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 Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 9:49 pm
Centuries ago, a creature of darkness walked this land. Feared as myth and a deadly legend to those whom he was made real, the creature devoured all in his path and made alliances to no one. He was a beast of nature, but more wicked than anything that could be born naturally of the world. Some say that dark magic twisted him, turning a proud soul into a devilish thing of earth and air. In a raging madness, he tore across the countries of the world, seeking vengeance for a reason that became lost to him; the more blood he spilled, the more bloodthirsty he became, and with each kill, carnal savagery replaced conscious thought.
Those who tried to stop him became martyrs for the next challenger, until a fear unlike any other threatened to overwhelm the distant lands. The Destroyer, he was called, a beast of Satan, one who spared no one that dared to lay their eyes on his black glory.
But as magic was said to birth him, magic is said to have been his undoing. The alignment of the planets gave a few powerful wielders the extra strength needed to seal the horrible creature away for at least a millenia. Cast into a far-off land where there were no human inhabitants for him to kill, he was chained deep underground and sealed away.
When fear is lost, memories turn into stories, stories to legend, and legend to lost myth.
Then, a few years ago...
Countless years later, the creature awoke from his long slumber; the seals keeping him in his subterrainean prison had been broken. The alignment of the planets, once his foe, was now the key to his release. On that day, when the black-coated creature tore his way up to fresh air, a small country village perished. Built unwittingly and in the greatest misfortune upon the land where he had been buried, humans now lived in the country that had been untouched wilderness when he had been put to sleep.
So much time had passed, and he was so malnourished. He felt weak, unable to move, really, after his initial escape. He would need to eat if he planned to survive. He would need to feed, and feed well....There was prey nearby. It was disgusting prey, iron-blooded nasty things that walked on two legs. But he could smell good meat too....grass-eaters, maybe some smaller foul too. Other avians...hah, not that he had any reservations about eating "cousins." Besides, he, a great beast of wing and fur, could hardly be compared to such lowly, small-minded animals.
But his time underground had given him much years of thought. To prevent him from being sealed away again, he would need to gather strength, and at present he had none. First things first....hunt and kill.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 9:53 pm
This place smelled of death. Of all the people there, he would probably know the best. Ah, but the death had not happened yet, that's why they acted so normally - he had not yet helped that particular event to come to pass. Yes, helped - in the end, it was the Lord who took life...he simply diced it up into nice little bite-size pieces. Easier to transport, he figured.
The red-haired stranger cast those gentle, serpentine eyes around him, finding himself in a place that could just barely be called a town. He was way, way...way, out of his element. He was way out of civilization, to be at all honest. City folk had proven disappointing, though. Last one he picked turned out to be both too good, and too...trifling. How he missed that boy. Time to find a replacement. Oh, right! That's why he was here. A small smile lit his face, a caloused hand lifted to brush that shock of white a little more to the right, and he returned to that turbulent calm he often found himself in. He felt irritation hit him when, again, it was interrupted by something hitting his leg, and falling to the ground. Something small and soft, it was...looking down, kneeling, he picked up the toy of a child, looking up to see where it came from. Two small boys and one girl stood to the side, watching him, their eyes wide...his mind went to work. The calculations and screaming of impulses to just take one and run were deafening..but he smiled, holding out the toy to the child. "Come on, it's ok. Here, I think you dropped this."
One of the boys approached. The toy belonged to the girl, but he was doing her a favor, being nice...hmph, this one was of no use to him. The one with the fear in his eyes, the one standing there, watching the red-haired man with the gentle smile and the chaotic eyes...that one could go far. Alas, he was interested in none of these. Too young. Besides, he needed to focus on his own fame before offering it to another at such a low price.
Once the boy had taken the toy back, the tall stranger stood, waved to the apparent caregiver of the three, and kept moving on. Fingering the small throwing knife in his pocket, he tilted his head back, sighing. If only these people knew what went on in his head, they wouldn't be so careless as to let him walk amongst them. But then...wasn't that the problem with all people? None of them knew. No matter where he went, they walked around like mindless puppets, throwing them to the wills of his...what were they called? Oh, that's right - homicidal tendencies. That's what one woman called them before she was disposed of. He supposed she was right on some level, but really, it wasn't a tendency. Oh no, nono - such a condition would be a very gentle form of madness, and he was most certainly not mad. The man could just as easily put it all away from him, live the life that everyone else seemed to live, he just...didn't want to. So, it wasn't a tendency, it was a choice. He chose to prove to her why it wasn't a tendency by letting her live. Death, at such a point where one is left alone by the killer to decide their own fate, becomes a choice. How is it homicide when she was given a choice, and he had no part in the taking of life?
