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| The Blood on Your Hands; Guess! | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 30 2011, 06:40 PM (281 Views) | |
| Kestrel Sumner | Oct 30 2011, 06:40 PM Post #1 |
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And then she was gone, her hips swinging as the knives jostled her thighs, passing by guards with her head held high, a haughty smile upon her lips.
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The scent of warm blood was thick in the stifling summer heat, acrid and nauseating, especially when detected by the nose of a large feline predator. Slinking around the outskirts of the Erth'netora forest—if one could really call them the outskirts, as it were, because it seemed as if the forest simply did not end—in the form of a jaguar, Shadow had kept mostly to the thickest parts of the trees, in search of nothing in particular. When the scent hit her it hit hard and she paused, her tail's incessant flicking stopping suddenly as her ears flattened against her large furry head and a low growl emitted from her throat. Normally, the smell of blood didn't bother her, but it was the way that it hung in the air like a thick disgusting cloud that irritated her. And having taken the shape of a predatory feline and, consequently, inhabiting at least a part of that animalistic brain, Shadow felt the compulsion to investigate the oozing food source all too strongly. However, rather than investigate it as she was—regardless of what it was, she was liable to tear into it savagely and would leave as little as possible for the carrion birds—she returned to her human state. Drawing a dagger, she kept low and moved quickly through the underbrush, the blade held at the ready if it required that she engage in combat with someone. As the trees began to break she could see nothing of particular interest until she reached the very edge where they finally thinned out enough for there to be large patches of thick grass. Lying in the midst of this grass she found a body, half-devoured. It was hard to tell what gender the body was, the face completely shredded, along with much of its throat, its shoulders, and a fair chunk of its chest; one of its legs had also been gnawed to the bone. Holding an arm to her mouth as she felt her stomach churn, Shadow nearly vomited there as she tried to protect her sensitive nose from the overwhelming smell. The corpse hadn't been there long—maybe a couple of hours at most, though she would have guessed a shorter time period than that—and it looked as if something had actually tried to eat it. Wary now, it only took a few seconds for the distant sound of what she assumed to be that very same creature tearing into another defenseless human being to each her ears. And judging by where she was... Those human beings were probably the Ashokan refugees. Now entirely on her guard, Shadow stepped carefully around the bloody mess on the ground and proceeded to move as quietly as she could through the grass. The creature tearing into his newest victim wasn't far off and when she approached it along the line of the trees she prepared herself for the coming onslaught. It was hunched over a limp body—presumably a woman's, judging by the clothing—feeding noisily. Blood spattered the trees and the underbrush—another bloody mess. When it glanced up at her coming approach, momentarily drawn from its prey, the knife fell from Shadow's hand as she gasped sharply and suddenly felt paralyzed. That did not stop her voice, however. She recognized that face—knew it all too well. "Drium!?" |
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| Drium | Dec 4 2011, 01:03 AM Post #2 |
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There was no currently conscious thought processes going on within the normally fairly easy going demon's head. Driven by base instincts to torture, kill, consume, and destroy, his usual persona of present times had taken a back seat to the murderous one of the past. It was something he had worked hard to bury in his subconscious, though now it seemed that the mental wards he had put up to give himself a sense of stability and sanity had crumbled and released something that he would likely loathe to call part of himself. What exactly had triggered this episode would be hard to put a finger on. There was a myriad of causes and circumstances which cumulated into the event that made him snap. Perhaps one of the most significant however was simple genetic code. Regardless of the pleasantries, of the attempts at being nice, of the desire to get away from a previous lifestyle, at the end of the day, Drium was still a demon. While many of their kind had free will, to pick and choose their own destiny and do what they wanted without any real consequences, there were certain ones, like him and his bloodline where that was not entirely the case. Free will was a curious thing. Technically they; Drium, his twin, and the legions created by their father had it, but along with it came a strange intrinsic coercion that was simultaneously a part of them and also a part of their progenitor. While that trait in and of itself could be difficult to explain, the effects of it were not. Simply put, it led them towards the goals set forth by their creator; every decision, idea, and thought that one of them had, while technically their own, was