09-08-2018, 11:46 AM
It is the quiet of the night, during the hour of the wolf, where the diseased remnant finds him.
The hour of the wolf is when he hunts, stretching far and across the lands of Beqanna. <i>Hungry</i>! It calls within him. The beast that has never settled, the one that calls him to sow and reap the lands with chaos and destruction.
He moves swiftly against the land. Dark paws finding impacting precisely onto the dirt floor beneath him. The scent is thick in the air, something meaty and fresh. It moves quickly making the game all the more exciting.
<i>Hungry, hungry, hungry</i>.
It calls, it encourages, it demands.
The hound answers the call. Searching wildly with red-yellow glowing eyes across the wide opened land of frosted grass blades. He inhales the deep scent of the wintery crisp night. Moving forward, twisting and turning here and there. It follows without question, the call of the hunger, the call of the darkness.
But then there is something else.
Something that forms lost memories.
He stops in his pathway, quickly turning here and there within the heart of the meadow. The hunger is forgotten, distracted by the smell of something so far, but so familiar. Black body of thick fur twists and turns, glancing here and there. The smell increasingly becoming more and more closer.
It hits him then, piercing him in right shoulder where the scar of a claw had formed. It is shoulder where Carnage had marked him. The wound had healed then, but it pierces open, the diseased remnant pushes in to his shoulder, eating away his skin and muscle.
The hound screams out in agony, falling to the ground. He twists and turns, the parasite making its way into him. It spreads through him—quickly taking over every neuron within him.
<i>Fight it</i>. The hungry demands.
<i>Fight it, fight fight!</i> It begs, it cries out to him.
He can feel the hungry within him scream out. He screams out in agony as well. The hound chokes. There is no air within his lungs. He hyperventilates, choking on the very last bits of air it feels like. He chokes again, louder. He coughs uncontrollable now.
The battle between the hunger and the cancer. But the cancerous parasite is strong. The hunger is no match for the cancer that is within him.
He coughs again, but there is air. It is so small, but it is enough to breath. Slowing.
It pulls him. <i>Move!</i> He moves forward.
<i>That way</I>, it demands. He follows the path towards the water.
The hound knows this path. He knows where he is going—he is going home. Where hell had created and fathomed him into this world. Where he had come as an omen, a warning to the red devil father of his.
“Master,” he coos when meeting the dark god at the shores of Pangea. He falls to his knees and is kept silent, without question or doubt. The hound is not surprised to be called into the service of the dark god again. He will serve again—no matter the price.
He bites his lips when the second piece is pierced into his shoulder, accepting the task readily from the dark god.
<i> “Go then,”</i> his master says.
He bows and then moves from his kneeled position. The black hound dives into the water, swimming into the depths. <i>Find Pangea,</i> the voice demands.
The light slowly fades from the top of the water. He swims further into the depths of it. He finds it easy to breath. There is nothing within him that worries that he will drown and die. It is only the task at hand that consumes his thoughts.
One stroke. Two stroke. Three stroke.
It repeats. The endless cycle of swimming. It feels like he is swimming forever, into the black abyss of the night.
Eventually, his black paw touches the edges of the land. He breaks from the ocean, and stands on the edges of the shore.
<i>Pangea</i>. The voice says in satisfaction.
“Home,” he says before falling silent.
The hour of the wolf is when he hunts, stretching far and across the lands of Beqanna. <i>Hungry</i>! It calls within him. The beast that has never settled, the one that calls him to sow and reap the lands with chaos and destruction.
He moves swiftly against the land. Dark paws finding impacting precisely onto the dirt floor beneath him. The scent is thick in the air, something meaty and fresh. It moves quickly making the game all the more exciting.
<i>Hungry, hungry, hungry</i>.
It calls, it encourages, it demands.
The hound answers the call. Searching wildly with red-yellow glowing eyes across the wide opened land of frosted grass blades. He inhales the deep scent of the wintery crisp night. Moving forward, twisting and turning here and there. It follows without question, the call of the hunger, the call of the darkness.
But then there is something else.
Something that forms lost memories.
He stops in his pathway, quickly turning here and there within the heart of the meadow. The hunger is forgotten, distracted by the smell of something so far, but so familiar. Black body of thick fur twists and turns, glancing here and there. The smell increasingly becoming more and more closer.
It hits him then, piercing him in right shoulder where the scar of a claw had formed. It is shoulder where Carnage had marked him. The wound had healed then, but it pierces open, the diseased remnant pushes in to his shoulder, eating away his skin and muscle.
The hound screams out in agony, falling to the ground. He twists and turns, the parasite making its way into him. It spreads through him—quickly taking over every neuron within him.
<i>Fight it</i>. The hungry demands.
<i>Fight it, fight fight!</i> It begs, it cries out to him.
He can feel the hungry within him scream out. He screams out in agony as well. The hound chokes. There is no air within his lungs. He hyperventilates, choking on the very last bits of air it feels like. He chokes again, louder. He coughs uncontrollable now.
The battle between the hunger and the cancer. But the cancerous parasite is strong. The hunger is no match for the cancer that is within him.
He coughs again, but there is air. It is so small, but it is enough to breath. Slowing.
It pulls him. <i>Move!</i> He moves forward.
<i>That way</I>, it demands. He follows the path towards the water.
The hound knows this path. He knows where he is going—he is going home. Where hell had created and fathomed him into this world. Where he had come as an omen, a warning to the red devil father of his.
“Master,” he coos when meeting the dark god at the shores of Pangea. He falls to his knees and is kept silent, without question or doubt. The hound is not surprised to be called into the service of the dark god again. He will serve again—no matter the price.
He bites his lips when the second piece is pierced into his shoulder, accepting the task readily from the dark god.
<i> “Go then,”</i> his master says.
He bows and then moves from his kneeled position. The black hound dives into the water, swimming into the depths. <i>Find Pangea,</i> the voice demands.
The light slowly fades from the top of the water. He swims further into the depths of it. He finds it easy to breath. There is nothing within him that worries that he will drown and die. It is only the task at hand that consumes his thoughts.
One stroke. Two stroke. Three stroke.
It repeats. The endless cycle of swimming. It feels like he is swimming forever, into the black abyss of the night.
Eventually, his black paw touches the edges of the land. He breaks from the ocean, and stands on the edges of the shore.
<i>Pangea</i>. The voice says in satisfaction.
“Home,” he says before falling silent.
Profile | Detailed Bio | Character Reference
Most likely always in his hellhound form