We are an advanced feline and canine rp site that takes place in the lost jungles of Vikos. The life forces of the canines and felines living here are tied to their soul stones. With their soul stone, they are able to grow in power and strength. Without it, they will weaken and die. Many abilities and powers can be acquired from the soul stones. How powerful you get, is up to you though.
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Post by The Nameless on Jul 24, 2015 20:31:13 GMT -5
The world was chaos -- full of splashing, clashing sounds, heart rates, harsh breaths. It was a world of ruptured wounds, and the taste of rotten blood on the tongue. What had he done? He was walking, quickly, his muscles bunching tight around his bones, laced lethality, a dreadful tension radiating from his body like something toxic and terrible. He was a plague, marching onward -- for that was what he was doing. He was marching, the singular trudge of the restless looking for the glimpse of peace it had once seen, no matter how brief. The world was erupting, and all he could see was red. Taste it, feel it, know it as something that had gone wrong, so very very wrong. {Feel it?}
He could sense the sneer in the words, hear the reverberations of her sardonic cruelty lashing his back with acerbic accuracy. She was a demon, and she had returned the moment he had found himself alone. She had spoken, and spoken, and spoken, never ceasing, never kind, but an ongoing litany in his mind no matter who spoke to him, who looked at him, walked passed him. His eye had remained focused, though she spoke of all the things she had done to him with the sexualized tone of one who found pain stimulating to the senses. He did not. He felt nothing at all. The Nameless, the Tormented, the Forgotten one -- he did not need to feel pain to know when it cut into his flesh. He knew it with the intimacy of the damned, and it was the damned which had led him to this moment. This terrible, aching, subliminal moment of epic proportions. What had he been doing? He did not remember -- something had gone wrong. He knew that, remembered that bright patch of sudden realization too late before the latch in his mind shut everything down again.
The Nameless trudged through the streets, his tail lashing violently, his shoulder shaking with the withheld tension vibrating through his entire body. No one came close. No one. The high class houses soon fell away, and shaking, trembling with the need to lash out, to vent out this confusing feeling of adrenaline bursting through his veins, he kept on going. He marched, though his fur was wet with blood, though his maw was red, and he bled from one or two surface scratches. Though he looked shocked, and dangerous because of it, he remained on his path. His eye slid sideways -- but what was he looking for? The string was pulling him forward, that evil string of fate. It was pulling him brilliantly toward the destination that would end this suffering, that collar of obedience that tightened around his neck the longer the darkness remained in his memory. He knew the taste of blood. He knew that he had messed up, killed the wrong cat. What had happened? Why this state?
Tail lashed, a vicious clash of fur and muscle cracking against the ground like lightning. He snarled when someone came too close, his face erupting in aggression, muzzle pulling back to expose the long fangs, blood-stained. His breath was noxious of another's life. The other fled. He continued.
{Are you lost, little kitten?} she asked, her cackle in tune with the waves crashing around his skull. A glimpse of something, anything, would make the world a little more stable. Instead he walked between the crags of his own sanity, so close to losing it all. Blood in his mouth, on his paws, his claws still extended, unable to retract. Had he finally descended? {Oh, no, not so fast, little one}
Not so fast, but at the same time not fast enough. Darkness obscured everything, a black void that opened up further, ripping at the edges of his soul so that it would invert and devour itself. A fitting end, for this one, this crazed little cat that ate up his steps with ever mounting fervor. He remembered the taste of blood, and a sudden memory of cold blue eyes. Had he done it? Had he accidentally killed him without the Goddess around? No. No. Not so simple, this. He had done something though. He squeezed his eye shut, feeling the ground beginning to shake, as nausea pulled at him. {Did you eat this one too?}
No. No. He would have remembered that. He would have remembered the feeling of a full belly, instead of this aching pit that churned as restlessly as his feet. A guard appeared before him, stopping his motion; his tail slashed through the air. No. No. He had to move, had to go --- go where? It didn't matter. His feet knew, even if his mind was too scattered to piece it all together. It was talking. Male, female, it didn't matter. The words didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He just needed to go, and go now. The Guard moved forward, too close, too close. The nameless one lashed out, his claws raking across the guard's face even as the guard recoiled. It snarled, this equally nameless creature, big stripes, and big mouth, but nothing could stop him now -- it attacked him, and he felt claws deep in his shoulders, but what was pain? Nothing...Nothing... He let the claws sink deep into his shoulders, felt the weight begin to crash him down before he sunk his sharp fangs into the softness of the guard's neck. Claws scraped at his shoulders, at his chest, bleeding him raw, but his jaws had locked, and the nameless snow leopard would not let go. He would not let go, caught in the viral spinning of this catastrophe.
