11-18-2018, 08:56 PM
Pulse, verve, gentle thumping: the world is warm, it is wet- and it is so very strange. Alien in the way that there is no light, but there are suggestions of shaped in the darkness: there is limb bumping into limb and body twisting amidst a viscous nothingness. Safe, this world is safe.
Yet? It is not a lonely one- no, instead there is something else, someone else. He does not know who or what: how to speak or communicate, he knows only the vague traces of his own hoofs and their bizarre and fleshy growths. Still he knows someone else is there, he can feel it.
Not the heartbeat, but the wild emotions and serenity, and the warmth of another’s curiosity and life… yet in the instant he begins to feel something new- some piercing, overwhelming fear: light and cold, the rush of chaos and misery… as he feels it, so too does he experience it in his own right.
Darkness abates where there is light and tension, muscle and flesh: it is cold he feels suddenly, and a big wide world of air and strange forms and life. Nyctelios- he hears this name, but more so he feels the biting chill of the Cove and Winter: of the chaos from the other person inside his mind… and he find himself strangely afflicted then.
Kagerus is an invader where Brazen was comfortable: and she presses her dream into his mind in a way that forces him to shake and to shudder: to spasm and cough- blood and fluid on the rocks, and his first breaths drawn painfully as the boy screams.
Not the scream of a child coming to life; but that of mortal terror and fear: the sound of someone whose life yet hangs in the balance.
Those eyes tear open and the dark color is almost a void of black as the irises are utterly end to end, and his body spasms again: exhaustion, and fatigue.
Weakness.
When the scream dies down his head goes to the ground and his body rests: shivering uncontrollably as he warbles and whimpers: cries out names and words he cannot know- ”Brazen…”
He feels her, safe- comfortable: serene where he is frightened. Touch does not wholly comfort him, encouragement and warmth: but it focuses him, and he stares up at the woman: at Mordgeld, she smells like him.
Wobbly and unbalanced he struggles to move, to force his weak muscles to come to action; but his accomplishment is, for now, to lean and sit: to stretch the gangly limbs and look around: she’s not here; but he feels her.
“Breathe.” he murmurs. “Nyctelios breathe.” imitations of Mordgeld’s own words; but, nonetheless he is… and to his horror, there are others and he stares hard and long at Kagerus and her form- unaware of what to do.
Yet? It is not a lonely one- no, instead there is something else, someone else. He does not know who or what: how to speak or communicate, he knows only the vague traces of his own hoofs and their bizarre and fleshy growths. Still he knows someone else is there, he can feel it.
Not the heartbeat, but the wild emotions and serenity, and the warmth of another’s curiosity and life… yet in the instant he begins to feel something new- some piercing, overwhelming fear: light and cold, the rush of chaos and misery… as he feels it, so too does he experience it in his own right.
Darkness abates where there is light and tension, muscle and flesh: it is cold he feels suddenly, and a big wide world of air and strange forms and life. Nyctelios- he hears this name, but more so he feels the biting chill of the Cove and Winter: of the chaos from the other person inside his mind… and he find himself strangely afflicted then.
Kagerus is an invader where Brazen was comfortable: and she presses her dream into his mind in a way that forces him to shake and to shudder: to spasm and cough- blood and fluid on the rocks, and his first breaths drawn painfully as the boy screams.
Not the scream of a child coming to life; but that of mortal terror and fear: the sound of someone whose life yet hangs in the balance.
Those eyes tear open and the dark color is almost a void of black as the irises are utterly end to end, and his body spasms again: exhaustion, and fatigue.
Weakness.
When the scream dies down his head goes to the ground and his body rests: shivering uncontrollably as he warbles and whimpers: cries out names and words he cannot know- ”Brazen…”
He feels her, safe- comfortable: serene where he is frightened. Touch does not wholly comfort him, encouragement and warmth: but it focuses him, and he stares up at the woman: at Mordgeld, she smells like him.
Wobbly and unbalanced he struggles to move, to force his weak muscles to come to action; but his accomplishment is, for now, to lean and sit: to stretch the gangly limbs and look around: she’s not here; but he feels her.
“Breathe.” he murmurs. “Nyctelios breathe.” imitations of Mordgeld’s own words; but, nonetheless he is… and to his horror, there are others and he stares hard and long at Kagerus and her form- unaware of what to do.
PVP: On
Severe Injury, Permanent Mutilation, and Death Permitted.