Besides - as he mentioned, Death was God's business. He just helped.
So, if ANYTHING...it was assisted suicide, nothing less, nothing more.
He gasped, suddenly noticing that his finger was pressing to hard into that blade. "Damn..." he whispered, pulling his hand from his pocket to examine the wound. How careless - he didn't even cut it right. Sighing, he stuck that finger into his mouth, intent on stopping the bleeding rather quickly, and perhaps slwoing his hunger for a little while. He would need to eat soon, or kill something so he forgot about it. It was time for a trip into the woods.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 10:02 pm
A human scream ripped out of the forest on the outskirts of the small village, mixing with the terrified shrieks of a frightened horse. Horse and rider tore out of the trees seconds later, racing for what they thought would be the safety of the village. By some twisted turn of fate, the fleeing young boy would be the downfall of the entire town.
Herding them onto open ground, where he himself would have an easier time running and perhaps giving his wings a stretch, raced a black creature of terrifying size. His body was built much like that of a lion, though his forepaws seemed to have a shape much more like the talons of a raptor, and given the fact that his massive wings and avian-like head posed feathers as well as fur, the only name befitting the beast was "griffin." In a village as small as this one, it was likely that to many townsfolk, he would be the first of his kind that they would ever see. Unfortunately for many of them, he was about to be the last thing of this world that they would ever lay eyes on.
The beast roared, a battlecry that seemed to frighten the horse into greater speed, and in turn made the creature run harder to catch his prey. Insolent, dumb animal....Though it seemed as though he was also too weak from being enslaved so long underground to bring down anything immediately. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, hunger won over the rush, and with a spreading of wings and a fatal pounce, slashing claws ripping through the hind legs of the fleeing animal, who gave a shrill dying call as it toppled over.
The human screamed for help, but the cry was cut off mere seconds later when the darkness fell upon him. The griffin shot down atop the fated boy, snapping his beak about the neck and completely severing the head from the body. The dislodged braincase rolled away a few feet at the momentum, coming to rest with the horribly terrified expression forever plastered onto the dead face.
The brute ripped the dripping corpse from under the fallen animal, tossing it carelessly aside as he tasted the metallic-flavored blood. He hated it...the horse would do for now....Or would it?
There were cries of terror echoing ahead of him. Predator eyes looked up to see more aversive two-leggers, pointing his way, yelling, rallying to hunt him down. It was just like the old days...so long ago when the very sight of him would have instilled much fear in the masses. On the other wing...apparently his grotesque show was the new beginning to his reign of terror.
He crouched down to rip a few beak-fulls from the horse's carcass, keeping an ever-watchful eye on the crowd of humans in the distance, lest one of them prove to be a magic-user. Newly awakened, he would not be able to stand up to one of even moderate power, but just the taste of blood and the gulped-down meat in his famished frame was beginning to strengthen him. Clearing one set of ribs, the inside of the cage, and the fleshy flank, the griffin considered picking the carcass clean, but then thought about the potential other prey in the vicinity. Humans in rural settings kept herd animals, soft of hoof and stupid of mind, unmindful to run away at the scent of him.
He would hunt again.
---
More filthy two-leggers had attempted to get in the way of his search for food, but he had disposed of them all in similar fashions as the first, or by simply ripping a hole into their midsection with his talons. There had been one surprise injury to him from some man wielding a sharp object at the end of a long pole - the name of it escaped him, though it was not a spear - but that had also been easily dealt with. Still, the small stinging in his wing irritated him...and eventually got the point of infuriating him when more humans approached with those sharp objects. And fire....Hmph, though he hated the taste of their blood, then they would feel his wrath as he killed them.
The multiple sheep and cows that he had also eaten would sate him for now. The old feeling of raging anger was boiling within him, and it would only be fit that he eliminate this worthless eyesore from the face of the planet.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 10:04 pm
Oh dear, this would certainly not do.
