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Post by Flare on Mar 8, 2020 23:29:21 GMT -6
The ssashirk looked up, just a glance through his bangs. The plane had shifted, and was back to being the endless, formless landscape of gray fog. The messenger shifted, he could hear bones shifting. That the robed humanoidesque figure was naught but an illusion. He reaches out, and takes the orb, the node from the messenger. "Swallow it." the messenger commands, the guise unraveling until he's faced with the bone keeper once again. Flare looks at the node in his hand. Its small, surprisingly. Like the size of a marble in his own hand. Was it just bigger because the bone keeper was holding it? "Make your desire clear. Do not let stray thoughts, such as anger or fear cloud your desire." Time now. {I want to live. I want to be myself, to be human again. I...want to thrive.} Swallowing a painful lump in his throat, the ssashirk opens his jaws... and swallows the node. Its a whipcrack of sound, and the horrible sound of being torn away. The messenger, the guise that Shurai can wear, and usually does, watches the plane right itself. There is no trace of the lingering ssashirk.
-flare swallows his node- 20.20 lv 64 flare
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 17:34:10 GMT -6
((changing up from my original plot with darky, not counting levels again))
The mother hates winter. a needed thing to rest the wood and store energy for the coming spring. of new life and sprouts. Even her young nyssa will bury themselves up to the head branches for the winter, awaiting the coming of spring. The mother cannot though, her size prevents it. but her grove remains closed to the physical eyes, the snake sleeps. The mother is fully aware of the seasonal shifts… but her awareness is brought to life too early. For the earth weeps. One large orange reptilian eye opens… and sees a dryad. Tending to…. was that a dead tree? One dainty fae hand on the blackened and bleeding black ichor wood. ‘WHAT BRINGS THE MOTHER OF HARVEST TO MY GROVE BEFORE THE NEW LIFE OF SPRING’ the mother demands, moderately annoyed of being awoken too early. It is not spring, it is not the harvesting season. She looks at the great nyssa, tears of sap coursing slowly down her youthful fae face. Great mother, I have wronged this one in so many ways… none of my children deserve what this one has endured. But open your grove....just this once. she is weeping. The tree looks quite dead, the wood blackened and gray bark. But… they feel a pulse of energy within… of very pure energy. Like the seeds of the earth. 'I HOPE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING' the reptilian eye lingers on the dryad's ethereal figure. She weeps but seems to be doing more than that. 'If you hear my call. Come into the trees...' From the outside, as the road towards town wends away from the monolith of death, there is a grove of trees nearby. Giant old trees, almost forming a mouth or a door of sorts.
Do you approach?
This voice, this sound... comes from the trees. It is pleading. Urgent. 4.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 17:35:43 GMT -6
-slight graphical warning- The tree warps under her touch, and falls apart from her, like a banana from the very top. As the blackened bark and wood splits and separates, the giant eye squints, then widens. Convoluted into a shape that the living cannot take, the one who spoke the voice of sand and voice of forest lay in the heart of this dead tree, black ichor drooling from parted jowls. red ichor, nay, red blood feeding the dead tree from an unending slash upon the exposed, warped arm. More black ichor drooled from the nostrils, the red from the eyes. a gruesome and tragic end that looked very similar to poisoning. But only if the form wasn’t swollen and torn open from the heart of the belly. The other arm forced its way through the chest cavity, very thin… and sparsely scaled. Very sparse. A considerably different color, of a lighter brown, like chocolate milk. The fingers rest on the ruined body, still. They twitch. The corpse makes a horrible noise, not similar to a drowning victim taking their first breaths. but the noise doesn't come from the maw, that still drools black ichor. a pained gasp, followed by retching coughs. the corpse convulses in the middle, the thing arm stiffening with each retching and stilling. 8.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 17:36:19 GMT -6
