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+---- Thread: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II (/showthread.php?tid=3546)
i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Carnage - 09-16-2015
and lord, I fashion dark gods too;
They are collected like trinkets, prizes.
The hounds bring him Wayra, the chamber’s daughter.
He stalks Ledger in the boy’s dreams, briefly, but leaves him to the hounds, too.
Raelynx he convinces, a silver-tongued piper, and there is an especial pleasure in this boy – he smells his old toy on him, his first silver thing, and he does not bother to hide his grin.
The hounds bring a child, Bly, and she is surely too young for this, but he does not discriminate.
Minette is given to him like an offering, and for a moment the dark god considers taking them both, but ultimately lets the boy walk away.
Then it’s his own daughter, and that should stop him, too, but it does not – he lies and promises her worlds she will never see, and she follows, confirms that his own children are as stupid as the rest of them.
The hounds bring Cress, a healer, and he barks his pleasure to them – he likes the healers, they make his job so much easier, are ever so much harder to kill.
They are all at the mouth of the cave, strangers brought by hounds and fate, and he grins.
“Welcome,” he tells them, his voice a purr, and then they are separated, cordoned off in their own cells.
I will show you fear in a handful of dust, goes the poem, but it is not from a handful of dust that he creates the fear. Instead, the confines of their cells turn to their greatest fears, spooled out from their thoughts. Seven captives, seven (or more) fears, and he sits back and lets the show begin.
NOTES:
So this round is basically Carnage messing with their heads to put them in a ‘fear landscape’ -- they don’t realize they’re in in cells anymore, now they’re confronting their greatest fear(s) (if you’ve read Divergent, it’s basically that, though please don’t have your character realize it’s not ‘real’). This fear can be physical (spiders!) or mental (being alone), you decide, you describe it. Describe what their fear(s) are, how they confront (or succumb to) them. End with them coming out of their fear landscape and into their cell.
No credit or penalty for more than one ‘fear’ – you do whatever’s right for your character.
Eliminations, if they occur (since we have fewer participants may not have eliminations this round, we'll see) will be based on style and creativity.
Next round will hopefully be posted by Friday, 11:00 AM CST. So, a little under 48 hours to respond. Failure to respond results in automatic elimination and a defect.
If you have any questions, email me at acmrshll@gmail.com.
c a r n a g e
RE: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Ledger - 09-16-2015
For a moment he thinks he sees others in the cave. Confused and scared, he calls out softly. "Hello?" as he steps further into the darkness. "Welcome" Comes a booming voice that echos off the cave walls, seems to encircle all of them. Suddenly he is pushed by something he can't see and he stumbles and falls to his left. A loud clanging behind him makes him turn his head and his mouth goes dry. He is in a cage, surrounded by metal bars. Scrambling back to his hooves, his body presses against the rough iron metal but nothing gives. There is faint light now in the cave, it's no longer total darkness. He can make out other horses in more cages. Some from their stature seem like small children and his stomach lurches. He paces his cell, looking for some way out. With a deep breath he closes his eyes... Exhales... Opens them..
He's no longer in a cage. He's in the Meadow, can feel the warm breeze of summer across his back. Relief floods through his system, a slow smile spreading on his lips. It had all been another bad dream. He had made it here after all. Slowly walking with the light of the moon at his back, he spots a familiar shape in the distance. "Dad!" He calls to him, hurrying his step and feeling more at ease with every moment. That is until Magnus turns his head to look at him. His father's gold-flecked eyes are cold and stare at him with open disgust. Ledger stops in his tracks, hesitant. "Dad?" He asks again and this time Magnus sneers at him, his buckskin body turning to face him. "You're no son of mine." He hisses, spitting at him. He takes a step back as his father steps forward, getting in his face. "Who would want you as a son? You're nothing but a coward. A useless creature." Ledger shakes his head, his own gold-flecked eyes staring into the mirrored ones of his father which are filled with loathing and hate.
"What have I done wrong?" He asks, obviously confused and deeply upset by this shift in Magnus's attitude. "You didn't die, that's what's wrong." Magnus snaps, pulling away from Ledger while still glaring at him. "You should have died. He should have killed you." A pause as he wrinkles his nostrils with disdain, as if he touched Ledger he would catch some awful disease. "Joelle would probably still be alive if it weren't for you... You and your bad luck. I've lost the love of my life because of you." The chestnut stallion's heart sinks into the bottom of his chest, starting to crack and shatter. He can say nothing, is simply dumbfounded by his father's tirade. "That's why nobody can ever love you Ledger. You don't deserve love." His heart cracks even more as Ledger hangs his head in shame, defeated by what he has always feared. How could anyone love him? How could he ever have a family or love anyone when he brought nothing but pain and devastation in his wake? "She left me when she found out about you, did you know that? When she found out your mother was pregnant with you. All you do is ruin people's lives!" Magnus screams at him, turning and advancing on him like a lion towards it's prey. "I'm going to do what I should have always done." And Magnus lunges for him, the gold of his eyes turning red in a murderous rage.