It all opened up -- like a curtain drawn once the similarity struck his mind. Yes, yes -- he remembered the ring, the practice. He remembered sitting there so quietly, so good, like a good boy, not killing anyone, not talking to anyone. But they had picked him, taunted him, used his silence and his one eye as a way to make them feel better. He remembered, with the taste of the guard's flesh in his mouth, his jaws locked deep in the kill, though his mind was cast further out, out, out. He remembered being summoned to the center, and that haughty jaguar, with eyes so similar, but not quite the same. He remembered the laughter, and the taunts, and the beguiling, ribbing jokes. He would make the quiet snow leopard talk; show him what it was like to be a real soldier. Yeah, yeah; memory tasted almost as sweet as the blood. He had forgotten he wasn't supposed to kill. But he had not stopped, and in not stopping had forced another to come in and protect the General. The one who had stepped in had died, his belly opened from chest to groin, ear torn off, one eye popped from a caught claw as teeth marks trailed like kisses along the jaw and upper neck as if seeking the right spot and not finding it. Oh he remembered, and remembered the look in the eyes of the General, a look of consideration and cold, rational, disinterest. His guard had died in his place -- he remembered it, and felt it like a living creature inside of his skin while the haunted memory of his mother nearly howled her raucous laughter. {Stupid, stupid boy!}
The guard grew heavy -- sounds began to pour back, horrified screams, calls for help, help, help! The nameless one bolted, still for too long, hungry, ravenous for flesh, for anything at all to fill his aching, empty, roiling stomach. But even a little bite would delay him, and he remembered the steps he was supposed to be following. He fled from the middle class, and stormed through the poor housing like a red and black plague, his mouth set in a snarl, unable to to uncurl. His jaws were locked, as if he had finally broken and was set in that snarling violent aggression.
He finally caught the scent he needed, wanted, desired -- the one that had called to him the moment he knew he had over stepped. The one that had curled around his neck and tugged him like a dutiful leash, showing him the path he was almost too stupid to know. He had never even asked her name -- only knew her by scent, by the feeling of her vibrating aura beside him. He needed nothing else -- but to find someone on that alone was a dispiriting thing. And yet.
Yes, yes, and yet. Here he was, crawling through the slums, so completely in tune with the chaos that raged around him that none bothered him. None bothered him as he followed the trail through stores, through houses, through back alleys and finally, finally, to the place where it seemed to curl like a giant X. Had he found her? His mind was trembling with all the possibilities, his memory conjuring up her image, and everything that it could about her. Would he recognize her in a group of people? He smelled the humidity, smelled the cats that lounged, or soaked deep in the pools. The beauty of it did not phase him; like a brute he nearly trudged through people until his eyes fixated on her form, and a little voice inside of his head said, would you recognize her?
Bleeding, dripping someone else's blood on the floor, he was a vicious looking thing on the edges of the pool, an epitome of darkness, death, and a strange asphyxiated need that drove him a step into the water, his eye locked on his target. Yes --yes, and though he was standing so outrageously threatening, inside, he was beginning to feel the slushing of everything swirling down into the void, slowly, inevitably, swallowing it all up. He needed to see her eyes and demand she make it all go away -- but he could not call out to her, he did not have a name.
Just please, make it all go away.
word count || 1682
tags || Nayva
OOC || Intro's long 'cause ...well background info needed!
Last Edit: Jul 24, 2015 20:32:39 GMT -5 by The Nameless
Post by Nayva Aeron on Jul 24, 2015 23:22:00 GMT -5
Nayva had entrusted a stranger with such a delicate task that she was wondering if it had been a good idea or not. Would this nameless creature be able to succeed with such a delicate situation? She had her doubts once he left her side and she hoped and prayed that he didn't slip and give up everything Nayva had been working towards since she was a young cub.
The Katharos Pools. That was where she was suppose to meet him that night to see what he had learned about her father. She snarled in disgust at the thought of him. She didn't understand how she could be related to such a fowl creature and yet, wasn't she fowl herself? She was nothing special, nothing holy or wonderful to rejoice. Maybe she shouldn't blame him for wanting to kill her so much. After all, the dark stone hanging around her neck was enough evidence to prove that she wasn't worth much to anyone. Even just walking down the street she would get stared.
She'd arrived at the pools not too much after the sun had begun to set. Luckily there were very few cats there and they lounged in and near the pools furthest from her corner. She found a spot that had a rocky wall near it and it hid her from view of the other small group of cats. She didn't know when Mustaire was going to show up but she sure as hell didn't want the other cats to wonder about her. She drew enough attention as it was with her ebony soul stone and black pelt.
Climbing up onto the crumbling wall, she found a little outcrop where she could lay and see most of the pools from her position. From there she waited for him to appear. It seemed far too long and she could feel herself getting antsy but finally she caught sight of the male coming towards her corner of the pools. Her icy blue eyes looked him over in the light of the moon and the stars that glittered off the water making it easy enough to see and smell the scent of blood on him.
Oh no, what had he done. Dread immediately began to build up inside her stomach and she rose to her paws before leaping down to the ground below. The other cats who had been lingering at the pool seemed to scent trouble because they eventually rose to their paws and left, not wanting to get involved.
He had stepped into the water just before she reached him and she came to stand on the edge of the pool beside him, her eyes glowing in the light as was the faint blue coloring that etched out the pattern of her jaguar markings underneath her ebony fur. "What happened? What did you do, wash off and then explain." She said simply, her tone not angry but collected as she waited to hear the story, praying that he hadn't alerted the general to their plots to kill him or worse, killed him when she wasn't there.