‘WHAT IS THIS THAT YOU DROP IN MY GROVE.’ the mother, shocked and angered, speaks in hushed voice of forest to the dryad. My child of sand, who has suffered a fate worse than death. she whispers, still having her dainty fae hand resting on the topmost portion of the blackened, dead tree. This is rebirth… of a most warped manner. Within, whatever that arm was connected to fought, fought for fresh air that didn’t permeate. The chest cavity twists… convulses, twists the other way, and tears open further. Another arm, drenched in red, tears its way free. The two arms, so very thin, but not such as a goblin or fae, as the hands seek to rip the corpse up past the chest… into the throat, and something from within gasps for fresh air. Its a sight probably out Alien as whatever beneath, nay, INSIDE the dead scaled one twists and fights its way to the surface. The sounds of flesh separating would nauseate anything living that wasn’t deeply attached to the earth. Nearly as tall as the torso of the dead shell around it, something sat up, the split maw from the bottom jaw falling away in slurping, wet sounds of separating flesh. 12.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 17:36:37 GMT -6
It claws frantically at the flesh covering its head, its face, finally freeing itself. Hornless, snoutless, the red drenched figure has a maw that is small, framed. Humanoid. It gasps and coughs. The whole torso seems to convulse and shudder with each forced breath. From behind, the back has two deep wounds, from each shoulder, like something had been forcefully ripped away, but leaving no sign of destruction. Just a gaping hole. This new figure, so thin that ribs are easily seen under the wet redness… The two elementals can sense that whatever is sitting in this corpse isn’t aware, fighting itself free purely on the instinct of wanting to live. There is no...reaction to the sensing of two elementals nearby. The figure's eyes are glued shut from the redness, but it still moves. It reaches blindly, trying to extricate itself from the corpse… but failing. Like something wouldn’t give. 16.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 17:37:01 GMT -6
But something, something unseen seemed to grip around the red drenched figure, the dryad suddenly backing away and letting her hand fall from the tree, lifting them up and forcefully ripping the rest of the corpse free. It's a horrible sound of sucking, then a forceful POP, SNAP, and more tearing. The figure in the ethereal grip screams out silently, its head angled towards the sky before tensing and falling limp. The grip drops it, and the figure lands with a wet splash, among the remains. From the angle the figure was dropped, its waist now mostly freed from the corpse, the two elementals could see why it seemed to scream out in agony. A gaping maw of a hole from where a leg might go, nothing remained. It, like the holes in the shoulders, must have previously been something. YOUR PRICE IS WHAT HAS HELD YOU BACK FOR YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. A sound echoes around the grove and fades. The dryad, usually very bright greens and peachy colors, is very pale. The mother of Nyssa stunned into silence at this… display. Such violence does not become you, messenger. the dryad whispered into the semidarkness of the ancient grove. The shadows seem to shift and coalesce into a shape, vaguely quadruped, that stood as tall as a man at the shoulder. Deep glowing purple eyes, reptilian eyes, gaze upon the ruined figure, nearly freed from another body. There is no sympathy in that look. The quadruped shadow only gives the ethereal fae a sideways glance before disappearing back into the darkness. Of ‘the price must be paid, however so.’ The ruined figure is still breathing, but very slight. As if every breath is a fight, pain signals overwhelming if they come to senses again. The giant mother of Nyssa does not react further but retreats deeper into the grove. To go back to sleep. What a graphical display. What did the little dryad expect, them to stop this? Old as they were, the giant tree...snake...elemental thing did not qualm in higher or lower matters. The only reason the human-animal is not dead a third time over is the amusement brought from the previous meeting. Live. the dryad whispers as she fades away into the wood. 20.20 lv 65 flare
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 18:13:07 GMT -6