Ledger can only react, a sharp whistle of surprise as he rears up to meet his father's blow. He's going to kill me, he thinks. Instinct makes him fight back, his own hooves trying to defend from the blows Magnus rains on him. The chained box deep within him starts to play with the lock, starts to creep out. Something hardens Ledger momentarily and with a shrill cry, not even realizing what he is doing, he shoves Magnus to the ground and his hooves collide with the other's skull. Magnus lays there, almost dazed, with blood running down his face and into his eyes. He looks at Ledger and with a soft breath whispers, "I've never loved you." And then he collapses, eyes wide open. Unseeing. A scream rings through the Meadow and it takes a second for Ledger to recognize it's coming from him.
His muzzle nudges the still warm body of Magnus, unaware of the other horses now surrounding him. They are whispering and gesturing, angry eyes all around. Ledger cries into his father's neck. "I'm so sorry Dad. I'm so sorry. What have I done?" Murderer! The crowd starts to shout and he pulls back from his father's corpse in a panic. Shaking his head with wild eyes, "No.. You don't understand!" He pleads but they aren't listening and are closing around him. A most angry mob. There's nothing to do but run. He turns to flee but suddenly someone trips him and he falls to his knees with eyes closed for the impact, they burn as they scrape against cold stone. Stone? Opening his eyes again, he shakily takes in his surroundings. He's back in the cell, blood running down the front of his legs. Trembling violently, he presses his head against the cold bars. His heart fractured and beating weakly as if it had no life left in it, not caring that the tears ran freely down the slope of his cheek. I deserve to be here. I deserve everything that's coming to me.
L E D G E R
RE: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Wayra - 09-16-2015
Wayra tumbled, clumsily, dumbly, like a sack of potatoes into his lair, and crooned pitifully when she hit the ground with a bone jarring thump. She felt cold, wet stone beneath her cheek, and for a moment she was too dazed to try to stand. There were sharp pains scattered in between the dull aches of her body, but it was more fear, rather than pain, that left her paralyzed. She was dirty, scratched, and missing hair from where the forest’s branches had grabbed at her.
Wayra didn’t know how this happened, she had no idea how far she had run from the wolves, or what possessed her to run this way at all. Why hadn’t she gone home? Why hadn’t she screamed for any of the Chamber’s fierce warriors? Is it possible she is still close to her home? Is it possible someone would come looking for her?
Deep in her belly Wayra knew that they wouldn’t. Oh, there are those that would want to, her father, in particular. But somehow, like a bird always knew North, she knew that any who searched for her would not succeed.
She was tempted to stay on the ground, like a sad, discarded doll. She did for a while, and it wasn’t until she heard his purring voice that she finally found her feet. She scrambled to get up, jerky and awkward on sore muscles. Until just now, she had thought she was alone. But no, he was with her. A gray, otherwise unremarkable stallion. Except, oh, those eyes! And oh, that voice! There was deep cruelty in both, and somehow his purring was more terrifying than shouting could ever be. Wayra couldn’t help it, she trembled, like a leaf on a tree that is battered by wind.
Yet, there was something even more terrifying, even more than the purring, hateful, silk of his voice. It was the delight in his eyes, the unholy, hedonistic delight that shown like halloween lanterns from his eyes. Wayra didn’t know if it was real. Maybe she was the silly girl she always thought she might be. But, regardless, she heard the soft sobs that began to bubble from her throat and knew then, that she was a coward.
She had only a moment to cast her eyes around, and desperately, she realized there were other horses. Wayra cried out to them, she didn’t care who they were, all she cared was that they were flesh and bone, and felt something other than hateful delight. Yet, it was too late, and it was because she spent those precious moments sobbing on the floor. The cell rose around her, and again she screamed, but this time in frustration, in contempt for the stupid, lazy girl that cried on the ground instead of scrambling towards life.
She didn’t even have time to feel sorry for herself. Already the cave, and the cells were fading. Something new, something all together more horrible, rose before her. Just like before, when Wayra open her eyes, there were tears in them. But this time, she didn’t know why.
When her tears fell in heavy plops to the ground, they landed on another hard floor, but this one wasn’t dull stone. It was still gray, but polished to a high shine. The bars of her cell had become solid, high walls the same material of the floor. Wayra looked left and saw a dead end, she looked right and saw an opening! Not the mouth of a cave, but a simple, cut in wall, wide enough for her to pass comfortably through. Wayra had learned her lesson, she wasn’t going to waste time crying. Like a little bird shot from a large cannon, she leapt towards the space.
“STOP.” A loud voice boomed from somewhere above her. Wayra, despite her better instincts, stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, as if she knew what she would see, she raised her eyes.