Post by The Nameless on Jul 28, 2015 19:25:39 GMT -5
He was losing it: losing it all to the blurring reality slurring in front of him. Was it the hunger that gnawed at his gut all day and all night? Or had he not slept in how many days? How could he with the growling of the void snarling it's rage in his head? Or worse, the nagging of a voice he had silenced twice in his lifetime; one temporarily, and the second time he had eaten it to stifle it's moans. Its cries -- it still haunted him, but in a way that differed from the guilty. Oh, the nameless did not know guilt -- he knew regret, for it was the action that had sealed that voice inside of his bones. It was the gnawing of her flesh, the ingestion of her very body that had silenced her voice forever in the world of the living, and bound it in his very soul. He would never escape her. No amount of sleeplessness, no amount of blood. Nothing. Ever. So the nameless, confused, had run to the ground, had nearly destroyed everything with his singular ability to react without thinking. He had killed,and killed well -- but it was the wrong target, the wrong face, the wrong stench that had spilled up onto the ground like vomited bits of intestines.
The nameless had run, and run hard, to the only voice he knew who would stop his descent, pin him with her cruel eyes, her cruel words, and make him stand again. It had always been cruelty which had righted his path, always the touch of tooth and claw that had encircled his wrists and dragged him up from the death of his own mentality.
So it was now; covered in filth, and blood, and dead things, stinking of all the evil things he had been doing, that he sought her, found her, pinned her with his deadly eye. There was no heat there, only the sinking depravation of blood. She had asked him to kill, and he was killing, and the killing was slowly taking all rationality away. Would she be his whip? Would she right this wrong? Make it all go away? He needed the silence, needed the quiet lash of her anger crackling against his flesh to hurt him more powerfully than the things that had tried to live with his mouth around their throat. Hah. Hahhhh, was he trying to pit himself against her in hopes of dying? Did he even have a concept of his dying?
She had found him -- he had found her; the slow slushing, flushing of all the emotions were spinning away, leaving the expanse of his control and dripped down into the nothingness, much like the blood on his fur, on his skin, invading his own wounds. Would they infect? Was he capable of festering? How much old flesh had he consumed in the past year? He did not think of it twice.
Her scent was unique, her body was writhing with the restraint of anger, the control he needed, ached for, wanted. Hurt me, he wanted to say. Make it all go away.
{I will never leave, kitten.}
In the face of the approaching darkness, that voice was nothing. Her eyes blazed, though her fur remained pitch; she was approaching, coming closer, closer, his eye tracked her with an strange sort of eagerness. Yes, yes. Come close, come close -- see what the filthy pet had done. This very bad kitten. He had killed, but killed wrong. Killed by accident. Would she punish him? Or was her pride too heavy to ever submit to such a thing? The eagerness was growing, fueling the aching hunger in his stomach. The nameless, the terrible creature wanted to feed, but not the feeding of a hunt, of prey and predator -- no, no. He wanted to eat that which he should not be eating. To devour, like he devoured everything, with the stainless, painless need that slithered through his veins and intoxicated the broken synapses in his brain. They were misfiring, even as he imagined, briefly, the feeling of hot fluid scalding in his mouth, of fur so similar to his own ripped and flying. Visions skewed -- was he eating the Goddess? Was it her flesh he was imagining? Yes. Yes. The need was growing. {Eat her, then, filth}
And he wanted to.
Her flesh looked delectable as it rippled with muscle, coiled so poignantly around well balanced bones. The marrow would tingle in his mouth. The pet was losing it's chain. What happened? What did you do, wash off and then explain. Her words cracked like a whip, seeming to singe his very fur; her aura crackled. He needed, wanted. His eye was burning, burning brighter than it ever burned before, power washing through him as surely as it flowed through her own veins. The jewel in his eye gleamed as if soaking in her power and hoarding it for itself--- or maybe, just maybe, it was glowing of it's own accord, growing it strength the longer he remained bathed in darkness.
His shadow was stretched long between them, flickering in the little rippling waves as his muscles bunched and writhed, mind working through it all, trying to figure out one need from the next even as everything retarded beyond his control. It was all instinct, all fluid motion as the flickering slithered through his very bones, much like oil, giving him the illusion of further grace -- ruined by the sheer hunger that raged along his muzzle, wrinkling his nose, whiskers trembling with tension. He slushed forward, toward her, always toward, like a dead rock caught in the gravitational pull of the sun. His revolution was an evolution: the longer he remained, the more he changed, altered, and was slowly chiseled into something completely different than what the former creature had been -- but always nameless. Always a thing with temporary use, to be thrown away. Or maybe, something even more dangerous.
The water sluiced through his fur, turning pink, then red and black, discolored and foul. He did not clean himself -- his meticulousness was a rare thing. "Didn't mean to." He muttered, his eye slipping from her eyes, to her throat, and back again. He was unable to contain it all: it was a fire that had not been put out. He had run, the chain she had lashed to his throat pulling him away before his instinctive nature had rolled out. "Change of plans; killed the captain." He paused. Tail sliding through the water like a snake, his eye hungry, needy, filthy with a heated look that was so completely at odds with his usual dead-pan two-dimensional boring self. Something was alive in him, possessing him, ruining him. The stone flickered again, bright and strong as his ears flicked back. "And something else, someone." A strange memory of a tiger in his mouth, running down his throat. "I think."
His tail lashed, splashing water as his head turned away from her, latching onto a movement that was trying to get away from them. His eye was fixated; his attention was dissociating from the Goddess he had run to. Movement, weakness. Hunger. Hunger. Hunger. His maw rippled, fangs unsheathing as he stalked forward a step or two, eye on the little creature trying to quietly get out of the water before a fight broke out, not realizing it's death was staring at it's back with one eye.
word count || 1264
tags || Nayva
OOC || dun dun dun, I love evolutions. I'm also hungry.
