09-26-2018, 03:09 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant+SC|Metamorphous" rel="stylesheet"><center><div style="width: 506px; position:relative; box-shadow: 0 0 15px #000;background-color:#5d5d5d;"><div style="background: linear-gradient(to top, #000 60%, rgba(255,255,255,0) 90%),url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3d/c2/3f/3dc23f65c2b6a1720b39197c19fae67b.jpg'); background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat;width: 500px; position:relative; box-shadow: 0 0 15px #000; border-spacing:0; padding:0; background-color:#000; "><div style="width:500px;"><div style="padding-top: 14px; padding-left: 250px; font: 16px 'Cormorant SC', serif; color:#644C40; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #191515, 1px 1px 1px #191515">it was a blood-soaked feast<BR>that never ceased</div></div><div style="margin-top: 275px; padding: 30px; text-align:justify; font:12.5px 'Times', serif; color:#644C40; line-height:135%; letter-spacing:0px; text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #000; padding-bottom: 10px;">Just as he gains his breath and his strength, his dark eyes staring into the soft glow of Pangea’s heart, the voice that had called to him before now speaks again. Blood still drips freely from his shoulder, clouding the waters around him with the color of rust and creating a mixture of plasma and salt that presses in at all sides. Maugrim blinks slowly, turning his chin upwards in attempts to find the face that owns the voice, but only finds emptiness and open blackness of the ocean’s expanse that abruptly opens up above the pines, a twisted world bent upside down within the dark god’s mind.
<i>Cement the bond.</i>
Immediately, Maugrim braces himself as the buzzing intensifies, vibrating through his very core and resounding in his bones in a way that jars his joints and tendons. In the nearby distance there is a woman’s voice that spits languishly into the fray, but the drowned lord pays no heed to the bubbling of her accusations and threats. There is far too much to focus on than those around him, though in a single instant he would easily spill their blood with a quick rush of water beneath their feet to shove them against sharp rock and stone. He’d make them all bleed - not for Pangea, but for himself - if it meant he didn’t have to sacrifice his own blood willingly. For a moment he considers this - as if more of their blood in the water and in the dying heart would appease the god, so that his own could remain intact.
A strong and forceful wave pulsates away from the dark green and pearlescent stallion, sending deep ocean and blood in a powerful pounding towards all that are closest to him. He would open them all up, slice them against rock and coral until each drop satisfies the heart, and he would remain unscathed. He could not die, not now, when he could nearly <i>taste</i> the powerful magic that thrums deep in Pangea’s dead roots.
Unfortunately, he is not able to make good on his plan.
The buzzing turns into fire in his blood. Unable to focus, unable to be precise, Maugrim’s attempt at slaughtering those around them ends with the single wave sent from his being. The pieces of Pangea and Mountain rummage through his body without sentience; all it knows is to move towards the surface, ribboning his veins and arteries with their broken pieces, set on reuniting with the thing that calls it into being. Within his body, the pieces of rock and clay attempt to piece themselves together, slicing through tissue and organ like a claw through sand, becoming larger and larger inside him. He howls in pain, stumbling in blind agony and throwing himself against the corals and rock and dark tree in attempts to have all of it stop, all of it end.
The pieces of Pangea and Mountain have now become large enough to begin to break bone. No longer is it just the feeling of his insides brimming with his own blood that tortures him <i>(coughing, choking, <b>drowning</b> in his own blood)</i>, but the sound of breaking ribs and sternum, of fractured hips and splintered legs. He crumples to the ground before the heart helplessly as the pieces tear away at his insides, knowing that his blood has not yet been spilt and that time will be coming - soon.
The two separate pieces finally exit him, exploding from both eye sockets with such force that he could hear the severing of his spine from his skull with the motion. There is the sound of a terrifying scream, but it is cut short by the instantaneous ceasing of his nerves ability to keep him alive. The soulless and unseeing holes spill and pour with gallons of dark red blood freely towards the heart, flowing with purpose towards its epicenter.
