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+---- Thread: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y (/showthread.php?tid=13040)
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I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - k i l t e r - 01-09-2017
Cold. He felt it ebb and flow through his body, seeping into his weary bones and sunken ribs. His spindly legs fought through the drifts that had piled up through the maze of trees. Where he thought he would find respite from the wind and battering snow, he had only found demise. The snow whipped through the tall woods and wound about in patterns, creating drifts taller than the lone wolf could handle. He fumbled through him, eyes slitted tight and ears pulled back against the storm. This storm, in the heart of winter, could be his last.
Kilter had not lived much life. Most of it had been in the rumbling woods of the Valley, chasing the wolves and crying to the night sky as if he was one of them. His home. Where was it now? Beqanna had ruptured and split into a land unknown, and the young boy had been thrown through the world and lost to the clutches of winter. His mother had disappeared, the siblings he had shared a womb with were gone, his father had never been around to begin with. And his wolves? The magic creatures that he had once called brother and sister - had morphed into a pack as wild as any, the Valley magic stripping them of their humanity. Even Ruan, the silent stallion who had watched him from the trees, the closest thing that Kilter had thought of a friend, a guardian, had vanished. Kilter was utterly alone.
He stumbled, his footing lost in the quarries of frost - meeting snow up to his chest. He closed his eyes, hearing the howl of wolves echo throughout the forest. Perhaps this was not the worst way to die, a tomb of ice and grit, the beckoning sounds of his once kin swirling throughout the trees. There could be worse ways to go, Kilter thought. And perhaps this one was fitting for him best.
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - Deimos - 01-09-2017
He heard the call of the wild.
It drove through him like a spike of ice through a useless black heart. A dark smile was plastered across his face as he saw the young man trying to die in front of him. Not to day, little boy. Glass shatters around his brain and he is made aware of the beauty of his lines. He is powerful… derived from magic and born in the fires of hell.
Except that hell doesn’t want him this day. But Deimos does.
And Deimos will have him.
The snow is thick here and the black war machine stands tall against it—his body sleek and svelte. His is a form made perfect—the demons licking the sides of his body until he is the picture of a beast created from shadow and flame. Red eyes glow against the cold of night, and between the trees, he makes his silent approach.
Kilter, he whispers. His voice is cold, but it is smooth as satin, gripping around the boy’s throat like a noose… The coming of death, greeted as an old friend. Perhaps those brothers of shadow and smoke that the boy was familiar with, the claws and paws of a pack that had once been called family. What he wouldn’t give…
Kilter…
It drove through him like a spike of ice through a useless black heart. A dark smile was plastered across his face as he saw the young man trying to die in front of him. Not to day, little boy. Glass shatters around his brain and he is made aware of the beauty of his lines. He is powerful… derived from magic and born in the fires of hell.
Except that hell doesn’t want him this day. But Deimos does.
And Deimos will have him.
The snow is thick here and the black war machine stands tall against it—his body sleek and svelte. His is a form made perfect—the demons licking the sides of his body until he is the picture of a beast created from shadow and flame. Red eyes glow against the cold of night, and between the trees, he makes his silent approach.
Kilter, he whispers. His voice is cold, but it is smooth as satin, gripping around the boy’s throat like a noose… The coming of death, greeted as an old friend. Perhaps those brothers of shadow and smoke that the boy was familiar with, the claws and paws of a pack that had once been called family. What he wouldn’t give…
Kilter…
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
HTML by Call
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - k i l t e r - 01-09-2017
Kilte
R
Mind Over Matter
T
hey say that death can be a welcome thing. In the moments slipping past Kilter, he had found this to be true. The cold sliced through his body until a tingling numbness rang through his wilting body. His eyes once shut tight became slack, like a child dozing to slumber. Death was opening His door, welcoming the young boy, a haven away from the months spent scrying through the woods and winter. Kilter was ready, though young and inexperienced, the life he knew had been (for the most part) harsh and unwelcoming. Death would be a good friend.
Kilter... His name shimmers, vague and faint in the depths of his mind. His eyes stutter weakly, flecks of frost frozen like spiderwebs across his lashes. Before him was - his father? Through the fog of snow, the man before him bore semblance to Eight. But things were all off - where Eight was solid and thick, the man before him was lithe, like oil where Eight was rock. “Father?” Kilter’s voice is feeble and trembling. He closes his eyes once more, a slow shake of his head. This could not be his father. His father was long gone- his father did not care to find him. Eight was many things - many times a king, a chaotic evil, a magician in its purest form - but Eight was not a father. No, Kilter knew however similar, this man before him was not Eight.
His name rings out again, Kilter, more solid in its vacuous form, sleek and slinking to the young boy’s mind. This dark thing before him, speaking his name, standing impervious to the elements around him - could only be one thing. “Death?”