Post by Nayva Aeron on Jul 28, 2015 23:30:48 GMT -5
She could do nothing but watch him as he came towards her in the moonlight. The closer he got, the stronger the smell of blood became. Fresh blood and older blood mixed together. She licked her lips a bit at the thought of her father's death. Had he killed her father even though she hadn't been there? She couldn't say she would be too irritated about it though she had planned this out for years and his death had originally included her being there to tell him what a low life scum he was to kill her mother and then try and have her killed simply because he wasn't feeling up to the responsibility of a cub.
Didn't mean to. His words left her guessing her original guess, her father was dead and she had missed it. But at least he was dead, that was the good part. She didn't speak yet, her icy blue eyes never leaving him as he entered the water but didn't clean himself off. He instead stood there and soaked in the water though now that their company was retreating back to the comfort of the city, she didn't much care if he cleaned himself off or not. Change of plans; killed the captain. His next words brought light to the situation and she froze for a moment, her mind reeling as she tried to wrap her head around this new piece of information.
So he had killed the captain accidentally? Had the general seen? Would he know he was suppose to be the target? Would he suspect their next attack? Questions flew through her head and she pulled her attention back to him just as quickly, wanting to know exactly what this could mean for her plan. "Did the general see this happen?" She questioned, already able to tell that his mind was running wild as well and that fact alone caused her to keep her questions simple and straight forward so she'd get a straight forward answer. Her voice was tight as she spoke and there was a hint of a hiss to it but from what she knew so far he hadn't completely ruined things.
And something else, someone. I think. His next statement made her brows furrow as she tried to figure out who else he could have killed. "Anyone of importance?" She asked of his second victim, voice still tight as she came closer to the water. She could see the fire glowing in Mustaire's one eye and she clenched her jaw as she saw that the other cats who were retreating had drawn his attention. Growling a bit in the back of her throat, Nayva stretched out a paw and smacked him in the back of the head to get his attention. "Pay attention, I must know if the general suspects something now!" She hissed, her voice low so the retreating cats wouldn't hear what she was saying. Her eyes were ablaze as she watched him carefully, ready to pounce if he decided to continue his killing spree on these other innocent felines. Her tail lashed a bit, waiting for his reply.
Post by The Nameless on Jul 29, 2015 6:27:00 GMT -5
Motion -- it was blurring, the worlds, clashing into something dark and vicious and delicious. Would he be able to stop it? Would he even want to? It was an impossible problem to solve. There was nothing inside of him that held restraint; but suddenly, so suddenly, this surge of motivation to continue the rampage he had accidentally started. Didn't she understand? Her eyes were cruel and angry, a glowing ring of doubt that cast it's colors on his skin -- or was that his own skin starting to glow? He didn't know. His ears were flat against his skull. He didn't know. Didn't know. Was he finally losing it? Was the darkness finally eating away at the rest of him? It was almost a relief to have it happen, to finally just give in to the sweet whispers of the dark and let that current carry him however far it wanted. He doubted he would ever emerge again.
Then the nameless would fade away from the world, and leave it's mark in the shadowy stretches of alleys, stinking of the old dead. He would fade and become nothing but an angry, howling torrent tearing the streets apart in mindless frenzy. The thought struck him like a tidal wave, washing everything else away. His focus was gone, gone -- there was only the drive, the mindless, nameless drive to keep moving. The same one that had driven him here, here -- why was he here? His ears twitched, his muzzle rippling, teeth aching. He had to eat. Had to do something.
The Goddess was trying to talk to him, was trying to restrain him in her soft, quiet way -- the way she did before she released the lash. So powerful, so terrible, but sometimes, sometimes...yes, there were times when he felt she was soft. When he felt she was this thing that needed to see his darkness, to feel the variations in their pitch. Her tune was sad, and broken, and though he reveled in the feeling of her aura crackling in his flesh, he did not understand her most times. Like now -- now, her eyes so quietly angry. So listlessly angry. As if relief were flooding through her. Was that a spark of cowardice? Was her strength fading as his grew? His manic thoughts were spinning off the tracks.
Or maybe the chains the General had lashed around her neck were thicker than the ones the nameless carried in his bones. He chuckled, a snarky little sound so at odds with his usual countenance; his eye flickered, a power that came and snuffed out, aching to grow, aching to become something else than what it was. He was staring at the little straggling creature: the lean of her back was weak, the dread that trembled in her ears, her twitching tail giving him an ache in his loins he had never felt before. Thrilled, emboldened he did not hear the Goddess' words. Did the general see this happen? -- it was an echo he flicked away. Anyone of importance? Another echo, hitting him uselessly against his shoulders as he bunched, lowered himself in the water, tail curled tight to his side, ready to flick high for the jump. He was burning, burning, a pyre of possessive feelings he had never known and will never know again. Did he even dare to extinguish it all for the sake of her rambling? He had sought out her strength, and had only found distant distaste. Whack -- her paw, so real, so sure against his head where he was ready to cut everything off. Pay attention, I must know if the general suspects something now! His tail lashed as she smacked him, long and thick, ramming into her face as his nose hit water, his voice snarling out, "I DON'T KNOW." Water sputtered from his mouth.