He made himself scarce, carfully and quietly leaping atop one of the shorter homes to take a seat on the rooftop. The man wasn't hiding, persay...just getting out of the way. Such power! He watched, transfixed as he sat there, his mind halting its screaming long enough to give him a clear picture of it all. This beast was a griffin, he knew that much - he had seen a great many before, especially with that brat under his wing. This griffin was different, though, besides the obvious change in physical structure. He was..divine. Simply divine. And he was hungry, apparently. Watching him take the lives of so many in such a little only increased the man's own hunger, and yet...leving that rooftop was not a good idea, until it was a one-on-one scenario. Oh no, he wasn't afraid, he was courteous. He knew how irritating it was to have people interrupt you when you were in the middle of something so consuming. Not that anyone who was 'in the way' was doing much in the sense of actually hindering the creature. Honestly, the only way those people could hinder him was by killing their flock, and then themselves. It would take all the fun out of it!
Once again - people....really, they deserved it. Such stupidity from so many.
The man's eyes watched every movement of the great beast, every beheading and slashing and spilling of blood onto that once innocent ground. He could smell it now, the death, the blood...for once, it wasn't from his own doing. So this was what it was like, watching your mind play itself out in the form of another. The fact that his red and white hair hid about half of his face was probably a good thing, because any of the still living would probably want to kill him for nothing but the look on his face - happiness. Serenity, even. A contentment he knew only every now an then, and only in his mind. This was like some play of the grandest nature, solemn and erotic and dramatic and...everything, all at once. He loved it, and he wanted to be a part of it, but this was not his show to perform. For once, it was his to watch - he would be other places, other cities, other funerals, but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Or, so he thought.
The spilling of blood slowed only as victims wained in number, but the man was absolutely drunk on the smell of all the blood. Leaping down from the building with a grace fitting of a king, he looked around, knowing the great brute was near, somewhere...but for now, focusing on what he had left. Corpses and still-living flesh, trying to desperately to reach the source of its life, before realizing that such life was somewhere else on the battlefield, near some other living death that was on top of another soul, and so on and so forth. Sighing quietly, he knelt down near one of the severed heads - one of the first, he believed - and picked it up, turning the face so he could stare into it. How delectably sad...
A sudden flood of rage hit him, and he stroked the hair of that head before throwing it to the ground with a force that sent the blood sitting atop the dirt flying into another corpse. Taking so much, in such a short time...gluttony, useless killing. Murderer. The lust that followed that murder almost sickened him, but the smell of the blood and the sight of it coursing down his hand kept him momentarily sane. Momentarily? Hah, what was he thinking - he was always sane. He was still sane, and he would forever be sane, because only the sane could stand here and admire such beauty. Life, all over the ground, all over the buildings and the bodies...life, in all its forms, especially its most raw - blood - was beautiful.
He started walking, a parasite searching for that most evil of all souls that had just graced his presence. If he didn't find him, his heart would not be broken...but he needed to find him. He had to find him.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 10:05 pm
The Destroyer paced through a pit of fire, all that would be left of a burning barn with carion roasting inside. Hmph...he could be eating that mutton right then, but he prefered freshly-killed prey, without the touch of human preparation. He became vaguely aware, then, that his hide was beginning to feel a tad singed. Fire alone could hardly stop him, though. In fact, it had done him the service of burning his irritating wound shut.
Twilight was beginning to fall, the ashy smoke of the destroyed parts of the village rising to blacken the orange sky. Time to see if there was anything left to eat. He flicked his temporarily-healed wing a few times, stalking out of the burning building just as it rumbled and collapsed, sending a dance of pyres up to farewell his exit. He wasn't mindful of corpses at all, human nor animal, sloshing through blood and carnage with an indifference befit that of a killer who has had his fill of death for the hour. Though he did stop to sample a few mouthfuls of slain cattle, he by no means settled to eat at just one. In a way, his hunger was both psychological and gutteral, a need to both fill his gnawing insides and the newly-awakened corners of his mind.
And, for the moment, those two necessaries for him to live, primal needs of his character, were satisfied.
He had let some of the villagers escape, though he didn't particularly care at that point in time. There was no reasoning behind why he didn't go after those who were fleeing for their lives, no ulterior motive that a creature with his sort of - slightly disturbing - human cunning could produce. There was no need to "let a few escape to tell his tale of gore and horror." That would happen now, anyway, but it wasn't something convenient to him. The destructive animal lived not for the infamy he could spread with his story, but for the terror he could instill when he was actually in the moment. It was, perhaps, gluttonous of him to think that way, though as he saw it, that need of the thrill for blood was exactly that - a need.
