|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Jul 17, 2008 9:05 pm
 The sun rolled into the darkening tomb of the horizon as the moon was exhumed to replace it, the cycle of resurrected celestial bodies not lost on the Reaver that stalked furious and sleepless beneath the sight. He was agitated again, the slick bareness of blue muscle pulled taut against a skeletal structure that belonged under an assuaging wrap of skin and fur, further from the surface and closer to normalcy. But Raziel's mind was not on his grotesque appearance as he broke the ground into clods of dark earth ribboned with the wet bodies of insects, pacing the cage made by serried trees while ears like malformed moths stayed pinned to his skull. He was dangerous in his purposelessness, denied even a cutting edge of his rightful vengeance for as long as his old sire remained unreachable. A reclusive, ancient vampire was all but a death sentence to slayers, due in part to the fact that hunting parties would fall prey to old age before they found the creature they sought. If Kain did not want to be found, there was a very high likelihood that he would not. Such a detail did not sit well with the wraith, his own time dependent on the hermit tendencies of a self-proclaimed god who had sent him spinning helplessly into existence again. The Elder was many things, but nowhere in their short history as partners in abomination had he been kind. He expected nothing.
It seemed that the night was determined to help him just as little, unable to deliver better tidings beyond a renewed sense of incompetence. He'd had him. He'd had him once before and he'd failed, been beaten down and ridiculed until his body could take no more: fading like a spirit, like a bit of nothing, a scrap of insignificant rebirth gone awry. If he was stronger now, he would not know it, his enemies vanished off the pocked face of the world and into the safety of their nests. He would dig to find them, shoveling with bony claws to uproot their hiding places, to violate the sanctity of their homes with the same malicious streak they had used to sever him from their ranks.
He growled low and hungry while the thoughts chastised him, wings molded flat to the protrusions of his spine and ribs in carelessly crinkled patterns like brittle sugar upon an uneven sheet. They all deserved to die, to feel murder's kiss upon their mutated brows and retribution as a sharp implement when it spilled their bloodless bowels. His hate was stronger than their loyalty to their master, than their conviction to pursue an undying, worthless life of servitude. The antagonism was inextricably woven into his redemption, strung together by a subtle madness borne of demise. All of it would serve the fallen vampire well if he ever saw the cadaverous face of his nemesis again. He merely needed the chance.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 17, 2008 10:24 pm
 What hungry little lies these foreign lands had whispered to him... The mountain ranges had proved barren and empty, lacking the succulent spiders he sought with such need, so he had shifted on to the flat and dusty plains in hopes of a better hunt. Crumbling soil and hardened stone soon had given way to more moist earth, flecked with spongy moss and the occasional hardened shell of a beetle not quite wise enough to avoid a crunching death. Seek him out. Find him. The oily purr of his Other ghosted through his mind like a fond memory, urging burly limbs to extend to their full length. A sleek shadow of the night, Venom could feel his grin growing wide with anticipation. What they would do to that unsufferable creature when they got their claws on him... An excited breath steamed past dripping jaws while the thunder of his laughter rumbled on and on.
There. Something. Something alive, something quiet, something not right. Off, wrong, wrong... like him. The murderous intent of the Other pulsed clearly through his strong, healthy body, stilling his laughter into silent tremors. They could see it, whatever it was, the eerie glow of its body penetrating the thickness of the dark. A living beacon, it seemed... or was it? Neatly, his foam-flecked tongue lolled out of his jaws, stretching on and on until it snaked near one of his too-large eyes. Such scents! He recognized none at all, save for the reek of death that cloaked whomever it was not unlike his symbiotic skin. Ohh, what had they found? One thick shoulder scraped itself soundlessly against the bark of a tree, stealing its coverage for their own devices while they leered in silence. Such a scrawny thing... Why, it didn't hardly look as if it was much alive still. And such ferocious sounds! Claws scraped at the earth as it moved, sending shivers of utmost delight rippling down their thick spine.