There he was, the gray stallion. Wayra’s heart fluttered in her breast, then stilled, as if it would not start up again. But it did, a few seconds later, and she had to gasp. The gray stallion smiled his cruel smile. He was standing up on a stage, far at the other end of the room. Wayra saw now that there were walls all around her. They were high enough that she couldn’t jump them, or see much of their layout, but low enough that she could see the stage, and see that she was in a maze The stallion chuckled, almost pleasantly.
“Good, now that I have your attention —“ He beckoned with his head to someone, or something, behind him. That’s when the snarling started, and Wayra’s stomach dropped. The hellhounds, a whole pack of them, ushered three shaking figures towards with front of the stage.
“Yes! Dear sweet dad, mommy, and of course your beloved Nebibi. Aren’t you happy to see them?” The stallion looked behind him. Wayra’s family was hardly in better shape than Wayra herself. She heard Nebibi sob, Nebibi had always been the brave one, the stronger sister. Wayra felt her own tears flow faster. The gray stallion tutted disapprovingly. "Well, they don’t seem very happy to see you.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter very much. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to be my rat, and run through my maze to join us. Every time you hit a dead end my dogs are going to take a bite out of your family. Whenever I think you’re wasting time, my dogs are going to take a bite our of your family. And…just to motivate you, we’ll start now.” As the stallion spoke “now” one of the hellhounds leapt at Michaelis, and tore deep into his flesh. Her father screamed, and Wayra did as well.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was scrambling to the door and running through it, bolting down the corridor before her. From high up above the stallion chanted, sing song and happy.
“What are you going to do now, Wayra?” She turned right, hit a dead end, and heard Ginia scream.
“Mom." Wayra whimpered, but she dared not stop. She changed courses are ran down the second hallway. From high up above the stallion sang at her.
“What are you doing with your life, Wayra?” Wayra’s vision had become blurry, the tears were filling her eyes, she couldn’t see which way to turn. She stopped, blinking away tears. She heard a snarl, and Ginia screamed again. Up above, the stallion tut tutted.
"Foolish! Standing around while your family is counting on you. You’re wasting time, you’re not accomplishing anything.” Wayra cried out wordlessly, and started to run again. She knew she should focus on the maze, focus of plotting her way through it, but she couldn’t focus, this couldn’t think. If she stopped the dogs would bite, and she couldn’t think through her family’s cries and her own frantic mind. Dumb luck caused her to turn to make a few correct turns, but soon her luck ran out. The dogs ripped into Nebibi.
“Wayra!” The stallion cried from up above, his voice thick with shock that could not be real.
“Now you’re dragging poor Nebibi down. She’s always been better than you, smarter than you, braver than you. If she was running my maze none of this would happen. She wouldn’t let your family suffer.”
Wayra knew it was true. She knew that this never could have happened to Nebibi. Her sister would never have been this silly. She wouldn’t have gotten lost in the woods, she wouldn’t have fallen into the cave, she wouldn’t have laid on the floor crying when she should have stood up and fought.
The maze was too much for Wayra. No matter which way she turned it seemed to be a dead end. Left, right, back, it all ended with a solid steel wall and scream. Each time she saw a wall loom up before her, the dogs ripped into her family. But, worse even than the scrams, were that they grew fainter and fainter each time. Very soon, they were just moans, and finally nothing at all. She heard the dogs snarling and slurping, feasting on the remains of her family.
Wayra collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. From high above her, the stallion chuckled.
“Silly girl. They would have lived if only you knew what you were doing. If you were smarter, faster, braver, you could have saved them. But no, they’re dead, and you stood around and let it happen.” From her spot on the floor, Wayra nodded her head, eager for the blame. He was right, it was her fault, she had done nothing, she had let them die. Around her, the vision dissolved, and again, Wayra was sobbing on the floor of her cell. But, she hardly realized it, all she could see were the dogs, and all she heard were the sounds of their slurping.
i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Minette - 09-16-2015
His voice is familiar and foreign in one, the cadence holding the promise of a thousand pleasures. She knows it for a lie, deep within, but her feet do not and they lead her forward. Her vision is enveloped by the purring creature, the sinner and the madman, the dark god. She barely hears the voices of the others held captive with her. A cavernous longing suffuses her being. The expanse of her skin tingles and aches, and she feels terribly, wonderfully exposed.
A wretched creature, more monster than wolf, appears at her side and snarls. Liquid thick as blood and rank as decaying bodies drips from its teeth as it snaps, driving her from the others. Ahead of her a dark hole stretches like a yawning mouth. The frame of the opening is edged with teeth that seem to reach for her, cutting her sides with such efficiency that it takes a moment for her to recognize the trickles of blood for what they are. A heavy door slams shut behind her with an air of finality.
She is alone.
Minette wakes as if from a trance. She shakes her head, trying to physically rid herself of the strange desires that had gripped her. She is shamed by her fascination with the one who spoke. The gray stallion. His presence was an intoxicating blend of power and terror.