He thought like a human, perhaps, but underneath the feathers, muscle, and frightening aura, he was a griffin who lived on primal instinct. Very distorted and thanatotic instinct, but instinct nonetheless.
His sense of smell picked up the scent of a creature, still alive and moving about quite a lot. A human....One still too stupid to run? Whether his reason for staying was to avenge a fallen comrade or whatever else idiotic reason, it was still an ill-fated choice on the human's part to stay.
He shifted direction and began to follow the scent of what he later discerned to be human male.
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Posted: Sun Mar 11, 2007 7:43 pm
It was a short search. He stopped when it came into sight, that foul creature that had so entranced his senses and called to his more sadistic desires. It had been a long time since he sought after something, mentally, so fervently. Somewhere within that chaotic, frighteningly calculating mind was the realization that this being may want to harm him. Harm, and/or kill. Balsem found that thought very sensual, in all honesty. To be hurt by such a beast...was he really so blessed? Could he be?
There was a vast wasteland of death and life between them, ever-closing by his powerful steps in the red-haired man's direction. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled Balsem with both a fear and a hunger, the former of which making him shiver in the most delicious way. He liked fear, he liked that feeling...but he knew how dangerous it was. Fear never held him back, thankfully. It was only a temporary stimuli. Right now, it was stimulating him to the rigidity of a statue, stuck to that spot as the beast approached.
The look in those feral eyes was most demonic, and it kept Balsem from speaking. What would he say, anyway?
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Posted: Sun Mar 11, 2007 8:32 pm
Hmph. Stupid humans.
The brute stared down the red-haired man with a glinting condescension. There the vulnerable and soft two-legger stood, fearing but not running. The demonic griffin liked the taste of fear, but it was only the thrill of death that drove him to pursue it. When the prey stood in a frozen stupor like this one, he was simply....not interested.
He was hungry again. He vaguely recalled, now that his initial starvation was somewhat sated, that he had always hungered after meat and blood. Not of human origin, though, and it had to be fresh, killed by his own claws. Hm...perhaps annihilating the entirety of this place was a bad idea. Now there was nothing left for him to kill and eat.
Slightly irritated, the beast flicked his wings and turned away from the man, disinterested at the fact that he just stood there, staring. The human was insignificant, not even worth his attention, much less the effort to dispose of him.
Perhaps some animals had fled for the woods. Tasting the air, the creature began to weave his way back across the blood-soaked soil. Eventually, he passed the first thing that fell to him when he was released, and stared at the human corpse for a while. There was something of a familiarity in fighting and taking the life of humans. Something that he wanted to pursue and do again....No, not just wanted. Needed.
Revenge, perhaps. A vendetta against those who had sealed him...Though those mages were likely to be long dead, turned into the very dust and earth that had been his prison keeper for many centuries. Before that...what had he sought? Power? There was already great and terrible power in him.
He did not remember. At the moment, though, he cared only for sating his protesting stomach.
It occurred to him, then, that he was being followed....
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Posted: Sun Mar 11, 2007 8:57 pm
Balsem relaxed as the creature turned and walked off. He didn't move, though, cought between following and inspecting more of the damage caused. This was both vexing and delightfully entertaining. Like some sick form of chase....though it had only just started. Perhaps. Ah, who was he kidding - he would have to follow! This creature both led to and initiated that terrible dance that was killing. Balsem had a feeling that following him would, in the end, calm the hunger that they both seemed to share.
He moved quietly, as per the usual. He never meant to, though, he just had that naturally stealthy quality, that thing that made him an almost effortless afterthought in the minds of those looking for killers like him. He also had that uncanny knack for hiding despite his brilliantly colored hair - which he never bothered to conceal, by the way. He had no need to, and even if he did, he would ignore such a need. It demonstrated a weakness, inability to adapt to even the darkest of situations...a weakness that his former pupil showed. Covering that beautiful blonde hair with darkness. Shameful, simply shameful.
The man came across a still-living body as he moved into the woods, a body that looked at him with pleading eyes. They did not plead for death, oddly enough, an end to misery...no, they wanted life, and they begged it of him. It was heartbreaking, enough to make him kneel and brush some bloodied hair from the man's tiring face. Well, this was absolutely no fun. He didn't like it when they wanted life. Sighing, he let his hand fall to the man's neck, causing the alarm that he saw in his eyes. Balsem smiled. "Shhh...I'm going to help you. Just take a deep breath for me, hmm?"