His heart stops beating just as Pangea’s heart truly begins to thrum.
Then, he is awake.
The drowned god feels the coolness of air against his body and the grittiness of sand beneath him. He cannot tell if his eyes are open or closed - he only sees blackness. There is the familiar, soothing feeling of water lapping against his legs as well as the shushing sound of waves frothing on a shoreline. He is back where he started, though he cannot tell if he has only truly made it to hell, like all of his victims hoped he would.
</div><div style="padding-left: 355px; padding-top: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform:lowercase; font: 16px 'Metamorphous', cursive; color:#644C40; text-shadow:.5px .5px 1px #191515, 1px 1px 1px #191515, .5px .5px 1px #fff;">m a u g r i m.</div></div></center>
<i>Cement the bond.</i>
Immediately, Maugrim braces himself as the buzzing intensifies, vibrating through his very core and resounding in his bones in a way that jars his joints and tendons. In the nearby distance there is a woman’s voice that spits languishly into the fray, but the drowned lord pays no heed to the bubbling of her accusations and threats. There is far too much to focus on than those around him, though in a single instant he would easily spill their blood with a quick rush of water beneath their feet to shove them against sharp rock and stone. He’d make them all bleed - not for Pangea, but for himself - if it meant he didn’t have to sacrifice his own blood willingly. For a moment he considers this - as if more of their blood in the water and in the dying heart would appease the god, so that his own could remain intact.
A strong and forceful wave pulsates away from the dark green and pearlescent stallion, sending deep ocean and blood in a powerful pounding towards all that are closest to him. He would open them all up, slice them against rock and coral until each drop satisfies the heart, and he would remain unscathed. He could not die, not now, when he could nearly <i>taste</i> the powerful magic that thrums deep in Pangea’s dead roots.
Unfortunately, he is not able to make good on his plan.
The buzzing turns into fire in his blood. Unable to focus, unable to be precise, Maugrim’s attempt at slaughtering those around them ends with the single wave sent from his being. The pieces of Pangea and Mountain rummage through his body without sentience; all it knows is to move towards the surface, ribboning his veins and arteries with their broken pieces, set on reuniting with the thing that calls it into being. Within his body, the pieces of rock and clay attempt to piece themselves together, slicing through tissue and organ like a claw through sand, becoming larger and larger inside him. He howls in pain, stumbling in blind agony and throwing himself against the corals and rock and dark tree in attempts to have all of it stop, all of it end.
The pieces of Pangea and Mountain have now become large enough to begin to break bone. No longer is it just the feeling of his insides brimming with his own blood that tortures him <i>(coughing, choking, <b>drowning</b> in his own blood)</i>, but the sound of breaking ribs and sternum, of fractured hips and splintered legs. He crumples to the ground before the heart helplessly as the pieces tear away at his insides, knowing that his blood has not yet been spilt and that time will be coming - soon.
The two separate pieces finally exit him, exploding from both eye sockets with such force that he could hear the severing of his spine from his skull with the motion. There is the sound of a terrifying scream, but it is cut short by the instantaneous ceasing of his nerves ability to keep him alive. The soulless and unseeing holes spill and pour with gallons of dark red blood freely towards the heart, flowing with purpose towards its epicenter.
His heart stops beating just as Pangea’s heart truly begins to thrum.
Then, he is awake.
The drowned god feels the coolness of air against his body and the grittiness of sand beneath him. He cannot tell if his eyes are open or closed - he only sees blackness. There is the familiar, soothing feeling of water lapping against his legs as well as the shushing sound of waves frothing on a shoreline. He is back where he started, though he cannot tell if he has only truly made it to hell, like all of his victims hoped he would.
</div><div style="padding-left: 355px; padding-top: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform:lowercase; font: 16px 'Metamorphous', cursive; color:#644C40; text-shadow:.5px .5px 1px #191515, 1px 1px 1px #191515, .5px .5px 1px #fff;">m a u g r i m.</div></div></center>