Kilter’s spindled legs work to find any form of purchase beneath him, slippery against the ground beneath him, weak against the snowbank that has claimed his body (oh if only he knew the power inside him, the ability to move objects, this snow would be a farce)- but still he tries to stand, to face death not upon his knees.
“I am ready.” And he uses the last of the life inside him to welcome his new friend, Death.
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - Deimos - 01-09-2017
I am ready he says.
Not today, little boy says Death.
In the dead of winter, there is nothing left of the world but to die. Those who survive chance the wonderment of living to see a new season of life and luxury. But what luxury was there in bounty? There was none.
Chew on the bones of your adversary. Drink their marrow until their strength becomes yours and you learn exactly what it means to walk a mile in your enemies’ shoes. The black draft stands tall, coming down the bluff. He steps on a log, separating it with a great cracking sound. The snow; it’s falling. And poor little Kilter.
He, like the rest of the poor plebians of this world; He is dying.
It’s beautiful.
He says nothing as he approaches the skeletal formation of the boy. Fog follows in his wake, circling around them both until there is a shroud of death that comes closer… closer.
Death does not want you boy, it says. And neither does your father. What purpose does the young wolfpup have in this world? In a place that does not care whether or not he lives or dies, Deimos finds that he cares very much. The only audible sound is a snarl, and he drags a thick black hoof through the snow, digging up root, removing the rotting foliage beneath. Revealed; next springs’ shoots—full of water; full of nutrients.
The black child has a choice to make.
What say you, boy. Do you live, or do you die?
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
HTML by Call
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - k i l t e r - 01-09-2017
Kilte
R
Mind Over Matter
D
eath speaks - and in His voice, Kilter hears all the horrors of the world. His voice scrapes across Kilter’s heart, and his breath carries the stench of both rot and, strangely, life. “Not today.” he says to the grulla child - and Kilter sways on his feet. Today was subjective - what day was it, even? In the murk of Kilter’s months, there had been nothing but dark and light - storms and quells - hunger and thirst. There was no concept of time, or moments slipping past, of sunrise and sunset. Did Death mean that right now, Kilter would be spared? Would he come crawling back again, with his black cloud of filth and flies to take the child?
Death comes closer, and each step resonates like a heavy heartbeat in the still woods. There is no other sound, no other movement - just Death and the Telekinetic. His steps are like cyanide - closer and closer to the silver boy and closer and closer life slips away.
Kilter had thought Death would be painful - a heavy grip across his heart, a choking of blood in his throat, a leaking of air through his lungs. And yet Kilter felt nothing - he almost felt at ease, an equilibrium of this was just where he needed to be. His eyes lowered once more, his soul seeming to trail away from the pain of his body. It seemed that it was Death who owned him, the waves of life ebbing away from his body and Death crashing over him - the lull of the ocean.
Death speaks again, and Kilter’s eyes flicker upward, hefted from his reverie. It was almost upsetting - how Death’s words wracked him from the gentle rocking of giving up and letting go. But Death, it seemed, did not want him - which took the boy aback. His father, he knew, never cared for him (or anyone). But Death? Death, he thought, was wrapped around him, lulling him to sleep as He stepped closer and closer.
A snarl tears through the air - and Kilter is snapped entirely from his drift towards Hell. Before him, Death upheaves the snow drift as if it were feathers - and beneath it is Life. Just barely - but it is there, the thick smell of dirt and flora mixed with the sharp ache of cold and Death.
And then, Death gives Kilter something he had never had - a choice. To live, or die? The greatest choice of all, when the young lupine had never chosen a crossroads before.
“Death.. The choice should not be mine.” Kilter deferred, as he had learned to in the wake of his father. As he learned to as he tumbled through the forests with the wolves - roll to your back, raise your belly, let your muzzle be wrapped in the mouth of another - you start as nothing, until proven otherwise.
“Death. I do not know what life I have to live. I have nothing. No one.” And the wolfpup did not - he had no home, his family was gone, and the wolves he had once called family were primitive beasts once again. He belonged to Death, and Death alone.
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - Deimos - 01-09-2017
I don’t know what life I have to give. I have no one.
Deimos spat at the ground where Kilter stood, stepping back from him in that instant. The acid that burned away at the snow curled up black smoke; the image of a mage, or of a wraith pushed down all the worlds and broke their dimensions. This is what waits for you in hell, boy. His voice cracked like a whip on Kilter’s flank. You would never survive. If that is your goal, then by all means, step forward and let him take you.
He smiles then. A blizzard begins rolling in and the land is grey, heaping hefty amounts of snow upon them both. If you choose life, you will have more decisions to make. Life can be made in an instant. You don’t need a heart. Or a soul. You just need blood. And you can take that anywhere, Kilter.