The man did as he was asked. Gritting his teeth, Balsem clamped his hand down onto the man's throat, digging his sharp nails into that tender flesh. He felt blood vessels bursting and spewing their contents, and the man thrashing as best as he could against that iron hand. He slowed as Balsem slowly got his hand around that tube that lead down to his stomach and lungs, then, with a quiet growl, ripped viciously upward, pulling a good section of that cord out of the man's neck. Mmm...his arm burned a little - the human body was tough - but all in all, that was a successful venture. Pointless? A little, but...well, it was no issue to him. Savoring the smell of blood for a moment, he rose, pushing back that lock of white from blocking his other eye with his one clean hand, then tossing the throat aside and began moving again. He felt some form of righteousness overcome him - he had just done a 'good deed'....how disgusting.
"Oh great brother, where art thou?" he whispered with a small smile, following the trail of the beast as he moved further and further into the woods. He was catching up - to what, exactly, he didn't know.
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Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2007 5:09 pm
The brute flicked his tail in irritation. He didn't enjoy being followed, even if it was at a distance. Becoming the prey was never acceptable to him - always the predator, always the one who stalked, killed, and ate.
Not that the thing catching his trail was of any importance, any power. Humans were feeble creatures that died easily, could be terrified with no effort, were greedy and gutless, and annoyingly short-lived; he could continue naming their faults for hours. The only time he had ever stayed with a two-legger for a length of time, had been so long ago that the griffin could only recall having done the action. Faces, names, time, even his age was lost to that deep pit that had been his home for faceless centuries.
But despite all that time, it appeared as though humans had gained very little intelligence. Prime example in the thing trailing him.
He came upon a clearing, the very spot that he had emerged from earlier...how many hours before, he didn't rightly recall. He had lain there for a while, exhausted, sunken, nearly defeated by the mere effort of climbing out of his prison. In the middle of a deathly quiet clearing was upturned earth, torn trees, and cracked pieces of what had once been a large boulder; all this surrounded a tunnel that led to blackness. Two tall pillars made of rock stood like broken gates on either side of the entrance into his labyrinth, each one marked with runes of an ancient magic language.
They were the only things that hadn't fallen when he had been reborn. He was unable to touch them, he knew, lest he wished to be forced back underground. The runes on these detestable monoliths were created by mages of long ago with the specific intent to seal him. The cracked shards of rock had been placed over the entrance as well, in a final attempt to keep anyone from going down to his chamber below the surface. To keep anyone from freeing him, or to keep anyone from being killed. But the seals had lost their luster, and the stone that was his gatekeeper could not suppress his ferocity for long.
Hissing slightly as he circled the ruin of the clearing, he came across a piece of rock that had yet another inscription upon it. Human symbols, he knew not what they meant, and little did he care.
Moving on, his claws gave the piece of rock a careless kick. The shard rolled a few feet, then came to a stop, it's words facing the sky; it read:
...Abaddon, thy name in Hebrew; May none disturb this forbidden place...
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Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2007 9:26 pm
Well...this was a new development.
The man stood and gazed up, from afar, at the two large pillars in front of a...well, a big black hole. The writing upon them looked familiar only because of his own studies, seeking to understand the history of anything and everything he could get his hands on. Admittedly, mostly warfare. It was fascinating, the lengths humans would go to to conquer or kill others. The tactics used to kill or maim, capture or torture....not that his imagination didn't arm him with plenty of his own tricks-of-the-trade, so to speak. He was good at what he did with or without studying, and he knew it. The man was built, mentally and physically, to do what he did...just because it came at the cost of others wasn't his problem. Most of the time, at least.
He watched the beast circle with a practiced eye. He could tell that this creature was...perturbed at his presence. Not that Balsem really cared. Standing casually at the edge of this 'lair' of sorts, the red haired man with that brilliant streak of pure white - that he kept flicking out of his vision - watched this entity stalk and circle and hiss, nearly finding it humorous. He was so proud! With good reason, being such an evil and powerful brute...but still.
He took a chance. Fear had left him by now, which was both saddening and encouraging. They were two dangerous souls, caught up in this odd game of chase somewhere out in the forest - Balsem cared little at this point about what happened or didn't happen. He was just following curiousity, that need to learn more about this creature. Would he be harmed? Perhaps...but then, perhaps not. The danger kept him there.