Everything trembled --not from fear but from unadulterated excitement. From the tips of his ears, the ruffles in his shoulders, the line of his back spiked up with the thrilling need that pulsed like a second heartbeat on his tongue. His soul stone flickered a different color for a heartbeat, as black stained in his coat in a tidal of ink: there and gone again. His eye was fierce where it latched onto her; his words cut off at the ends, clip and short. "I was supposed to play-fight the general. I forgot." He started trudging toward her, closer and closer, rippled tension, "Captain died instead." He spat to the side, nasty sewage water in his mouth from his plummet into the abyss. "Not because of you. Just because." He snorted, ears flattening again, that weird fevered look in his eye, "They always fight me, they always die." He chuckled, "Maybe they forget they're not supposed to die?" Manic amusement tittered in his deep voice, thinking that maybe, just maybe, they forgot what they were supposed to do, too.
She wouldn't understand, their realities were so different. He didn't have the capacity to articulate what he needed to say to her.
Post by Nayva Aeron on Jul 29, 2015 23:24:39 GMT -5
Nayva could care less if he had killed someone innocent, that was none of her concern. She wasn't here simply to hold him back and keep him from wreaking havoc in Naxorus. No, he wasn't her responsibility but more of her partner in crime. He was unstable though, that she could see and while she hadn't seen it quite to the extent that she was seeing it now, she still realized she was dealing with a creature she probably couldn't control. She could kill him, sure, but that would only put her back to square one. Making her have to find her own way to get to the general and kill him herself.
His eye was't on her and his attention was scattered. Instead he was focused on the feline across the pool that was wading out of the water and stepping onto the stone of dry land. Her own icy blue eyes glanced that way before coming back to him again, seeing the hunger that was in his eyes. She sighed a bit and forced some of her frustration aside for a moment. He needed to get something out of his system, off of his chest before she would be able to learn much information from him.
"You want to kill again, go ahead." She insisted, gesturing towards the prey he was eyeing. Eventually her patience wore thin though and she wanted something, some form of an answer as to where they stood now. I don't know! He wasn't happy about being pulled back to reality but she didn't care, she snapped at his tail as it came towards her face before listening to his snipped sentences that told the story of his evening adventures.
I was supposed to play-fight the general. I forgot. Captain died instead. Not because of you. Just because. They always fight me, they always die. Maybe they forget they're not supposed to die? She listened to him speak, intrigued by his words and her eyes watching his face, his body language as he spoke. He seemed to be almost mad in a way, his crazy motions and words make her wonder just how mentally sound he really was.
From his words it sounded like the general still wasn't onto her. That was good, she was satisfied enough with his answers that she backed up a step, glancing across the pool at the retreating cats. "Silly fools." She commented when he spoke of them forgetting to not die. Her anger had faded now and she was happy with the way things had gone in fact. "You've done well." She added, giving a reassuring nod towards the snow leopard. Now the general may be a bit curious and worried about his own well being. He wouldn't know that she was the one responsible for the failed attack but maybe he would become mad with paranoia. That brought a devilish smirk to her face.
Post by The Nameless on Aug 7, 2015 10:05:54 GMT -5
There was something terrible inside of him, inside of all of them - a parasite that writhed in their veins and tortured them for pleasure; had he become a puppet? A empty shell filled with all this darkness, nothing but a face to do as they willed? Did he care? Was he even aware enough to know the difference between his own will and another's? He heard an echo of that purring, terrible laughter in his head, echoing between one emptiness and another, ready to be devoured, ready to be destroyed. He was a bomb, and he was ticking, ticking, ticking away with the ignorant bliss of one unaware he was about to blow.
Had she shaped him for this moment? Had she known, when she had spawned this nearly lifeless creature onto the ground that with careful actions and tender cruelty, this moment would come, and everything, everything he had ever known about himself would unravel? What had caused it? What had started this madness? Had it always been there beneath all the quiet, beneath the unnerving still waters of his expression? Perhaps she had planted her own madness inside of him. Or perhaps, in his own way, he had always been mad. Emotions were petty things indeed, and though he did not have a handle of what he was feeling, it was his thoughts, and his actions that had taken on another life, another facet of his dark, scarred face.
To kill, or not to kill -- he had never hesitated before. It had never mattered before.
Now -- now, with the hunger ripping him apart, the madness crawling through his very being he had been besieged. Maybe it was the magic that had changed it all; maybe, the magic had taken on it's own life force and had evolved while he had not been looking. The stone in his eye socket was burning him up, a hot coal pressed into his skull, so akin to the pain of it's initial embrace. It burned, and surged, like waves that began deep inside of him and moved outward, outward, rippling through his bones, his muscles, his very essence. It pulsed, but not with the throbbing pain of the wound. It pulsed with something he had never felt before, but which he was quickly learning to crave. Power moved through him, faster than it ever had before, with purpose, with need, greed, sucking at his life in a vicious cycle of parasite to it's host.
His coat flickered, from the dark, twisted rosettes that scarred and marred him, from head to toe, and back again; it flickered, changing, the screaming black of those shrieking, broken flowers flashing a brilliant white -- white, on white, on white. So crisp and clean, it spread like bleach, turning his entire body into something as white as new, broken bone. Even his eye, the remaining blue of sorrowful galaxies, drained out and disappeared into the untouched white. What was left was a ghost held in the palm of a master puppeteers' hands, tangles of power roping thickly around his limbs, controlling him as thoroughly as if it were it's own body.