also partially seeded by that coercion, which led to a very powerful and extremely difficult to fight assertion of control. Dimensional distance also played a large role in this and those that existed on the same plane as their creator could essentially become mindless puppets, without even realizing it, whenever said creator decided to do so. In Drium's particular case at the moment however, he was just running on autopilot, his sense of self temporarily thrown into disarray due to existence of Badimo in the current plane. If left completely to his own murderous devices, he would eventually tire and his killing spree would come to an end, and only then would he actually become aware of what he had done. However, this was not the case and while he voraciously fed on the flesh of another helpless victim, the stalking approaching of another drew his attention. His head shot up from his meal at the sound, nearly pupil-less eyes now focusing in on what he would define as a new meal ticket. The sight of the figure, while recognized on some distant level did nothing to deter him as he dislodged his blacked, extended claws from the corpse as he got ready to leap over it and plunge them into this new victim. But just when he was about to do so, the figure called his name; and perhaps it was the sound of the voice itself, coupled with the sound of his name that made him hesitate and freeze in place. Visually, his left eye twitched, and the soulless, predatory glint his irises held began to vanish. Instantly, everything rushed back to him; all the memories of where he had been and what he had done over the past week and a half flashed in his brain in less than a second. The scents, the sounds, the tastes, the textures, everything came in a super condensed rush that caused every little hair to stand on end. He gasped silently as if he had been holding his breath for some time as also the visual of who he was staring at right also registered. This proved to be the final nail in the coffin when it came to the inundation of his senses as finally his mind couldn't take any more and simply shut off. With a dull thud he fell back onto the ground, stiff as a board and wide eyed, staring at absolutely nothing. If he were to be examined, one would likely think him dead if not for the occasional muscular twitch every now and again. |
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| Kestrel Sumner | Dec 10 2011, 02:30 PM Post #3 |
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And then she was gone, her hips swinging as the knives jostled her thighs, passing by guards with her head held high, a haughty smile upon her lips.
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It was a quick, easy, practised motion to draw two knives. She didn't really think about it, her brain shielding itself from the trauma that might come to it if she actually had to hurt him, possibly had to kill him before he killed her. It was a funny thing, the organic mechanisms employed by the brain to face such situations that, for the weakest of her species, would afflict them with all kinds of mental disorders, all mechanisms that she knew nothing about. What Shadow did know, however, was that Drium had extracted his claws from the body at his feet and had turned to face her with, she guessed, every intention of mauling her and devouring her flesh in the same manner that he had done to the victim beneath him. But, before he made motions against her, her voice penetrated his skull. Drium fell to the ground, stiff. The knives were sheathed in a deft motion, the one still quivering in the ground, forgotten. There was a sense of panic as she slid to the ground beside him, her long fingers curling around his shoulders to shake him violently. His eyes were glassy and, if not for the twitch of muscles that she could both see and, at times, feel, she would have thought him dead. That, at least, soothed some of her worries, but it didn't completely eradicate them. His actions, she realized, were those tied to his heritage and, though unforgivable in the eyes of most, she could forgive, at the very least, though she might not ever forget. "Drium? Drium can you hear me?" What was she supposed to do? Somehow she doubted that shaking him would really make a difference, and if her voice had been able to paralyze him in the first place (but how much of that was due to her voice and how much of it was due to him suddenly "awakening" from himself wasn't determinable), she doubted that that would help, either. Worry turning to frustration, Shadow called upon power she didn't often use anymore—at least, not to the same extent that she once had, years ago—water swirling to her from a nearby source within seconds. Like tipping a bucket over on a sleeping man's head, Shadow stood and backed off a pace as the water, a misshapen sphere hanging in the air, suddenly dropped, catching him completely in the face. The water was frigid, made colder by her affinity to it, on the brink of freezing into ice. Short from perhaps stabbing him or giving him smelling salts, something that she didn't ever carry on her person, the shapeshifter didn't know what to do. And she doubted that fairytales about kissing a sleeping man or woman would help, either. The bloody carcass that had once been a refugee lay all but forgotten. |
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