12-21-2017, 05:30 PM
As Sylva becomes overrun with the do-gooders of Beqanna (those who feel love, those who wish for peace, those who seek comfort), he takes his leave. At first he travels to the more social corners of their world, keen on finding out if there are anymore chaos-followers like himself. However, the Meadow and its associating planes of wanderers hold no information about dangerous leaders and so the trickster seeks the quieter, cobwebby crevices of Beqanna.
He will form chaos out of their peace eventually (he always does) but for now he is content to explore.
Long, sauntering legs bring him to Taiga. There is a thick carpet of fallen pine needles underfoot and the monstrous trunks stretch so high the trickster must crane his neck back. The roiling gray of fog moves through the redwood forest (it reminds him of the Valley, and a fleeting thought of comfort dwells in his chest) and cloaks him well from those who might also be weaving through the undergrowth.
He likes it here.
An unlucky badger crosses paths with the trickster (snuffing along among the fog and pine needle, most likely looking for a day’s worth of a meal). His tricks immediately sprout from where they’ve been hiding (for too long, as the box creaks when it’s opened) and his metaphorical fingers wisp their way into the badger’s mind. For a moment, all is quite.
Suddenly, the badger is screaming. It echoes through the silent forest, startling a few nearby deer (the sound is harsh and petrifying, a noise made purely out of an attempt to release the intense agony that grips the creature) and the trickster’s mouth slowly creeps into a mischievous smile. The badger is writhing, although there is nothing to hurt nor touch it. His bony fingers tighten around the animal, only further increasing the agonized screech that rattles out of its gaping mouth.
With a slight jerk of his head, the trickster silences the badger (there is the release of his tricks from its mind, the torment ending as suddenly as it began). Before the woodland creature can race away, one foot is placed firmly on its tail. There is real pain now, but the sound that comes from the badger is less agonized. The trickster leans down, his teeth nibbling along the badger’s neck in a show of dominance (of control over life and death and over chaos), delighting in the way the creature lets out small squeals of terror.
His nose trails away from the badger’s neck only to flip it over (the tail crunches in the process, bones breaking from the tension — there is another pained screech) to reveal the creature’s soft underbelly. The trickster knows his teeth are dull, cursed to a life of ripping at blades of grass instead of flesh and blood vessels. So he uses his other foreleg to slice down the middle of the badger’s belly, delighting the way the blood pools and then squirts from the opening.
His nose dives into the warmth of the creature (as its life wanes away slowly, but then all at once) to chew on the innards and delight in the bath of red that follows. He will regret gnawing on the liver and the heart, but his tricks will lessen the pain of the meat sitting in his herbivorous belly. For now, he enjoys himself.
He will form chaos out of their peace eventually (he always does) but for now he is content to explore.
Long, sauntering legs bring him to Taiga. There is a thick carpet of fallen pine needles underfoot and the monstrous trunks stretch so high the trickster must crane his neck back. The roiling gray of fog moves through the redwood forest (it reminds him of the Valley, and a fleeting thought of comfort dwells in his chest) and cloaks him well from those who might also be weaving through the undergrowth.
He likes it here.
An unlucky badger crosses paths with the trickster (snuffing along among the fog and pine needle, most likely looking for a day’s worth of a meal). His tricks immediately sprout from where they’ve been hiding (for too long, as the box creaks when it’s opened) and his metaphorical fingers wisp their way into the badger’s mind. For a moment, all is quite.
Suddenly, the badger is screaming. It echoes through the silent forest, startling a few nearby deer (the sound is harsh and petrifying, a noise made purely out of an attempt to release the intense agony that grips the creature) and the trickster’s mouth slowly creeps into a mischievous smile. The badger is writhing, although there is nothing to hurt nor touch it. His bony fingers tighten around the animal, only further increasing the agonized screech that rattles out of its gaping mouth.
With a slight jerk of his head, the trickster silences the badger (there is the release of his tricks from its mind, the torment ending as suddenly as it began). Before the woodland creature can race away, one foot is placed firmly on its tail. There is real pain now, but the sound that comes from the badger is less agonized. The trickster leans down, his teeth nibbling along the badger’s neck in a show of dominance (of control over life and death and over chaos), delighting in the way the creature lets out small squeals of terror.
His nose trails away from the badger’s neck only to flip it over (the tail crunches in the process, bones breaking from the tension — there is another pained screech) to reveal the creature’s soft underbelly. The trickster knows his teeth are dull, cursed to a life of ripping at blades of grass instead of flesh and blood vessels. So he uses his other foreleg to slice down the middle of the badger’s belly, delighting the way the blood pools and then squirts from the opening.
His nose dives into the warmth of the creature (as its life wanes away slowly, but then all at once) to chew on the innards and delight in the bath of red that follows. He will regret gnawing on the liver and the heart, but his tricks will lessen the pain of the meat sitting in his herbivorous belly. For now, he enjoys himself.
LOKII
@[Deimos]