The giant wasn’t expecting to walk into a forest. The trees bent away as it wove through, accomidating its massive bulk. Folding their wings close to the body, a serpentine quadruped beast kept walking. Being drawn ahead. Significantly bigger then a man, it kept going. The trees finally part into a clearing, stinking of blood and death. Its not enough to make their whiskers curl, but close. Treading surprisingly lightly for the smell, the creature approaches. Lying in themiddle of the clearing is a human...? Lying in the corpse of another. The smell of blood is very fresh on it. But there is a fresh limb lying in the corpse. Aha, food. The ground does the Jurassic Park rumbling as it approaches and uses its bladed tail to swing forth and drag the limb, skewered through the hip bone, out of the corpse in which it was trapped. The sounds of ripping and crunching are enough to rouse almost anyone, including the barely conscious. 4.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 18:19:23 GMT -6
what could describe his senses as the marble, which felt very real and very warm as it traveled inside of his throat down...down… down… it never reached the destination of the stomach. There is a sound like a whipcrack, and the ssashirk has gone. But is not there either. It was being burned from the inside by the enforcer’s sky fire. A desire to scream out but the sound would not come. the energy burned throughout his entire being, from the tips of his horns to the pads of his toes. silently, he screams. there is no noise, no draw from the lungs, all he can feel is being burned alive by sky fire. everything felt suffocatingly tight… could not clutch onto himself, as there was no form… the sounds of mutation, of twisting and breaking, of tearing and bursting… of heavy sounds of dropping objects, and the snapping… oh the snapping and tearing sounds were the worst. The feeling of being twisted apart at the limbs… As the suffocatingly tight feeling reached where his head might’ve been, the being’s mind whites out, unable to stand the mental agonies any longer. There is so much red as the vision pinks to white… than fades to black. The blackness is lifting,...and Flare rouses... to the blurres sight of something of fiery coloring, ripping something pale apart. 8.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 14, 2020 18:58:32 GMT -6
Large gray eyes blink, stare, blink again, then realize what he was seeing. How could he not recognize... humanlike skin on a leg that was separated and being chewed to bits. The sharp CRACK of the femur. The twist of the ankle... wait...? He tried to sit up, to move. Pulling his leg...LEG. Something was very wrong. He looked down, at his red drenched...body and saw the gaping hole that used to be a short and frankly near useless limb... now in the jaws of a giant monster. Another look... and he was looking at his bare human leg. No giant monster foot. Alhtough... it was lying over his knee. Twisting around, he found hismelf half concealed in what appeared to be a large scaled and empty skin. Crackled and bloody and torn to shred around his waist. CRUNCH went the femur as it broke in the creature’s maw. It watched him, chewing. Watching the human. 12.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 15, 2020 4:07:00 GMT -6
Normal human reactions would panic about now; giant monster eating their leg, now very removed from his body. Perhaps it was his lack of being ‘awake’ but the youth barely seemed to react. The monster continued to chew the limb, bits of pale brown flesh caught in its teeth. The monster could hear the human’s breath, slightly hitcheed but slightly raspy, like a consistent case od breathing through the mouth instead of the small nose. One small hand raised itself from its lap to be looked at by the human’s large eyes, twisted around, flexed... patting its face like it was blindo r something. What an unusual thing to do. It must have been weird, to wake up one sense at a time. For some reason, his sense of smell and taste were barely registering. His face felt... normal. But the hands felt so very rough to the touch of his skin. The hand reached.... and felt the portion of face that he wasn’t prperly able to see out of. Only one eye seemed to be showing a clear picture, the other fragmented adn blurred. REaching from his forehead down to his collarbone... was the enormous spear wound. 16.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 15, 2020 4:19:10 GMT -6