"Why do you cry, little ghost?" The rumbling rasp of their two-toned voice split the night, propelled by a throaty chuckle of utter amusement. "Such a sad little ghost... Why, we think you could use with some cheering up!" Slowly they paced from the bowels of the dark, tongue lolling and eyes flashing with malicious mirth.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2008 2:09 am
A startled mortal often meant the cessation of movement, the hamstringing of any preserving reflex that might have spared them a poor and messy ending. An ambushed Reaver with violence on the brain was not nearly as unfortunate, whipping around with his jawless head held low between sharp shoulders, the tops of residually vampiric fangs peeking over the ridge of his cowl. The muted bellow of separate yet simultaneous voices urged him to seek out two shapes, expecting neither to be familiar with the playful insults still ringing off the trees. But it was only a single figure that emerged from the dark, the wet tar of its form gleaming hints of pressure-crushed sapphire, huge and menacing with daggers crowding a grinning mouth. Just the one then, the booming echo some trick of space or mangled vocals, a revelation that did nothing to allay his suspicions. Raziel's ivory stare narrowed against the neon glow of seemingly borderless eyes, unable to decide how well the thing tracked its prey with such a wide visual range while he processed the situation. He did not know him, had never seen him, and yet the disrespectful jibes were more flagrant than anyone else had dared in the recent past.
"You mistake me for something less corporeal." His voice came out rough with inner demons, half spread wings presenting sad as sewn-on spares made from worn curtain cloth, dissuading contact with a potentially poisonous color. "And you blunder further the longer you speak. Consider leaving it there, before you must be mocked in turn."
The snap was senseless provocation, but having another predator so near made collapsed veins hum with territorial instinct, the small space suddenly maintained by a voracious phantom that cared less about the land than it did about punishing those who set foot upon it. He yearned for a chance to bleed out the aggression inflaming old wounds, draining the puss of enmity and filling it with the moldering lives of those he despised. But they were not there; this being was, standing tall and whole with a toothy smirk that needed to be removed. Soul hunger danced at the core of the hostile enticement, an unsatisfied drive that shortened the path to his temper, thinning the veneer of restraint splashed across a constant appetite.
Still, the wraith was not so far gone as to be completely reckless, and he could see the danger lurking in the spider-grafted behemoth, its amusement akin to the hand that dangled a frantic rodent before calculating ophidian eyes. There was something unsound about him, a trait that could not be pinpointed even as he faced the larger monster down on unfriendly terms, the fervor of the moment trying to cancel out common sense. We, he called himself, a sign of mental instability that even the emaciated pawn could not boast, his mind not yet splintered enough to birth new personalities. The thought privately shook him as he resettled lucent wings, dislodging imaginary dust while trying to unfasten the impulses knotting up his body. Given a choice, he would have elected insanity over mindless endeavor every time. Better several identities working in concert than none at all.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 12, 2008 2:50 pm
"Somebody taught you some vocabulary..." Came the guttural note of pure pleasure, drinking in the agitation and aggression that cloaked the emaciated body before him. Broad, dark shoulders hunched as the beast made to loom, tilting his massive head to the side so one ghastly streak of ivory could take the other in. Unfurled wings caught his attention for mere moment, encouraging blunted claws to curl reflexively. Better to rip those off so their little ghost couldn't just drift away! But no, no, wouldn't that be mean! A muted roar surged wordlessly through the thick, barrel-like chest they sported in a mocking parody of mirth, and saliva frothed at the corners of their lips even as they struggled to control themselves to better speak again.
"We're so sorry, little ghost! We didn't mean to hurt your feelings... or maybe we did." The menace seething throughout the echoed voices was unmistakable. Venom recognized a threat when he saw one but knew no fear, backed with the experience of an ancient who'd seen a slew of monsters --the most docile of the lot easily outclassed this mewling pup! One meaty paw should knock some sense back into that rotting brain of his, and who better than they to see to it? Should blood be spilled in the process, so be it! His tongue slathered appreciatively against darkened lips before the furious rancor of cackles could burst forth to bound from tree to tree.