She can hear nothing. Not even the whimper of a hound, or the whisper of the dank wind penetrate her cell. For a time she is too afraid to move, but her eyes soon adjust to the darkness. The walls of her cell are thorned iron, cruelly sharp, like the teeth that have scored her. Beyond them, she can sense only a vast nothingness. For what seems like hours her world stands still. After awhile her muscles lose their tension and she succumbs to exhaustion.
Gentle breezes and the scent of lilies are what wakens her. Her eyes fly open. The hope she experiences in that first shining moment is heady, a richness that leaves her near breathless. Home. She is home. Great expanses of velvet grass sway softly in the wind. She can hear the bubbling of a river, the one she grew up playing in and beside. It is filled with migrating fish leaping upward to their spawning grounds. A great sigh leaves her chest, releasing a year's worth of anxiety and terror. She takes one step forward, and then another until the cool edges of the water lap against her fetlocks. Minette dips her head and drinks deeply of home's sweet waters.
It is then that she sees him.
Perhaps. Perhaps he will not see me. Oh gods, don't let him see me.
Her eyes widen, afraid to blink, afraid to breathe. She cannot move. He is tall, standing well over ten feet, with wickedly hooked claws jutting out from massive paws. A thick hump covered in shaggy brown-black hair is set behind his square shaped head. Muscles ripple through his powerful back legs and arms. A black dished nose leads to a pair of deep set shadowy eyes. There is no intelligence there, only animal rage. He is fully predator and she is fully prey.
A grizzly.
He has not yet noticed her. She releases bated breath, finally, shakily, and edges one hoof backwards up the embankment. Three hooves safely slip from the water to the land. The fourth looses a scatter of pebbles into the water.
He turns then, painfully slow, and his black eyes narrow with greed. His ghastly yellow teeth are so sharp they are obscene. Black lined lips pulling back in a snarl, he drops to all four and opens his mouth. A growl splits the air, a heavy chuffing that grows until it is a sound unearthly and demonic in its fierceness. A sob catches in Minette's throat. The grizzly does not hesitate. He lurches forward, splashing heedlessly into the water, avoiding the easier prey of silver scaled trout to pursue the frozen mare on the bank.
Move. MOVE! her body screams at her, and finally she obeys, turning to flee just as the bear reaches the halfway point of the river. She gallops. Always she can hear the pursuit of the creature, unnnaturally large and faster than any grizzly she has ever seen. For every stride she takes, his breathing grows louder. Great shuddering sobs shake her body. Tears blind her. It is this last that proves her undoing.
Only as she is falling does Minette sees the divot in the ground, a remnant of some small creature's burrow. Her leg snaps with a loud and sickening crack and she screeches. She can hear the lumbering steps of the beast behind her quicken. Panic drives her to her feet, but they cannot take her weight. She collapses once more. Her front feet scrabble for purchase in the grass but she cannot rise.
And now it is too late. He is upon her, the bulk of him overpowering her and masking the sun. Blind terror consumes her. One enormous paw presses down on her stomach, each hooked claw ripping through her delicate flesh. In a moment that seems to last forever the grizzly bares his teeth and roar. Minette can only watch with heart rending dread as his head descends and his jaw snaps closed on her neck. She screams until her windpipe is crushed and filled with blood, and the only sound she can make is a dying gurgle.
Minette scrambles to her feet, back in her cell. Her neck aches with the remembered wound, although her skin is unmarked. Her breathing is erratic. The pale gray mare cowers mournfully in the furthest corner of her cell, her ears pinned back and a soft whimper issuing from her throat.
RE: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Bly - 09-16-2015
Oh, she loved the night. So it is not fear that she finds in her dark, unconscious state. No, it is here she finds comfort. Because for Bly, things of beauty find the lightless places. Just as the stars always find the heavens when the sun sinks into the Earth. Or as the glowbugs illuminate across a summer meadow. The girl was not filled with the common fear most children held for it. She did not tremble when the lights went out. There were no monsters in the shadows of the Gates, but it was not the shadows that worried her. It was the monsters.
Welcome, welcome, welcome. A single word seems to echo on forever, rousing her back to consciousness. The little grullo wearily blinks her heavy eyelids, small slivers of blue peek from beneath. She had been having the most wonderful dream. Floating amongst the stars, drifting through the constellations- something Romilly and Guthrie spoke wistfully of. As if they had once actually done that, and longed to return to it again. She smiles a soft smile before something at her temple stings, and a hot wetness slides down the side of her face. Am I crying? She thinks for a moment, having forgotten how hard she hit her head. Again a sharp pain touches her skull. ”Ow!" she squeals, jerking her dizzy head. What a terrible, terrible idea.