Cackling made his ears flick to the side, his discolored eye flashing to the left, knowing the sound as intimately as the sound of his own voice -- but there was nothing there. Nothing but the heavy silence that filled up the water-baths like tar. His initial target had almost gotten away, almost, almost -- but even before his hallucinating eye she was transforming, from small cat, to something bigger, filthier, something he had killed over and over in his dreams and eventually in reality. The cackle repeated itself, crazed but tender, a vicious lashing of sound that jerked him forward, one paw splashing in the warm water: but the water wasn't clear anymore. What was he seeing? What was happening? He saw her, and could not stop himself from moving forward, though the water was red as blood, thick as tar, pulling at his body, forcing him back. The laughter continued, a chain attached directly to his heart strings, urging him forward. The power flickered, surging forward inside of him, opening him up to all of the hallucinations he had kept at bay, caged tight in a realm he pretended so fiercely did not exist. It had opened up in the broken portion of his brain, the parts that had been burned, and singed, that could not compute realities and instead wandered where it shouldn't. He was an odd thing, broken and whole at the same time.
An odd thing indeed, with two chains pulling him in two different directions: for as much as he was moving forward, he could not move too far. Another chain had been put around his neck, it's teeth biting deeply into tissue, leading back there the Goddess stood. And she stood indeed, black and beautiful in her own twisted way; wrapped in darkness, in shadow, her eyes of a calm sinister tide, claws almost gentle where they were holding him back. He blinked: she was no where near him. In his heart, she held him back -- not for him, not for the broken thing he had become, but because of what use he still had for her. You've done well. she had said, eons ago. Done well. She had named him, even if the name had been quick and painful. She had filled him up with a purpose -- would he break this too?
The power surged forward, heady and terrible, before faltering, losing it's hold on the rationality that rose like a behemoth. Madness tingled in his toes as he churned toward her, the glow of white receding to a simmer, to almost nothing at all. What was she to him? His muzzle rose, sniffing at the air, tasting the flavor of her scent on his glands. Even in madness, he had come to her. What was she to him? The nameless one, a non-existence, with no meaning, no purpose, nothing at all to call his own -- not even revenge to fill him up at night -- was adrift, and caught only by the gravitational pull of her ambition. Where she walked, he would walk, though in the end, one of them would die. Water slushed around his paws as he neared her and dropped to his belly like a creature finally finding home. He lied there, half submerged in water at her feet, chuffing out air with the relief of one finally giving in to a desire that had tortured him mercilessly. He was a broken thing, indeed, pulled in too many directions, with a fevered brain given to distortions of reality. A broken thing, with no where to go. Make it all go away, he had thought, when he had first laid eyes on her. It was an impossible request, as he carried it inside of him, too deep to simply cut out.
His mouth opened in a soft pant, tasting her nearness as his muscles unraveled into softness. "What would you like me to do?" He finally asked, after what felt like an eternity of silence. His muzzle tilted, the side of his face barely brushing her paw.
Post by Nayva Aeron on Aug 9, 2015 19:03:41 GMT -5
It was always obvious to Nayva that this feline she'd employed to her cause was being tortured by something deep within himself and as much as she wanted to fix him, make him better so that he could serve her with no flaws, she knew that would never happen. She wished a lot of things to be true though but that never made them true. She wished her father wasn't a murderous leader in charge of hundreds of soldiers but that was the reality of it. Reality. That was what Nameless seemed to not have. He didn't quite grasp reality at all times. It was as if he got tangled up inside his own head and his own wild thoughts that he couldn't keep up with both worlds.
This much was incredibly obvious as she watched him battle with himself. He moved in the water as if being drug forward by an invisible force. He faltered and looked as if he was drugged or completely confused on where he was going. While she was slightly worried about his own well being, she couldn't help but wonder if he was the best to add to her cause.
It wasn't until he'd finally calmed down and pulled himself together a bit that she felt her regret slip away. As long as he could snap himself out of these fits of his, she wouldn't have to put an end to him. After all, she wasn't quite sure what he was capable of.
The feline pulled himself towards her now, laying down at her paws, his body still partially in the water. Her light blue eyes looked down at him and his muzzle turned to brush her paw. What would you like me to do? Her paw lifted from the ground and brushed against his shoulder, kneading into his fur and muscle in an attempt to relax the crazed cat. "For now, rest. You'll need all your strength for what comes next." She answered darkly, her paw still stroking through his thick and slightly matted fur, eyes never leaving him.
Post by The Nameless on Aug 9, 2015 21:28:58 GMT -5
He was drifting, drifting, his heart bleeding out of his mouth in ruptured pieces, regurgitated and helpless. He was drifting, drifting on thoughts that blurred into half-formed memories, and sensations that his body remembered more fiercely than his mind. He was drifting, and in his drifting, he was losing hold of everything -- no matter that he was there, so physically, so forcefully at her feet. It didn't matter how many times he applied himself to her cause, to her heat, and her darkness, the moment he had cause to look away, he stumbled. It was as if threads of a past life had been laid out, trailing behind him to catch, and catch again, on the uneven ground. Yet he persevered, struggled in vain, swallowed the puddle of broken heart back into his body. Over, and over, and over.
Perhaps it wasn't simply the past abuse that had caused him to rupture so completely. He was lost, and drifting, always, always. He had asked a question while the raging insanity receded, but much like the tide, it was coming back, slowly, but ever closer to pound upon the shores of his unconscious thought. Drifting, but he was still holding on as best he could: inaction was his enemy. Silence, the claws he pressed his throat against. Like hers, so close, so carefully within his jaws reach. If he had had the mind, perhaps he could have opened his mouth and taken one in his mouth. If he had had the mind, the world, his world, would have been a very different place, indeed.
