to wrap with armored knuckles against the surface. Another stilled breath past before he entered. Plague. His gaze had hardened unconsciously at the sight of mottled skin, torn between revulsion and pity for the creature. But that unnerving sense of knowing this other was enough to keep him mute, gruffly nodding to him (or was it her?) before he set to work on freeing his arm. A groan of mechanics and a whoosh of pressurized air set the muscled limb free, and Arden slowly held out his arm to accept the vaccine. It stung like any shot might, but the resulting warmth was enough to make him choke. Whatever the hell had been in there shot through his veins, mending bruises, even repairing muscles weakened by the starvation that had somehow set in during his unconsciousness. "...Thanks." His voice was rough still with disuse, unable to fully disguise his awe. Quickly settling his armor back in place, the man stood awkwardly for a moment before he gave another nod, this one more grateful, and quickly slipped back outside. His back scraped up against a wall as he sagged a little, tilting his head up towards the ceiling as though to compose himself. What the hell was going on here? And what was he supposed to do?
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 10:18 am
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