09-12-2016, 03:32 PM
<link href='http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Alegreya+SC' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.carnage_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:460px;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;background:#040308 url('http://web.qx.net/zamora/stars-notdistorted.png');border-radius:300px 300px 0 0;border:1px solid #000;box-shadow:0 0 10px #000;}.carnage_container p{margin:0;}.carnage_container img{margin-bottom:-200px;border-radius:300px 300px 0 0;}.carnage_gradient{position:absolute;z-index:10;top:500px;left:15px;width:430px;height:100px;background:-moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%, rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:-webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%,rgba(118,118,118,0)), color-stop(100%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8)));background:-webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:-o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:-ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);filter:progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00767676', endColorstr='#cc4c4c4c',GradientType=0 );}.carnage_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:400px;background:rgba(76,76,76,0.8);text-align:justify;padding:15px;color:#CCDDE6;}.carnage_quote{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:center;top:-20px;font:18px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}.carnage_name{position:relative;z-index:15;padding-top:10px;text-align:center;font:28px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}</style><center><div class="carnage_container"><img src="http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b278/ruinedecho/carnage_zpsf4jw8cbz.jpg"><div class="carnage_gradient"></div><div class="carnage_message"><p class="carnage_quote">and lord, I fashion dark gods too;</p>
He has called, and they have answered. They come, they add their voice to his, and it powers him. They are a group defied, and though he has no love for them - only knows a handful of their names – they are rivulets coming together into a stream that feeds the ocean. They are necessary. Their fury is like fire and he is a man who has always adored fire.
When there are enough of them, he goes to the mountain. Some of them follow. Some do not. It doesn’t matter – he has what he needs, from them.
He doesn’t change when he crosses back over. None of his powers return. He is feverish still, a slow and dulling pain in his belly. But never mind that. He is a god
<i>(a sick god)</i>
and he has come to take what is owed to him.
He knows how the process should go – he should fall to his knees and beg, denounce his own worthiness, repent of his sins (as if he could even remember them all). Even if he did all this, he knows, she would not listen – he is a cancer inside her, they coexist, but tentatively so. She sickens him, and he her.
Sunrise, sunset.
“I have the support,” he says. The fairy’s eyes are hard on him, glittering with disdain and fury. He wonders if fairies burn.
“Give us a land.”
He does not ask – he demands.
<i>You are not welcome here,</i> she tells him. Or maybe he’s imagined it. But this was all a formality, anyway. He never expected to be given a land.
Luckily he does not need to be given what he can simply take, instead.
He gathers his magic, and it feels like lead inside him, throbs in his veins the way an infected tooth might throb in one's mouth. But he ignores the pain, which grows stronger as his magic cycles up, prepares for his newest creation, his masterpiece.
A land in his honor, a new valley, built on – built from – ashes. He can see it in his mind. It will be beautiful.
He mutters a word, guttural and strange, a piece of a long-forgotten and eldritch language.
The word means: <i>create.</i>
(He has always been a better destroyer than he has a creator.)
The earth quakes as it shifts, as a new land is born – wrenched – from Beqanna, created not by the fairies, not by Beqanna herself, but by its dark god, its cancer.
The pain inside him grows, awful and flaring. He is not unused to pain , but this pain is like wildfire, uncontrollable. He screams, primal and anguished, feels like he is being torn apart, but he does not stop this terrible creation even as Beqanna resists him, sickens him.
He creates. God help him, he creates.
What is wrenched forth is not the valley as he envisioned it. What he has created instead is a wasteland, a cancerous land for a cancerous god. It is the birth-thing of sick magic and a defiant land, hideous and barren, dead earth and alkaline water.
The pain subsides, from fire to embers, with the act of creation finished, with a new, awful land sprawled out before them. It is not the valley, but it is fitting. It is <i>his</i>.
(Never mind it was not his intention to make this. Never mind he had wanted a valley. Never mind his magic just malfunctioned, betrayed him. Never mind the fever. Never mind, never mind.)
“It’s done,” he says, and his voice is slightly raspy, throat made raw from the screams of creation, “we have taken what she will not give.”
Though what poor treasure it is – this wasteland. This terrible kingdom.
And he, the king. Once again.
Sunrise, sunset.