The banded cords of muscle underneath his hide rippled sleekly when the monster all but sauntered closer to the tiny beast, inhaling deep to catch the stench of murder clinging to sharpened talons. "What a filthy little ghost..." Came the baritone chuckle, and ivory slits venomously scrutinized the other against the dark expanse of his broad face. "How we hate filth..." Ragged fangs scraped mercilessly against one another as Venom contemplatively gnashed his teeth, furrows left deep in the damp, forest soil as his claws flexed while he paced. Slow, jeering circles allowed him to take in the full, minuscule build of the other in comparison to his own bulk, guaranteeing him the advantage of power and sheer muscle.
"Mock us then, little ghost! We're very curious to see how you can manage that without tripping over your silly tongue. Will all those words get in your way?" The beast crooned, a growl quivering deep in his chest. A sudden lurching stride had him feinting towards the other in mock-strike, a powerful crack of his jaws announcing they'd very nearly missed the silvered ear of the wraith. In an instant, it was as though it'd never happened; the lazy saunter continued while the fanged head swayed gently from side to side with each step. Venom didn't even appear to be focused on Raziel any longer, a grin stretching wider and wider against his tightly clenched jaws the more he listened to his Other's private thoughts on the matter. The laughter roared out of him eventually, and a furious shake of his head sent spittle every which way. "Ohh, is that it?! You think you can frighten us away with words alone, little ghost? We're sorry... we didn't realize you were so scared!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 30, 2008 12:23 pm
It had been a long while since someone had accused him of well-trained speech, longer yet that he'd felt he did have the advantage of being the more decorated lecturer. Kain almost always held the upper hand when they danced around one another, catching him with needled charges and fangs that wove a blanket of smothering denial. Ancient knowledge was stripped, sharpened, and gouged mercilessly into ruination, timelessness and agelessness making a fearsome competitor where he had only the caricature of immortality on his side. But this one, this thing, was young yet: it did not smell of decay, did not resonate embalmed antiquity and clocks without hands. And yet there was an odor, a foreignness that bloated an already swollen distrust, and the wraith was wary even as he remained steadfastly unafraid. Whatever manner of creature this beast proved to be, he had hurdled worse, and then whirled around on bony heels to destroy them. Surely this instance would not deviate from that classical blueprint of antagonistic clashes, intensity bruising malevolence wearing black.
The thoughts that circled like sharks could not make him overlook the interest the toothy fiend had taken in his wings, however, and he was suddenly irritated that he had brandished them at all, the leathery appendages feeling particularly sensitive as they pulled more tightly against him. But it seemed that the attention was long-lived as an ephemerid, and further dialogue revealed that the notice had fallen away, though whether it was completely gone or just simmering in some separate consciousness was unknown. The Reaver suddenly understood what his own opponents must have felt in not knowing where his glare was aimed, his own watchfulness thwarted by the unmarked alabaster of the other's stare. He couldn’t manage to read cues that weren’t there, he could only guess and move accordingly.
His muzzle curled like blue smoke over fathomless depths, the calm he'd tried to cultivate fragmenting and falling into seething hunks of ferocity. It called him ghost as if he were intangible, insignificant, and dispelled by a stiff breeze; ghost, as though he was not a dozen different other indignities, a hundred other unsavory words and phrases. What is one more? some small part of him argued, one that was not engaged with the current situation. It was trivial in comparison to many alternatives, and yet it still enraged him, marking further smears of jest against the appalling mockery he had become. "You should consider your own filth then, lest you fall into the trap of hypocrisy," His voice came out as a hiss, somehow reflecting the looping hate that ate into his chest though no coherent words could have spawned from such a place.
The snap near his ear had him turning before it even registered as overtly threatening, wicked claws spread wide to take a chunk out of the blue-tinted cheek. He halted and redirected the blow upon realizing that the figure had moved, already considering where to plant his paws next after he had evaded any incoming retaliation. He wasn't accustomed to fights without purpose, without explanation beyond the way it sang in empty veins. But then, he wasn't used to being provoked so plainly either. "Fear has little to do with it," He informed the other coldly as he struck out, wanting nothing more than to shatter the constant grin into pieces that could pretend moon-like prestige as they lay peppered across the earth. "And I've no tongue by which I may misstep."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