Yet she was the center toward which he had gravitated; the heat to which he warmed the cold insides of his body. It was to her that he had come, and come again, dragging all that darkness with him like old, unhealed wounds. He battled the sickness inside of him, fought the rising power and darkness inside of his heart, but it was to her that he surfaced, for her, no..no, because of her very existence he could climb back out of the dark abyss to which he had leapt. A strange turn a fate, but one that he held onto, even as the currents pulled and pulled, lulling him into this drifting, nonsensical scheme. He remembered scents that hadn't been alive for years. He remembered the taste of their flesh, the touch of their rippling, rumbling, dying side. He remembered all of these things, this horrible, nameless thing; he remembered them, and tasted a-fresh the scars that had never healed over. He had not been worth anything.
Just a bomb, ticking away into eternity.
His eye slid away from her face, half-lidded where he hovered near her paw. Here, in this space, he had a temporary existence she had forged for him. A place, a purpose. His ears twitched, sliding down against the wet fur of his head as he spasmed, his muscles uncramping from the last of his tension. She had given him a place next to her, even if it was a temporary thing; Mustaire, she had named him, if only within her earshot. I could carry that name forever, he realized, if he wished.
She shifted, his thoughts crumbled into dust, but he did not move -- it was when her paws so gently touched his shoulder that he spasmed again, caught so by surprise. Claws, yes. Punishment, naturally. Most days he yearned to be restrained in the only way his body ever knew -- to be touched so intimately by that ravenous darkness, hungering for the lash that would remind him again and again how perfectly temporary he was in this world. And yet...and yet---
This touch, this roving, soothing motion that shivered down beneath his pelt, into his muscles, into something even deeper within him, echoed in the recesses of his subconscious where a lonely kitten had mewed in the darkness, aching for warmth. It spoke to him in a way that even the mad could understand, for it was spoken without words, translated without mouth, claw or facial expression. He did not need to dissect, distrust, or guess. He purred, softly, nearly unheard as the feelings she evoked swirled up through his flesh. For now, rest. You'll need all your strength for what comes next. she said, her voice like venom, dripping down onto his skin.
Mustaire looked up, stone flashing where it sat contentedly, gorged on the power it had reflexively thrown around. Her thoughts were of death, her touch of a creature stroking a useful pet; it didn't matter. He rolled to his side in the water, closer to her, exposing his flank without thought, without vindication or threat. There was no test. Pet or no pet--until the day she discarded him, he would be hers.
His tail slushed in the water lightly, a slight movement as he tried so desperately to catch a stray thought that had, fleetingly, been his. The giant cat rubbed his face nearer her, contemplatively, before saying his slow, enunciating way, "There is a test in half a moon's time," he paused, then explained, "to see who passes." His giant tail swept low, curling around her back haunches without touching. "There will be feasting afterward...all of the guards and soldiers are invited."
Ears flicked back against his skull in a deceiving harmless way, he looked up at her with his one, true eye. "It might what you're looking for."
Post by Nayva Aeron on Aug 9, 2015 22:45:56 GMT -5
To be honest, she didn't know how he would react to his new kind of touch from her. She wasn't sure if it would even be allowed. He seemed like such a creature of hate and violence that she wouldn't have been surprised if he had lashed out at her. But instead, he seemed relieved by her touch. He jumped a bit in surprise at first but she didn't let that scare her away. Instead she continued the motion, kneading against his cramped and tensed muscles while her claws unsheathed just enough to work through some of the matted clumps on his pelt. He'd washed away a fair amount of the blood from being in the water but his coat was still quite a mess.
As her paw continued moving against his muscles and coat, she could hear his faint purr and she couldn't help but smile a bit. She may have had a cold heart but she wasn't completely evil. She just believed in getting what she deserved and making those that did evil against her pay. With her cub hood it was hard to blame her for that.
His body rolled closer to her and she moved her paw to a new matted spot on his body, working through the clumped fur with her talented and dangerous claws as well as kneading the tension out of his muscles. He'd worked hard for her and had been through a lot because of the task she had given him. The least she could do was reward him for his loyalty and hard work.
She hadn't thought he would have any more information for her but she was yet surprised when his spoke, his tone once again collected and not as torn apart and confused as it had been before. There is a test in half a moon's time, to see who passes. His words made sense to her and she looked down at him, his head rubbing near her paws and his tail twisting near her haunches. There will be feasting afterward...all of the guards and soldiers are invited. As he continued to offer up delicious tidbits of information, she felt her smirk return as she thought over what this would mean to her and her plan.
It might be what you're looking for. This could be exactly what she was looking for! If all of the guards and soldiers were busy drinking wine and spirits as well as feasting and being merry, this could be the time to strike. No one would notice the general disappear and if she could get him away from the rest of the soldiers and guards then there would be no one to keep him safe, no one to protect him from her and her wonderful pet. Her smirk grew and she felt a delicious purr rumble up in her chest. "Mustaire my dear, you've done far better than I could have ever dreamed." She spoke, her voice truly meaning her words and the darkness that usually twinged her tone, gone for the moment as she looked down at the snow leopard with almost a look of warmth.