He glanced down with calm eyes, long ago catching sight of this rock that the brute apparently didn't care much about as he had kicked it with decidedly irritated force. The man knelt, ignoring his object of attention for the moment and reading whatever this little rock had to say.
"Abaddon, hmm?" he mumbled, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth...an almost sickening sight. "Thy name in Hebrew indeed. You really are a devil, aren't you?"
He didn't move, despite the precarious position he was putting himself in. He knelt there with that calm, calculating look in his eye as he watched this Abaddon with slight amusement. In the back of his mind, Balsem knew that amusement could set Abaddon off...but he didn't care. It would be fascinating to see this creature attack something, even if it was him.
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Posted: Wed Aug 01, 2007 8:32 pm
The demonic griffin attempted to take no notice of the human who had violated the clearing, the entrance of his millennial-long entrapment...it was a humiliating place to be. In the creature's mind, that very spot, that vast blackness, represented a defeat that was absolutely unacceptable to his nature. To chain a spirit such as his, one that necessitated off carnal instincts, and the fact that it had actually be done...infuriating and irritating as it was humiliating. Twisted though he was, the beast was still a griffin, a master of the sky. To seal a griffin into the earth, where he could not taste the element in which he belonged...it was a crime equal to ripping off his wings completely.
It was unforgivable.
Humans had been responsible...wingless, puny humans like the one who currently surveyed the brute's decimated cage. Truly, he had returned to complete the destruction of the age-old site, if for nothing else than the satisfaction of having it obliterated from the face of the earth.
Though...when the red-haired male spoke, the word abaddon sent a tremor of memory through the great beast's mind.
He had been called many things...many titles he had held, and many names that were all lost to the winds of time. He remembered a few in the old tongue that he could still remember.
Deofel...the Devil.
Feond of Mancynn...the Foe of Mankind
Helldeor...Hell-beast.
It all amounted to the same thing. But abaddon had a ring of familiarity to it. It was closer than any of those other words...and it was not native to the language he spoke.
Abaddon slowly sat back on his haunches, even as the human watched him, staring back imperiously with pupiless, blood-tinged yellow eyes. He settled his wings with a soft rush of feathers, spreading them out about his figure to give his already-monstrous size more body. Slowly, a low growl built in his throat. He would only have patience for so long...and the time of attack upon the man would come the instant the griffin felt the tinge of hunger once more.
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Posted: Sat Aug 04, 2007 3:59 pm
He smiled. "Ah, so now I am worthy of thy attention, fiend?"
He stood slowly - not because of fear - and faced the brute. It felt like some great cosmic showdown. A somewhat self-proclaimed demon of the earth throwing an amused smile at a rather irritated demon of the sky. The only upper hand that the creature had was the fact that both of them knew that the human would be harmed. Why? Because though the man was an expert at surviving, facts remained facts. He had no weapons but his brain, and even that would not keep him from harm.
...keep him from death, yes. But that was about it.
Nevertheless....
"I am Balsem," he said, mockingly bowing at the griffin. "I assume you are Abaddon? Looking a little thin there, good sir...."
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Posted: Sat Aug 04, 2007 7:04 pm
Abaddon remained still as he watched the man rise, the tremor produced by his growl the only movement visible on the black body. It was strange, though, that the human no longer seemed afraid. Not to say that the fear wasn't there - the griffin could smell it. But the look in the tall human's eye professed a conquering of the pitiful emotion.
His growl suddenly ceased, the beast's ears flicking slightly as Balsem spoke to him. Abaddon did not recognize the speech - it was similar, and he heard similar patterns in the sounds that he did recognize - but the exact meaning of what had been said was beyond understanding. However, in spite of a thousand years of underground imprisonment, the creature had not forgotten what the gesture of bowing meant for humans. Nor was he a stupid animal, and caught the derisive mocking in the human's speech.
Standing and stalking fluidly toward the gaping hole in the middle of the clearing, Abaddon reached out to touch one of the stone pillars with a wing. He received no shock from the once-enchanted monoliths - he had known the magic had evaporated, for it was what had released him from his forced slumber. But his touch was a precautionary tactic, just in case. The moment he felt it was harmless to him, however, the beast threw his weight against the rock.