He knows the boy is impressionable. He wonders just what the boy will do to stay alive. What he would accomplish. What power lays there, just under the surface. Scratch it What will you find if you pour malice into those wounds, Wolfpup? What will you become?
What say you?
Deimos spat at the ground where Kilter stood, stepping back from him in that instant. The acid that burned away at the snow curled up black smoke; the image of a mage, or of a wraith pushed down all the worlds and broke their dimensions. This is what waits for you in hell, boy. His voice cracked like a whip on Kilter’s flank. You would never survive. If that is your goal, then by all means, step forward and let him take you.
He smiles then. A blizzard begins rolling in and the land is grey, heaping hefty amounts of snow upon them both. If you choose life, you will have more decisions to make. Life can be made in an instant. You don’t need a heart. Or a soul. You just need blood. And you can take that anywhere, Kilter.
He knows the boy is impressionable. He wonders just what the boy will do to stay alive. What he would accomplish. What power lays there, just under the surface. Scratch it What will you find if you pour malice into those wounds, Wolfpup? What will you become?
What say you?
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
HTML by Call
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - k i l t e r - 01-09-2017
Kilte
R
Mind Over Matter
T
here is something lurking beneath the surface for everyone - their own personal Hell. What was Kilter’s? Had his life been hellish enough? Yes, the boy thought, he had been shirked from his mothers’ side - as he was neither the strongest nor most gifted. To his father, he was nothing but a mere smear on the world - another child birthed from his wounds. To the Valley, he was just another nameless prince. To his wolves, he was now just meat. He had spent his months being devoured by the winter, as it ate at his skin and bones. Yes, to Kilter, this life was Hell. The poor wolf child knew nothing of the horrors that lay in wait.
Death’s spit procured ethereal Hell - monsters and demons that licked at the air before Kilter - things that reached towards him with cragged claws and eyes that bore no sympathy. The silver wolf’s eyes lept up towards Death, as his body struggled against the drifts of snow that held him - anything to further himself from the smoke illusions before him. Death’s voice curls around him like smoke - a warning, a threat, a truth.
The air roils around them - snow scratching at their sides and wind biting their skin. Death though, seems impervious. It is only Kilter who is wretched back and forth in the storm. Death is offering, and Kilter knows he needs to decide. Kilter, who came from blood and iron, sired by a magician and a rapturous queen - Kilter whose siblings had ruled kingdoms, whose father had created wars. His mind shook with the choice - two roads lay before him. Was he the timid wolf, to roll over and bend his neck to be bitten? Or would he stray from demise, and follow the path that history had created before him.
“Death.” His voice is lost to the storm. “Death!” He cries louder, his eyes searching through the frost before him to find his Savior. “Let me live Death. I can live. Let me prove myself.” And the wolfpup made the step down his first chosen path.
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - Raeg'n - 01-09-2017
-Raeg'n-
Since the day of the Great Mountain, she was alone on this earth. Her mother had been so kind, so loving and tender. But she was gone, and Raeg'n was convinced she'd been an Angel and had to return to the heavens. Each thing that happened after only proved it further.
Everything about her was surreal. She had no father, no family. Now no mother, with her return to the Heavens. The coat of twilight blue wrapped around her was celestial on its own, but tossed on top was feiry orange hair the color of burning stars. She was an anomaly, a gift left on their doorstep for one purpose. To protect, to defend. A force of good to balance the evil. A Champion.
She was their voice when they could not -would not- speak. She was their fight when they cowered, the beat in their hearts. She was their breath, their steady foundation. She was theirs. Protector sent from the heavens. And she was needed.
His stench dared to touch her nose again, and her amber eyes lit aflame instantly. She knew this one. Intimately. He would not pass by without leaving devastation in his wake. He was the destroyer, the corrupter. And she would eradicate his poison, just as she had the first time.
She shot through the forest, a fierce comet stirring up the drifting snow, twisting it in her draft as she passed. Her blue body lacked wings, yet she flew, hooves landing just long enough to launch her forward. She saw him; big and black and stupid. Burning brightly, her fire eyes fell to the boy before him as she ran, frail and nearly quaking in his efforts to survive. No! He would not have this one!
In an instant, she was there, lashing out with teeth to his large flank as she passed around and to the front of him. Her body became a physical shield stepping in front of the boy, hair whipping in the wind like a raging wildfire. But he would not be attacking, would he, the sick bastard. He was the Corrupter.
We meet again, vile beast, she spit out like a curse, a blade of words. She shifted her weight, a swordsman switching their weapon to the other hand, light on her feet. She had grown since they'd last crossed paths; larger, wiser, stronger.
You'll not have him! she swore. She was the Champion, the protector.