A small but sturdy creature growls at her, something that looks slightly human. A fresh scab remains clenched in its wrinkly, taloned fist. A set of glowing red eyes burn into her, and its face ends in long, coarse, white whiskers. It is the strangest thing Bly has ever laid eyes on, or could even imagine, including the demons that brought her here. It stands on only its stunted back legs, while the body hunches over a blood stained cap. The yearling has hardly a moment to register what is before her, to scream out again, before it is moving. It swiftly retrieves its fallen head cover and launches itself at her, sinking sharp fangs into her head. She wails a truly scared scream while she jerks her body, flailing in attempts to dislodge her tormenter.
It’s not much use. For such a small creature, it is wicked fast, and unusually strong. No sooner does she manage to fling the thing away, than it is blurring back towards her. He, because it is decidedly male, grips tighter with his sharp claws. Each time she throws him, she gains a new set of bleeding marks across her face. Her screams do little to rouse help, her pleas for mercy do nothing to dissuade her opponent. What is even more frightening perhaps is how the vile little man has soaked his hat in her blood. The crimson cloth was dripping from his dirty head, streams of life flowing into his scarlet beard. Not only was he consuming her, he made a mockery of her sacrifice. Her moment of pause, is answered in a rip of flesh.
He manages the first bite, tearing skin from muscle, a maniac giggle bubbling from his wet lips. Bly immediately vomits, the churning of her stomach could not be stopped. As if monsters being real wasn’t enough, now she was being eaten. Eaten alive. The walls are bare, there is nothing to tell her how she got in. Nor is there a door or opening at all for her to find her way out of. I’m trapped, her weary mind thinks as she stands on trembling legs, trying to see past the flow of blood. Trying to find the light in this darkness, the end to this misery. Another chunk is taken from her, she does nothing to hold back her screams now, she does not fight back anymore. She weeps and allows her legs to buckle beneath her, she crashes to the floor, the little man holding fast. Her fight was gone, what little she possessed. She remains still and welcomes death, anything to end the agony of flesh from bone. "Momma..” she whispers, with barely breath enough to form the word. The little girl closes her eyes, sighing in straining, hitched breaths. Momma always said that bad things come in threes, and Bly could almost laugh at the irony. Tetraphobia-one. Phagophobia-two. Cleithrophobia-three.
Death will be sweet, but she does not die.
Bly’s eyelids tug open, quickly this time, though her head is dull and achey. She scrambles to her feet, pacing sideways and backwards in the attempt to right herself. To dodge the sharp toothed creature she just knows will be there to finish the job. Instead her blue eyes find a prison. A prison lit by flickering, dying light.
RE: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Raelynx - 09-16-2015
i love the way that your heart breaks with every injustice and deadly fate
Welcome, He says, and Raelynx smiles. He rarely smiles, but in that moment he does. The air is dank and fetid upon his face, a chill settling into his bones. And he smiles. He is meant to be here. There is little else he knows with such certainty, but he knows this.
There are others here, stinking of fear and uncertainty. He does not pity them. How can he? They are about to learn the joys of torment. They should be grateful they have such a masterful teacher.
And then they are all separated, partitioned from each other by sticky cell walls. He wonders what He has planned for them, and a shiver runs across his dark skin. It is a shiver of anticipation, of excitement. But then he blinks and the small chamber is gone. Confusion is uppermost in his mind. He cannot have been dreaming, can he? Oh, but what a dream it was.
He is lying upon his side in the dirt, so he stands, glancing around him with eyes flat as slate. He does not remember falling asleep here. But then, he often does not remember exactly where he has fallen asleep. It matters little to him. Stretching his neck forward, he shakes himself roughly. He notices something strange then. The tightness in his side where the scars pucker his skin is gone. Glancing back, his pewter eyes widen in shock. The white scars decorating his pelt are gone. Vanished as if they had never been.
But he is not given long to ponder this odd development. A shadowy figure steps from the nearby trees. Turning his bland gaze in that direction, he is oddly discomfited when the form solidifies into his mother. He has not seen her in what seems ages. Why is she here now?
A doting, benevolent smile graces her lips as she gazes upon him. It is a smile he has never seen before, one that is as disconcerting as it is unexpected. My dear, sweet boy, she croons. How I have missed you.
His large head jerks upwards in confusion. His mother has never been affectionate towards him. No, she could barely even manage to hide her disgust at the abomination she had birthed. And he had always relished her revulsion. She steps forward, that smile stuck upon her lips. Raelynx takes a reflexive step backwards, unsure of what is happening.
Come, dear Raelynx. Her smile deepens as her eyes warm to liquid chocolate. Let me protect you as I should have done.
”I don’t need you protection mother,” he spits at her, derision in his tone even as he retreats another step. Oh, but you do, she says. You really do, sweet Raelynx. She is next to him then, caressing his shoulder gently with her dark muzzle. He flinches violently, as though she had struck him rather than simply touched him. Horror tinges his widened gaze as he turns and flees, running unashamedly from this woman. A woman who looks like his mother but could not possibly be her.