Nothing happened at first. But with a low crack, the pillar crumbled, splaying a few shards about the area, and sending a good few chunks crashing into the pit below. Giving a satisfied hiss, the beast went to the other pillar to repeat the process. The whole of his strange antic took no more than a few minutes, and for the moment, only Abaddon knew why he had torn down the offending towers.
Partially, to complete self-satisfaction in destroying the final parts of his enslavement, and partially to give the griffin enough room to fully utilize his wings.
And without warning, the griffin whirled with a feral shriek and leaped at the human who had dared to mock him.
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Posted: Sat Aug 04, 2007 8:11 pm
Balsem laughed. He ducked and rolled with frightening speed, narrowly avoiding the full bulk of the beast...but not escaping a razor-sharp claw, digging into his skin and easily slicing open his back. He gritted his teeth, letting out a hiss as he stopped rolling and moved to his feet. His eyes suddenly held a feral tone matching Abaddon's own, and his smirk returned. Pain seared his back and threatened to cloud his thoughts, but his mind had already switched into focusing on the excitement of battle. He had taught his body, his mind, to regard pain as a stimuli to fight, not to run. In an odd way, he enjoyed it.
.....oh! How could he have forgotten! Silly, silly Balsem. Keeping his eyes on the foe, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheathed dagger. How could he forget such a valuable tool!
For reasons known to only him, he threw it behind him. It would not be fitting to use a formal weapon in an unformal battle. He would do neither himself nor the griffin the dishonor.
The beast, like him, did not immediately attack again. Balsem knew that it was only his reflexes that had saved him. No more would he mock the beast - he got what he wanted. A sick sense of reverence forced him to start laughing again, before he pointed a finger at Abaddon, a mixture of red and white hair hiding one eye. The other displayed a madness only befitting a man of his ability. He started whispering something, the volume growing in intensity as the two circled each other. The man played with one of the particularly sharp stone shards in his hand - he did not hiss when it split the skin in his palm. Must be holding it too tight.
The power with which he spoke the meaningful words to the beast would relay their meaning, despite language.
"But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out, The scenic solitude! It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs, The mimes become its food. And seraphs sob at vermin fangs, In human gore imbued."
He paused, regarding the griffin as an equal in his own mind....for, really, no reason at all.
"Out- out are the lights- out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm....That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm."
He let out another laugh, and then made his own lunge at the winged Worm.
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Posted: Sat Aug 04, 2007 8:55 pm
The human had proved to be much more capable than Abaddon had given him credit for. Perhaps the man would fight, and it would be enjoyable enough for the griffin to fill his need for the kill. Although...an avoided first attack could mean nothing but pure luck. And even then, the man had not escaped completely unscathed.
Picking up one of his forepaws, the creature snaked his tongue between his talons, licking up what blood he had managed to rip from the human. Although he greatly disliked the taste, the red liquid was like a stimulator to the beast. Eyes aglow with a demonic crimson shade, Abaddon followed Balsem's movements as they circled, noting that the human male seemed almost...pleased at this turn of events.
The brute had fought the battle-frenzied before...but this was somehow different. It was as if the human was also enjoying the pain. Death would only come faster to the red-haired man, that way.
Sharp ears picked up the murmuring. It was no longer mocking, and was almost deferential, in a way. Little did the griffin know what was being said, but there was something in those words that seemed to empower the man, and this only darkened Abaddon's mood.
Then, a laugh, and his combatant made an attack.
Snarling, the brute charged straight into the lunge himself, and the melee began.
Still, weak and still malnourished as he was, Abaddon was a frightfully strong creature, and fast for his size. Though some things came more slowly to him than others, his claws and beak were beginning to remember how fighting was really done.
But he had not met a two-legged challenger quite like this one before - the human was tricky, and fast enough to keep out of range of Abaddon's deadlier attempts to maim his person, all the while still managing to strike the griffin with those shards of rock. The wounds on the feathers and fur were not in the least bit serious, but they were relatively annoying. Pain was just that - an irritation that intruded on the instincts, one that made attempts to draw the griffin's attention away from the immediate fight at wing. In focus, the creature knew to wait for a mistake - humans always made them -...and it came soon enough.
The man meant to make an attack to the griffin's head. Abaddon, however, found the chance to snap his sharp beak around the wrist of the offending hand. There was the shortest pause in which the eyes of man and beast met, before the crunching sound of snapping bone accompanied a warm flood of blood over Abaddon's tongue.
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