She was his, and he'd not be taken.
Everything about her was surreal. She had no father, no family. Now no mother, with her return to the Heavens. The coat of twilight blue wrapped around her was celestial on its own, but tossed on top was feiry orange hair the color of burning stars. She was an anomaly, a gift left on their doorstep for one purpose. To protect, to defend. A force of good to balance the evil. A Champion.
She was their voice when they could not -would not- speak. She was their fight when they cowered, the beat in their hearts. She was their breath, their steady foundation. She was theirs. Protector sent from the heavens. And she was needed.
His stench dared to touch her nose again, and her amber eyes lit aflame instantly. She knew this one. Intimately. He would not pass by without leaving devastation in his wake. He was the destroyer, the corrupter. And she would eradicate his poison, just as she had the first time.
She shot through the forest, a fierce comet stirring up the drifting snow, twisting it in her draft as she passed. Her blue body lacked wings, yet she flew, hooves landing just long enough to launch her forward. She saw him; big and black and stupid. Burning brightly, her fire eyes fell to the boy before him as she ran, frail and nearly quaking in his efforts to survive. No! He would not have this one!
In an instant, she was there, lashing out with teeth to his large flank as she passed around and to the front of him. Her body became a physical shield stepping in front of the boy, hair whipping in the wind like a raging wildfire. But he would not be attacking, would he, the sick bastard. He was the Corrupter.
We meet again, vile beast, she spit out like a curse, a blade of words. She shifted her weight, a swordsman switching their weapon to the other hand, light on her feet. She had grown since they'd last crossed paths; larger, wiser, stronger.
You'll not have him! she swore. She was the Champion, the protector.
She was his, and he'd not be taken.
couldn't help myself <3
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - Deimos - 01-10-2017
He is pressed in for the advantage. This child would be saved. He might be save for the Darkness, but he would be saved. Kilter he whispers again, drawing closer. The boy, that wolfpup, was dressed for life, though he looked like the walking dead. I shall take you home, then, Kilter and show you how to live. How to bathe in blood. How to really live well. Why there was this concern for the unwanted child of hell, he has no idea. But the child of Eight was worth something, to someone. Even if he was not wanted by his own father.
And so Deimos would take him...
You shall not have him!
He had heard her previous words, but in the winds carried about by the blizzard and falling snow, her words were worth as much as her feeble attempts on his body—useless. He laughs at her again. He cannot help himself. “You are so fucking delusional!” he says to her, between chokes of laughter. The smell of her blood come across his nostrils and he finds that his body is pining for another taste of her. He wants her. Bad. And she’d fit so nicely, too. Would she wiggle? He bet she would…
He doesn’t have time for this. His wings… they splay wide open, the fingers grasping outward towards her. Metal spikes draw forward from their talons, and outward towards her, attempting to pin her to the ground. Through hoof, flesh, mane… he does not care. Because in like all things, Raeg’n does not think before she acts—in this circumstance, she is wrong. And he sees through her. She may call him stupid in her mind… but he can see through it.
She wants him, to spite herself. Bad.
He sobers, his voice racking against the boy’s brain. His first words to him aloud. That grainy voice that, though quiet, is cold. Certain. Powerful. “Kilter. If you choose life, come with me. If you choose insanity or the world of delusions… you see what comes for you.”
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
HTML by Call
RE: I can't shake this little feeling - a n y - k i l t e r - 01-12-2017
Kilte
R
Mind Over Matter
T
here was suddenly so much going on – too much going on. His life had upended instantly – one moment walking towards the sweet call of death, the next given two roads to diverge to, and now; a savior. There is chaos – a bright and burning fire careening towards him and Death. Perhaps this was the Angel of Death, come to coerce Death before him to redact the choice – to take the little wolf and run towards the bowels of Hell with him. But no, this Angel before him seemed to emanate a warm and burning fire – the scent of life and will layered across her skin.
The Angel lashes out at Death, seething with anger and defiance – the Angel has come to save him, has come to battle Death for the little lupine boy. You will not have him - and she is a shield between But Death will not bend so easily. Death lashes out at his Angel and he is once again focused on the little wolf. Once again, there are choices to be made.
But how do make them? The confusion swirls in his head as the storm smokes around them. Death gave him an option – but the Angel seemed to interfere. The Angel seemed to think it was a bad choice to live. Was that what she meant, when she said that Death could not have him? Kilter shuts his eyes against the gritty blizzard bending around his body, as Death calls out to him.
“ Where do we go?” His voice is not as strong this time, it is faltering with a lack of assurance. Where would Death take him? “Angel – “ He looks to the ethereal woman who had blazed into his life. “Angel, are you okay?” He looks back to Death again, finding his eyes through the storm. “Death, can she come with us?”