When finally he stops running, he is breathing heavily, his slim barrel heaving as he struggles to draw breath. Where one might normally find discomfort in such exertion, he oddly finds none.
He freezes when a small creature scampers from the underbrush directly towards him. It is a squirrel, small and quick, its lustrous silver coat showing vigor and good health. It is surprisingly bold, scampering straight up to him with no sign of fear. This brings to mind a similar situation from nearly a year ago. A similar situation yet so vastly different. Lifting his foot, he brings it forward with the intent to quash the pitiful creature, but he freezes, unable to complete the action. He frowns, placing his hoof back onto the earth. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that the squirrel smiles at that, beady black eyes twinkling in amusement.
Chittering, it scrambles up his leg, small feet hooking into his body with only a slight tickling sensation. It scoots over his shoulder and along his neck until it reaches one cocked ear. It speaks then, a small, surprisingly dulcet voice slipping softly into the air. Do you remember me? It says. Oh yes, he remembers. He had killed it, but it had been weak and pitiful then, a broken thing.
It laughs, as though able to read his thoughts. It was a dream, all a dream. I am alive and well. You were not kind. You only thought you were. But here I am, lovely and whole.
Bewilderment reigns supreme then. How is that possible? His whole life could not possibly have been a dream. It was too good to have been a dream. But then, are dreams not always better than reality? Panic seizes him, tightening his throat as he shakes his head to rid himself of the blasted squirrel. But its laughter rings in his ear long after it has gone.
And then suddenly she is there. Cordis. No, it cannot possibly have been a dream. But her gaze is gentle as she looks upon him, a smile curving her silvery lips. His throat dries, a horrible premonition coming to him. Raelynx, she whispers, suddenly next him, electric skin so close and yet so achingly far. Her muzzle hovers above his shoulder, an echo of that day. He shudders, gray eyes begging for her touch.
No, Raelynx, she says then, muzzle skimming just a hair’s breadth above his neck before murmuring her words into his ear. You must be protected. It is too much. Too much for a weak boy like you.
”What?” The word slips helplessly from his lips, his expression dumbfounded. She could not possibly mean it.
”Please…” he whispers, but his throat is too paralyzed to continue. And suddenly, with a sweetly lingering smile, she vanishes, her final words ringing in the air. Listen to your mother, she says. Let her protect you.
”NO!” he screams, voice suddenly unstuck. ”No! Come back!” The words are ripped heedlessly from his throat as he stands upon trembling legs.
”Please.” The last is expelled on a soft, hopeless exhale.
And without warning his mother materializes from the mist, walking towards him with that benevolent smile upon her face. He shrieks at her angrily, lashing out in sheer panic. But his blows never land, his strikes swinging wide. And so he runs, careening blindly through the brush. The branches tug at his skin, never once leaving a mark. Only the barest hint of a caress tells of their passing. And when he is too tired to continue, he halts, tears leaking from his eyes, leaving trails along perfectly unmarked cheeks. His mother is there, waiting for him, lips curved so sweetly.
His head slumps, the horror too much to bear. And suddenly the walls of his cell surround him, but he cannot quite decide whether this is a dream or reality.
Raelynx
khaos x eyrie
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RE: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Cress - 09-17-2015
let go and make believe, we’re singing in the streets
Cress doesn’t dare to open her eyes until her hooves are once more on solid ground.
Brown eyes crack open and she glances about, taking in the sight before her eyes. The hellhounds have dragged her—and others, she notices—deep underground. Including herself, there are seven altogether, and she trembles as she looks at them all. Did the hounds bring them, too? Are they going to feast upon the seven, hunt them down, toy with them? What is happening? Maybe they can formulate a plan to escape. “Is anyone hurt?” she calls, desperate to help someone, but before she hears a response they are separated.
In the blink of an eye, cell walls materialize around her and she shrinks back in fear, stumbling when her hindquarters slam into iron bars rising up behind her. Trembling in terror, she backs herself into a corner, breathing heavily. There is almost no use in him utilizing the fear landscape on her, terrified as she is already. There is no escaping this, she realizes, eyes rolling as she presses further and further into the corner. Is it even possible to be more terrified than she already is? She’s about to find out just how scary this can get.
She blinks and the cell around her vanishes, the landscape of the Valley unfolding before her eyes. Where did the cell go? Did the monster that brought her here send her home? Was it because she is not strong enough to deal with whatever comes next? She knows that she is not very strong; she is a healer but she cannot cure her own insecurities and anxiety. But not strong enough? That doesn’t seem like a very good reason to send her home, unless he’s sent her to a strange, new Hell. It doesn’t matter. She’s home now; she can go on with her life.
There is no reason to be afraid.