Small breaths. Focus on breathing and remaining calm. Most things didn’t get under the youth’s skin, quite literally and figuratively. The same circle was running rhough what llittle conscious mind that was making everything function. Altar. Rock. Blood. Nothing... here? From what little could be seen and felt... he was normal again. The flight and fight left him. The air felt cold against his red drenched skin. There was a monster. Eating his leg. The leg was gone the hell that he’d endured since childhood was gone. Instead of panic, relief blossomed in his fragmented routine. Free. NOthing can be that easy though, for although drenched in red, the human sat there, what ltitle skin the normal color (a light brown latte), looked very pale. Gaunt. If there was muscle, it was atrophyed. A trickle of spit drooled from his dry mouth, black ichorlike and slow. Shivering involuntarily. 20.20 lv 66 flare
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Post by Flare on Mar 15, 2020 4:27:37 GMT -6
uneffected by the instinct of fight or flight... the energy of this being just bled out, everywhere. Particuarly from the large missing area in the pelvis. Eyes seem unable to focus... and the figure is listing. Fading. The monster swallows its meal at last, and looks right at him. There is a single thought that seems to run through its head, and is clearly heard/read by the monster, who only blinks in surprise. ...thank you... As the human lists to falling to one side, splashing down and not moving again. The eyes are out of focus and red ichor flows from the good eye, like tears. Raspy and shallow, it was breathing, head turned slightly up. The ichor, the black stuff coming from its mouth, isn’t thick or viscous... just an unending amount, drooling out slowly. Like flickery switches, the senses were fading out again... and his magic sense went last. That monster was magic... but the figure wasn’t aware anymore. 4.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 15, 2020 6:02:45 GMT -6
The monster just... stands there. Nothing. Nobody. Had ever thanked it. For... whatever. Anything really. Thank for what? Being present? Eating the near-corpse thing’s leg? Not promptly eating it as well? The possibilities of being thanked went past what the creature could think up. But the thing would be edible not too long from now. The leg didn’t even come close to filling its bellyup. It only had ever eaten food that was already or close to edible; that is, not breathing or making bump noises from inside. Though, this thing had a very unusual bump noise. Not... even a bump noise... but a brief flare of energy. It seemed slightly in time with the sporatic breaths that still filled adn left. Why was it thanked for eating a leg? Or just even being there? The senses from the thing lying in its own ichor were growing fainter and fainter. Like only the flare of energy was present,short of breathing. 8.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 15, 2020 6:07:52 GMT -6
A branch cracks. The giant’s head swings about, eyes suddenly feral and territorial. Its kill. This was its food. Thanking... food. Yes. There is another in the trees, hiding. Doing a bad job of hiding, too pale against the dark bark of this clearing.’s cover trees. Scared pink orbs stare from another flat face as it peeks around the tree. The beast growls oiniously, its tail in full view. If claws and teeth and size didn’t do the job... it had tricks and a tail. There are odd ichors rolling down its face as it stumbles from the tree, looking petrified as it approaches. Another growl, a snarl. FIRE IS NOT A FRIEND OF THE FOREST. DO NOT BURN MY GROVE, MONSTER. Roots erupt from the ground, seeking to grab hold of the monster’s feet. It makes a horrible roaring noise, beign slowly restrained by branches and roots. The flat face thing darts forward and grabs the food...the thanking food thing. NO, mine! 12.20
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Post by Flare on Mar 15, 2020 6:14:43 GMT -6
CALM YOURSELF, MONSTER. THE DRYAD HAS NO INTENT OF STEALING A KILL. BUT THAT ONE LIVES. IT IS NOT FOOD. The treantlike snake, the mother of nyssa seems to rouse from hiding in the dark, the orange eye staring the giant monster in irritation. Not anger. Just disappointment and irritation. The dryad, the flat face that smelled like trees, hugs the limp lifeless food to itself, still weeping ichors. It snarls, trying to rip its way free. But if this beast outscales a man, the mother of nyssa outscales a pliathor. BIG SNAKE. NO. No, it roars. no rstgraint! Free! The roots are firm, and hold tight as it tries to slash at them with the sharp ended tail. Another branch snags iit, holding it tighly. The beast is mostly restrained now. What a monstrocity, the mother looks on in frank disgust of what has poured from inside the death tree of human make. Mixing winged beasts to make a fiery giant of death. 16.20
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