08-14-2020, 03:17 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .dacian_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/Hx1B3VBk/dacianbg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 1px #101010; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .dacian_container p { margin: 0; } .dacian_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .dacian_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 560px; margin-top: -300px; background: #707070e6; border: solid 1px #3a3a3a; border-bottom: none; } .dacian_quote { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center; color: #101010; padding: 20px; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 1.5em; border-bottom: solid 1px #3a3a3a; width: 80%; } .dacian_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #101010; padding: 30px; } .dacian_quotetwo { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center; color: #101010; padding: 40px 20px 20px; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 1.5em; border-top: solid 1px #3a3a3a; width: 80%; } .dacian_name { font: 70px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; color: #484848; line-height: 0.2em; padding-top: 20px; padding-left: 20px; letter-spacing: 25px; opacity: 0.5; -webkit-text-stroke: 2px #3a3a3a; } </style> <center> <div class="dacian_container"> <img class="dacian_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/FsTCmFsT/dacian.png"> <div class="dacian_text"> <p class="dacian_quote">you have forsaken all the love you've taken <br>sleeping on a razor there's nowhere left to fall</p> <p class="dacian_message">Others fall, one by one appearing in the dim underworld, and he again does not cast them a glance. His jaw is set like stone, the watered-down anger surging in his veins. He regrets responding to the call even if he won’t admit it. He debates trying to find a different way out; to go the opposite direction of this dead army, let them run this fool’s errand on their own.
He has nothing to prove, least of all to a man who does not care whether he lives or dies or exists at all.
But most of him is too proud to take the easy way out. Too proud to admit he is afraid, too proud to admit he would rather be alive than to be trapped here again.
He listens, like some whipped dog, and he disappears in the direction he is pointed to.
He follows the shoreline, listening to the waves as they roll across the darkened sands. It even sounds different (dull, a whisper), and it’s why he had always hated it here. He has heard that for some, the afterlife could be a kind of paradise, but that wasn’t his experience. It was more like a mockery of everything he had when he was alive; a sun that shed no light, a night sky that never held stars.
He focuses his attention on the buzzing, though, until the sound lulls him into an almost trance – until every other sound fades away. He drifts from where the water meets the sands, moving further inland, further into the fog.
He isn’t sure when his reality begins to shift. Trees erupt from the sands as if they had always been there, tall and dense. Through the haze in his mind, he thinks there was supposed to be a beach, and he turns to search for the shore he is sure he had just left and finds nothing but the infinite dark of trees and shadows.
The mist itself begins to spin into threads, thickening from fog until the entire forest is laced in the sticky strands of spider’s web.
He presses onward, and the further he goes, the thicker the web becomes; a suffocating curtain of wispy silk that clings to his face, covers his eyes and threatens to crawl down his throat. There is nowhere to go, but through it, the trees themselves growing so close together that it does not afford him the room to move between them.
The spiders themselves come soon enough, eager to see what kind of prey they have caught - and seemingly delighted at the size of him. They come, too many to count, abnormally large as they crawl up his legs and across his back, attempting to weave him into a trap. He thrashes, breaking the web apart with his legs and breathing fire into what is in front of him. He watches them wither and burn, sees the fire catch the delicate filaments of the web and race across them until the flames leap to the branches of the trees.
He runs and he burns, he runs and he ignores the panic that squeezes his chest when his fire begins to weaken and fade the further he goes. He ignores the pull of branches at his mane and his skin, he outruns the feel of spiders and webs tangled at his legs.
He runs until the forest spits him out at the cliff’s edge, scrambling to keep his hind legs beneath him as he slides to a stop, sending a shower of rocks over the ledge. Sweat flecks his dark brown skin as he dares to peer over before he takes several steps back. The buzzing is relentless now, and he flattens his ears against it, a frustrated growl rumbling in his chest.
He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the forest that he had just escaped, and a chill races up the ridge of his spine when he sees only sand and fog.</p> <p class="dacian_name">Dacian</p> <p class="dacian_quotetwo">your body's aching, every bone is breaking <br>nothing seems to shake it, it just keeps holding on</p> </div> </div> </center>
He has nothing to prove, least of all to a man who does not care whether he lives or dies or exists at all.
But most of him is too proud to take the easy way out. Too proud to admit he is afraid, too proud to admit he would rather be alive than to be trapped here again.
He listens, like some whipped dog, and he disappears in the direction he is pointed to.
He follows the shoreline, listening to the waves as they roll across the darkened sands. It even sounds different (dull, a whisper), and it’s why he had always hated it here. He has heard that for some, the afterlife could be a kind of paradise, but that wasn’t his experience. It was more like a mockery of everything he had when he was alive; a sun that shed no light, a night sky that never held stars.
He focuses his attention on the buzzing, though, until the sound lulls him into an almost trance – until every other sound fades away. He drifts from where the water meets the sands, moving further inland, further into the fog.
He isn’t sure when his reality begins to shift. Trees erupt from the sands as if they had always been there, tall and dense. Through the haze in his mind, he thinks there was supposed to be a beach, and he turns to search for the shore he is sure he had just left and finds nothing but the infinite dark of trees and shadows.
The mist itself begins to spin into threads, thickening from fog until the entire forest is laced in the sticky strands of spider’s web.
He presses onward, and the further he goes, the thicker the web becomes; a suffocating curtain of wispy silk that clings to his face, covers his eyes and threatens to crawl down his throat. There is nowhere to go, but through it, the trees themselves growing so close together that it does not afford him the room to move between them.
The spiders themselves come soon enough, eager to see what kind of prey they have caught - and seemingly delighted at the size of him. They come, too many to count, abnormally large as they crawl up his legs and across his back, attempting to weave him into a trap. He thrashes, breaking the web apart with his legs and breathing fire into what is in front of him. He watches them wither and burn, sees the fire catch the delicate filaments of the web and race across them until the flames leap to the branches of the trees.
He runs and he burns, he runs and he ignores the panic that squeezes his chest when his fire begins to weaken and fade the further he goes. He ignores the pull of branches at his mane and his skin, he outruns the feel of spiders and webs tangled at his legs.
He runs until the forest spits him out at the cliff’s edge, scrambling to keep his hind legs beneath him as he slides to a stop, sending a shower of rocks over the ledge. Sweat flecks his dark brown skin as he dares to peer over before he takes several steps back. The buzzing is relentless now, and he flattens his ears against it, a frustrated growl rumbling in his chest.
He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the forest that he had just escaped, and a chill races up the ridge of his spine when he sees only sand and fog.</p> <p class="dacian_name">Dacian</p> <p class="dacian_quotetwo">your body's aching, every bone is breaking <br>nothing seems to shake it, it just keeps holding on</p> </div> </div> </center>