She takes a few steps forward, but a voice stops her in her tracks. “Cress?” The golden girl wheels around and there, before her, is her mother. It has been many years since she has seen Kindling, but one never forgets their mother’s face. “Momma!” she shrieks with joy, bounding forward, but Kindling makes no effort to move towards her. She stops in front of her and tilts her head to the side, wondering why Kindling looks so worn down, so exhausted. “Momma, are you okay?” A single tear drops from her mother’s eyes, and suddenly Cress knows that something is very, very wrong.
“Momma, what’s wrong?” she asks, and Kindling shakes her head violently. “Baby girl, run. Run far away from here,” Kindling murmurs, reaching forward to brush Cress’ check with her muzzle. “You are not safe. I’m doing this to save you. Trust me, baby girl.”
“She’s right, you know,” a voice whispers in her ear, and Cress whirls around. “Who’s there?” she cries, heart threatening to burst from her chest. A dark shape rises before her, formless yet terrifying. In the dark mass she can detect the glimmer of vibrant red eyes and rows upon rows of sharp teeth. It swirls towards her and grazes her cheek, and Cress feels something razor sharp slicing her cheek upon. Hot blood bursts forth, staining the Valley floor beneath her, but Cress is paralyzed with fear.
“Cress, run!” her mother screams, but her hooves seem to be frozen to the ground. The black mist forms shape after terrifying shape before settling on something that is part dragon, part hellhound. It lunges for her but Kindling rushes in front of her, screeching as the creature’s teeth dig deep into her shoulder. “Momma!” Cress screams as Kindling falls, her blood pooling beneath Cress’ hooves. The creature rips into her dam’s flesh, and Cress can’t tell if it is blood pounding in her ears or her mother’s screams of pain that block out all other noise.
She pours her healing ability into her mother, trying to stem the bleeding even as the dragon-monster tears strips of flesh from her shoulder, neck, and barrel. She manages to knit the veins back together and begin to stretch new skin over the wounds, but even as one wound closes, another is torn open. As much as she can heal her mother, she cannot replenish the blood that Kindling has already lost—she just doesn’t know how. It’s futile but she cannot stop, will not stop for anything. Kindling cannot die.
Blood bubbles from Kindling’s lips and she meets Cress’ eyes. “Run, baby girl,” she whispers with one last dying breath, her eyes glazing over. The connection tethering her soul to her mother’s—healing her, keeping her breathing—shatters and with that, Cress finds her hooves again and scrambles away, slipping in her mother’s blood and nearly falling to her knees. She manages to stay upright and blood splashes up onto her legs as she races away from the feeding dragon-hound creature, tears staining her cheeks and pain coursing through her face from the monster’s touch.
When she finally has put enough distance between herself and her dead mother, she slows to a stop. Panting heavily, she glances around, but the monster has not seemed to have followed her. Not too far ahead of her, she spies two black stallions. One of them has a white mane and tail… no. Her father? How is she going to tell him that she just witnessed her mother’s death? Trembling from head to toe and drench in blood and sweat, she makes her way towards the stallions, who appear to be arguing. Who is the other one? She doesn’t recognize him but she can see the hatred in her father’s eyes. He is winged and arrogant and as she watches them, their fight turns violent.
“Father!” she calls, and that is her mistake. Oxytocin turns to see his only daughter, wonder and hope crossing his face, but it is only for an instant. The other stallion, slightly taller than her father and of a more drafty build, strikes out with a well-aimed hoof, catching her father in the face. “Father!” she shrieks, horrified now as her father stumbles to his knees. She breaks into a gallop to reach his side, readying her powers even though she is exhausted, but the other stallion is already preparing the final blow.
Both hooves, round as dinner plates, come crashing down and Oxytocin falls to the earth, blood spilling from his crushed skull. The second stallion, looking disgusted, steps back and turns towards Cress. “You don’t understand,” he murmurs, and though he sounds remorseful, he has the same voice as the monster who attacked her mother. “He had to be stopped; he was too evil for this world. Come with me and you’ll be safe, dear Cress.”
Safe? This monster had just tried to kill her! She turns to run again, but before she can, she bumps into yet another familiar face. “Demian,” she says, relief in her dark eyes. “Demian you have to help me; get Eight, get a magician, there’s a monster after me and I need your help. Please, Demian, please.”
Demian cocks his head, looking over her shoulder. “What are you talking about, Cress?” he snaps impatiently, and Cress jerks back at his tone. He has never been unkind to her, why is he being so rude now? “This is a waste of my time, Cress. I wish you would just stop wasting my time.”
What? If Cress had eyebrows, they would be knitted together in confusion. Demian doesn’t stop to listen to her, though, just plows on as if she’s hardly even there. “It’s like you can’t even follow a simple order, Cress! Why don’t you goddamn listen to me? I know what’s best for the Valley—not you! You don’t even belong here! Stop acting like you’re so high and mighty all of a sudden, because you’re not! You’re nothing!”
