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 Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 9:55 am
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound of claws drumming against rock, and of the distant pounding of the ocean, were the only instantly discernable sounds. If one paid closer attention, there was also, very faintly, the delicate inhale and exhale of breath. The occasional little swoosh as a tail fluff dragged itself across the flat plateau of stone.
A great sigh came across as an enormous gust of wind in the stillness, as the silvery grey dragon folded her arms beneath her, and lay her head on them.
Quite
Silence she'd never been permitted before. It was music to her ears. Or rather, the lack of music. She stared off at the horizon, the thin line of gray ocean giving way to a foreboding dark sky. She knew that if she could see a bit farther, had a high vantage point, she could make out the faint figure of the mainland. But that was no matter. She didn't want to go back there. At least, not now. Not when it was so...nice. All around her, darkened rock. And then nothing. No animal life. No green. Just steely, calloused rock. Uncaring and apathetic. Like she knew she should be. But then why did it still hurt so much?
Freak. Monster.
Those biting words still rang in her double set of ears. A haunting echo. A reminder of her 'differences'. No matter how kind, how nice, how hard she tried to show every ounce of whatever inner beauty she possesed. Ripped and torn aside. They were blinded by an external shell that she had not choosen. It wasn't as if she asked to be this way. She simply 'was'.
Her long tail swished back and forth across the stone occasionally. But that was about it. Her eyes, morose and sullen, stared ahead at nothing. They were cold and dead. As she was to the world around her.
I do not need them. I HATE them... But she hated herself more for being reduced to such a vehement state. She was letting them get to her again. But it was so hard to ignore! Even after these seven years of torture, her most steely resolve and stature crumbled eventually. There was only so much she could take. And that was why she fled here. She wasn't sure how long she would stay. When she first arrived, in a fit of rage, she was of the mind that here was where she would stay indefinetely. But that idea also dwindled with time. These past five days she'd had naught to eat. Though she knew if she could bring herself to travel to the ocean, she could probably catch some fish, or whatnot. But she had a hard time rousing herself. She felt cold all the time. Though the air was warm here, and that inner fire that bubbled and churned within her should have kept her from chill. No, it was a freezing of the heart. She couldn't bring herself to move. Oh, she would eventually. But...why now? When everything was so bleak, that even the sky seemed heavy and ladden with tears. So to spill down as rain. Oh well.
Oh well...
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Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 10:37 am
 A graveyard. That is what they called the strange island to the west of the mainlands. Every last one of them dared not tread upon the lands lest they wish for death or a place to hide. A perfect place for the misfits of the mainlands to call home and for the outcast to commit suicide. So much blood had been shed it was unbelievable, the few that resided on the island had either lost count or did not care about it anymore. One less to populate the world.
On this desolate and strange island there had been a birth caused by all the deaths of the forgotten and deranged. A body composed of many others bones and essence, with a terrible odorous mist surround it.
"They call the body Death for they wish not to come forth and face it. They call the body Death for the body manipulates and destroys the minds of the weak. " It would chuckle but it had far too much fun watching the strange looking beast in front of it, pining at the reason it existed.
It had come to the decision that it was given an important job. It must rattle those that come to hide to choose life or death through the musings of the other and witty questionings from itself. If they ended up choosing to end their life it wouldn't be its fault but theirs for coming to the decision that their life was meaningless. It would not be its job to help nor to talk them out of the idea. The choice is their own, but they would help feed it when they pass.
The body it possessed remained in a jumbled mess on the grounds beside her, it's black cloak torn and frayed, clumped up next to its cleverly positioned spine. Nearly a week without an drop of liquid nor a scrap of meat consumed. The female was clearly struggling, but it would wait. She had not given it enough of a sign to approach, nor had she noticed its body laying there.
"Soon, so very soon."