Post by The Nameless on Aug 10, 2015 19:33:52 GMT -5
How do you begin to describe color to the blind, the sound of death to the deaf? How do you describe utter darkness to those who had been loved, and loved well in their life? To describe the despair that can latch onto the heart and slowly, inevitably, tear away at the strength you thought you had? It was a sickness, a disease, a living parasite that followed you from day into night and back again: it was in the shadow you cast as the sun set, elongated and monstrous, taunting you with the words you wished you could have heard, but never did. How do you describe the desolation of nothingness that comes with the utter realization that there is nothing, nothing in the world that belonged to you -- no name, no place to go back to, no body to miss you, to want you, to need you? There were so many cats in the world, and they all trudged along with the senseless drive in their very souls to do --- but how do you function when that motivation was never cultivated? When the very thing you had been taught was not to do anything, just to sit in the darkness, in the emptiness of the night and be quiet, so quiet, so not a sound could escape your lips. Even your heart begins to slow, pulsing in tune with the rocks beneath your paws.
It was a dark world out there, full of cruelty and violence; full of sharp-edged hatred and black-vile desperation -- but the most frightening in the world wasn't the savagery of revenge. Not to the nameless creature curled up so helplessly at her feet; no, there was nothing frightening about pain, and blood and violence. The darkest part of the world existed far out of reach of all that motion, in a place that was so still, and so quiet that even the whispers of the dead could reach your ears. The darkest part of the world existed in that aching, lonely, nothingness, the absence of everything: of light, of life itself. It was a living death, and he had lived in it for four years, and still feared the icy touch of that grave. He still woke in the night in the midst of a fit, trying to find even a shred of light to knock the ghosts away.
The scariest part of the world was the quiet, devouring unknown that lurked outside of everyone's senses, and he had known it, learned it, and feared it. His battle wounds reassured him he was a live. He chased after the glimmer of blood, and the ghosts of pain in hopes that the all-knowing, all-eating darkness would stay away just a little bit longer. He chased after a dream that he, too, was alive.
--- and he was living, right this moment, regardless of the fey touch of the water, regardless of the darkness that shadowed his every move, and the voices that spoke in a voice he hated and loved most in the world. He was live, and living, and breathing -- each breath he took he felt slipping through his entire being: his body pulsed with his heart beat. Nameless, broken, and unloved, but here, right now, with her claws so tenaciously working at his fur, he was not a ghost, and he wasn't about to disappear without a trace. She saw him, knew him, and kept him grounded in this reality that stretched a wonderfully tangible play between them.
His very dark world had diminished and brightened in a two-faceted kaleidoscope; it all narrowed down to the feeling of her claws, her paws, her strength working at his fur; pleasure split him down the middle as his tail curled at the end, twisting with a sensation he had never known before. What was this? Confusion and pleasure warred so visibly on his face -- what was this nameless feeling that was bubbling up inside of him, shivering down his flank with each movement she made. There was no fear, no anger, no curiosity. He was not desperate. He could not name it, yet it persisted with each ripple outward, a soft trickle of sensation that grounded him to the hear and now, and roped those chains of ownership so tightly around his heart. His eye shut, unsure of this softer chaos that was growing and pulsing inside of him.
She purred, a wonderfully intoxication sound that rumbled like electricity between them; his eye snapped open, ears flicking to the side to catch the sound as warmth flooded him from the inside. Mustaire my dear, you've done far better than I could have ever dreamed-- and her words, too, were as sticky and warm as the rest of him. Uncertainty filled him, distrust -- these are things he knew. Instinctively he acquiesced but the quiet that lingered out of sight, out of hearing remained heavy in his mind. His life was hers, to kill or let live as she pleased: but his heart? All he wanted, was a spot by her feet, a place by her side. He did not need her kindness, and yet... and yet...
Ears plastered to his skull, the uncertainty drowned in the nothingness: what had he to lose anyway? It was just another step before the darkness swallowed him up. It was better, after all, to remain as long as possible near her brightness. He purred in response to her, "He is already dead." Gathering up his legs beneath him, he moved out from under her, standing so carefully, water dripping from his flanks, from his belly, his neck. "He just doesn't know it yet." and there was a grim sound to his voice, a distinct nothingness to his face, to his eye as he contemplated this particular death. It would mean nothing to him, but to fill that need for her? The very tips of his fangs unsheathed as he thought about it; what was a little death between them anyway?
Post by Nayva Aeron on Aug 14, 2015 19:15:23 GMT -5
She could feel the muscles that rippled underneath his thick coat. Could feel the confusion that was conflicting within him. Even on his face she could see it. It was as if he was feeling new emotions that he didn't understand and he couldn't figure them out either. She didn't speak, didn't offer any information as to what he was feeling because to be honest, she was never quite sure what he was feeling. He was a mystery to her and while she was starting to understand him and the way his mind worked, she knew that he would always be a mystery to her. Mustaire.
She could tell her words had caused another emotion to arise within him. This one didn't seem to confuse him as much as the others had. Her blue eyes glanced down at the snow leopard at her feet and her paw finished working through his tangled coat as he spoke, a purr to his voice as well. He is already dead. The words made her smile return as it was a delicious thought to consider. He just doesn't know it yet. Another delicious thought to add to her mind and she licked her lips as if fresh blood was already there.
"Indeed." She purred, staring out towards the palace, the tops of the taller sections of it visible over the tops of the jungle trees. And it would be a glorious day when the general's blood was spilled.