By the time he is finished, she is shaking, pressing herself against a nearby tree. The weakness in her limbs has spread all over, numbing her to the pain, but she is still horrified, still feeling at every moment like she is going to die. Demian is Demian for sure, not that monster that seems to be following her around, but why would he be so spiteful all of a sudden? It scares Cress and she wants to run away, to hide, but she can’t. She doesn’t have the energy. And so he continues to berate her and she stands there and takes it, and the more time passes, the more she wants to sink into the earth and disappear. Surely being back in that cell is better than this twisted reality.
When he finally turns away from her, throwing a snide “you have failed the Valley” over his shoulder, she collapses to the ground. This is it; nothing can be worse than this. Could it get worse? Not possible. Blood is still dripping steadily from her facial wound and she is still covered in her mother’s blood, but she has no motivation to clean herself. Her life is over; her parents are dead, they died before her eyes and she was powerless to stop it. All of her healing abilities couldn’t save them and they’re gone and she has truly failed the Valley and Demian hates her. He has every reason to; she is a failure.
“You asked me before who was there,” an all too familiar voice whispers seductively in her ear, and she lifts her head to see a skeletal grey stallion standing in front of her, eyeing her maliciously. “I am death and fire and I have been hunting you, darling.”
There is no escape; she realizes this. Her worst fears have already come true and there is nothing left, nothing left of the scarlet-splatted golden girl other than a numbness that spreads all the way to her hooves. She couldn’t stand even if she wanted to, let alone try to escape him. He brought her here, put her into this Hell, and hunted her down as if she were prey. She has no fight left in her.
“Kill me then,” she murmurs, tears running down her face as fear washes through her. She doesn’t want to die but she has nothing left to live for. Closing her eyes, she waits and waits for the killing blow to come.
When she opens her eyes, she’s back in her cell, pressed into the corner of the iron bars.
cress;salaam of the valley
you’re only happy when you’re making a scene
RE: i will face god and walk backward into hell; round II - Carlina - 09-18-2015
"Ok Poppa, I'll wait here."
The little girl is all smiles and love. She walks into 'her room' happily, pleased that she is following her father's request. It has been a long day for her, so she lays down and drifts off to sleep.
What feels like several hours later she wakes up in the forest. It is so dark out that she can't see, but the scents are familiar. She is back in the meadow. Back where her poppa had found her originally. "P..p..poppa?" She whispers into the night. "Poppa?!" Her shrill little voice rises in a panic as the realization sinks in, he didn't want her so he brought her back. The little lost girl sinks heavily to her knees and sobs. So alone, so so alone. The filly can't see a foot in front of her, and the cries tearing through her throat do little in the way of keeping her hidden, so she doesn't hear it approach.
Soft padded steps creep up on the little girl. A leopard to prey upon the sweet little lamb.
A misplaced step snaps a twig under the predator's foot, loud enough for the sniffling child to hear. Velvet ears prick up in the darkness, eyes desperately trying to see through the gloom. "H...hello?" Her quavering voice is young and hopeful, desperately seeking the parents that left her to rot. Instead her soft notes are met with a growl.
She can hear the cat on the prowl now, the leopard having given up it's stealth in order to toy with her. It crosses the space towards the filly when they both hear the frantic shout from a stallion, "Run!"
Recognizing her father's voice, the girl, the little lonely girl does as she's told. Lurching forward on shaking legs, she runs deeper into the woods. With a yowl, the predator follows. Carlina continues to sob and cry as she pushes her fragile body to it's limits. Branches scratch and tangle in her hair, roots try to trip and snag, and through it all she feels the presence of the cat right behind her. Each step grows harder than the last with only blind panic to drive her forward. After awhile she doesn't hear the cat anymore, but continues to run.
As she runs around a tree, she hears voices in the distance. "Come here sweetheart, we will protect you." Her mother's. But in front of her the terrain changes. She can't see the difference, but it grows spongier, damp. As she takes the first experimental steps on the new ground, she catches a wiff of leopard in the air, helping her quickly get over her fear of the ground. The midnight filly hasn't taken two steps before claws catch at her hind leg tossing her to the ground. Using her last vestiges of strength, the poor, sweet girl is able to stumble to her feet and take two steps towards the encouraging words from her parents before she falls.
The ground gives way beneath her, and her descent is brief as she makes contact with frigid pond water. "POPPA! MOMMA!" the girl screams, her voice the only sound piercing the night as she tries to keep her nose above water. "Poppa!" she cries between gurgling breaths. Her hind leg doesn't want to work after it got mauled by the leopard, and her limbs were already tired from her run through the trees. It doesn't take long before her tiny lungs fill with the brackish water, the cold only making it harder to move, harder to breath. "poppa.." The fillies last word as her eyes begin to slip shut from the pain and exhaustion. As her head slips for the last time beneath the waterline, her hooves find purchase on solid ground. She collapses to the floor, and opening her eyes a crack, she sees the dirt of her room once more.