<p class="carnage_name">c a r n a g e</p></div></div></center>
tl;dr
- since fairies won't grant Carnage's 'request,' he took matters into his own sick, malfunctioning hands and attempted to create a new valley for himself and those recruited. this failed, due to his magic malfunctioning, so instead he created the wastelands. good job, carnage.
points: http://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=11382
from this thread: http://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=11261
Carnage is redeeming 50 of his points for this land even though he's a jerk and 'made' one himself.
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00767676', endColorstr='#cc4c4c4c',GradientType=0 );}.carnage_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:400px;background:rgba(76,76,76,0.8);text-align:justify;padding:15px;color:#CCDDE6;}.carnage_quote{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:center;top:-20px;font:18px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}.carnage_name{position:relative;z-index:15;padding-top:10px;text-align:center;font:28px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}</style><center><div class="carnage_container"><img src="http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b278/ruinedecho/carnage_zpsf4jw8cbz.jpg"><div class="carnage_gradient"></div><div class="carnage_message"><p class="carnage_quote">and lord, I fashion dark gods too;</p>He has called, and they have answered. They come, they add their voice to his, and it powers him. They are a group defied, and though he has no love for them - only knows a handful of their names – they are rivulets coming together into a stream that feeds the ocean. They are necessary. Their fury is like fire and he is a man who has always adored fire.
When there are enough of them, he goes to the mountain. Some of them follow. Some do not. It doesn’t matter – he has what he needs, from them.
He doesn’t change when he crosses back over. None of his powers return. He is feverish still, a slow and dulling pain in his belly. But never mind that. He is a god
<i>(a sick god)</i>
and he has come to take what is owed to him.
He knows how the process should go – he should fall to his knees and beg, denounce his own worthiness, repent of his sins (as if he could even remember them all). Even if he did all this, he knows, she would not listen – he is a cancer inside her, they coexist, but tentatively so. She sickens him, and he her.
Sunrise, sunset.
“I have the support,” he says. The fairy’s eyes are hard on him, glittering with disdain and fury. He wonders if fairies burn.
“Give us a land.”
He does not ask – he demands.
<i>You are not welcome here,</i> she tells him. Or maybe he’s imagined it. But this was all a formality, anyway. He never expected to be given a land.
Luckily he does not need to be given what he can simply take, instead.
He gathers his magic, and it feels like lead inside him, throbs in his veins the way an infected tooth might throb in one's mouth. But he ignores the pain, which grows stronger as his magic cycles up, prepares for his newest creation, his masterpiece.
A land in his honor, a new valley, built on – built from – ashes. He can see it in his mind. It will be beautiful.
He mutters a word, guttural and strange, a piece of a long-forgotten and eldritch language.
The word means: <i>create.</i>
(He has always been a better destroyer than he has a creator.)
The earth quakes as it shifts, as a new land is born – wrenched – from Beqanna, created not by the fairies, not by Beqanna herself, but by its dark god, its cancer.
The pain inside him grows, awful and flaring. He is not unused to pain , but this pain is like wildfire, uncontrollable. He screams, primal and anguished, feels like he is being torn apart, but he does not stop this terrible creation even as Beqanna resists him, sickens him.
He creates. God help him, he creates.
What is wrenched forth is not the valley as he envisioned it. What he has created instead is a wasteland, a cancerous land for a cancerous god. It is the birth-thing of sick magic and a defiant land, hideous and barren, dead earth and alkaline water.
The pain subsides, from fire to embers, with the act of creation finished, with a new, awful land sprawled out before them. It is not the valley, but it is fitting. It is <i>his</i>.
(Never mind it was not his intention to make this. Never mind he had wanted a valley. Never mind his magic just malfunctioned, betrayed him. Never mind the fever. Never mind, never mind.)
“It’s done,” he says, and his voice is slightly raspy, throat made raw from the screams of creation, “we have taken what she will not give.”
Though what poor treasure it is – this wasteland. This terrible kingdom.
And he, the king. Once again.
Sunrise, sunset.
<p class="carnage_name">c a r n a g e</p></div></div></center>
tl;dr
- since fairies won't grant Carnage's 'request,' he took matters into his own sick, malfunctioning hands and attempted to create a new valley for himself and those recruited. this failed, due to his magic malfunctioning, so instead he created the wastelands. good job, carnage.
points: http://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=11382
from this thread: http://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=11261
Carnage is redeeming 50 of his points for this land even though he's a jerk and 'made' one himself.