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Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 11:29 am
Zephyiote normally prided herself on her observancy. She could 'feel' magic as it permeated the air. Perhaps in her prime, if she paid close enough attention, she might have notticed, or rather, 'felt', that presence near her. But starvation, dehydration, and madness had weakened her to such a condition that nary a stampeding elephant could catch her attention.
She closed her eyes, wishing fervently for sleep, but found no solace in that. Her stomach, resiliant when she was not, burned at her insides, demanding that she provide sustenance, demanded to be satiated. For a week she'd ignored that plea. For a week she'd fought the dryness that tore at the inside of her throat. That cause her to bleed when she swallowed. She was reaching the end of a frazzled rope. Her muscles at first had complained at under use. Now they were quiet. As was she. Perhaps given it to the fate that perhaps they would be used no more.
Fate is strange. But today it outdid itself. When Zephyiote had first settled down here, determined not to move, she'd purposely faced eastward. So that she might greet the sun. And also, since whatever breeze happened to cross the island came from the east, she would also be there to face it. But today was odd. A gust came from the west. From behind. Zephyiote was roused, and gasped in pain, when the wind caught under her wings, opening them slightly, tugging at her mane in the wrong direction. Her shoulder muscles screamed in protest, her wings burning in agony. The wind was by no means strong enough to lift her without her consent, but it had an effect possibly greater by just giving her a nudge.
Zephyiote groaned. Sleep would be impossible now. Her body complained to much. It was like a slap in the face. The ground suddenly felt far too uncomfortable, her stomach's aching too much now to ignore. With trembling limbs, Zephyiote grudgingly stood, wobbly, ungainly, but it was standing. She stared hard at the ocean, which seemed farther away than she could have imagined. Her wings felt unsure. If they complained that much from simply opening a little, how would it feel to fly? Wincing, she opened them fully. They were oversized for her. Reminiscent of a Wyvern. The fire that burned them was not that of her liking. But it was good. It kept her conscience grounded. Kept her from drifting off again to apathy and thoughtlessness. She tentatively took a step forward. Then a few more. Until she was at the edge of her rock perch. She peered off the edge. A precarious fourty foot drop. Her eyes narrowed in defiance. It was not like her to be scared. Especially of heights. She was a winged Pan'Lun! She could fly with magic, or with her wings. She refused to be troubled by this insignifigance. With a sudden surge of resolve, she tensed and leapt off the edge, before her confidence had chance to fade.
Crack!
It wasn't a pleasant sound. More disturbing still, it was worse to know she made it. Okay, her wings hadn't proved as sure as she'd hoped. At least they had slowed her fall. Zephyiote lay sprawled out on a small flat rock, her tail dangling off the edge of yet another drop. She had landed on her feet, but they too, had given way underneath her, and she fell. She looked rather peculiar, on the ground like that. It was only a few minutes later, when her eyes fluttered open and she once again struggled to rise that it could be discovered that she wasn't quite dead. She shook more violently than before, but if anything her determination had only increased.
I refuse to be defeated!
It took her quite a while to recover, and she headed forth shakily. Each step was laborous, each step fire, but it did indeed grow easier. Flying seemed out of the question. So she traveled to the shore. Slowly. On foot. It seemed a lifetime had past when she finally sat on the ocean's edge, the water lapping at her feet. Her nose crinkled, detesting the putrid smell.
Blasted forsaken island. Even the water is putrid. Indeed, the water here did not seem quite so merry. More gray than blue, it seemed foreboding. Unwelcoming. Menacing.
Zephyiote walked a few feet out, and dipped her muzzle in, drinking deeply of the biting salt water. It hurt worse than the fall. The first few mouthfuls she could not swallow, but coughed back up, tainted red with her blood as the salt seared her parched throat. It took her a while, but she was able to overcome the initial gag reflex as her body tried to remember water. Oh, it was good.
Smiling, though red stained her lips as her oral wounds cried out in protest from misuse, she felt better. She had woken up. She sat down where she stood, the water coming up to mid calf.
And so...life goes on...
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