11-05-2020, 11:40 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Syne+Mono&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.chemosh_container{position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 600px;background: #0e0e1c;font: 11px 'Syne Mono', monos-pace;line-height: 1.5;padding-bottom: 15px;border: 1px solid #10030D;box-shadow: 0 0 10px #f3e2c9;border-radius: 20px;}.chemosh_container img {border-radius: 20px 20px 0 0;width: 600px; height: 400px;}.chemosh_container p{margin: 0;}.chemosh_message {position: relative;z-index: 10;margin-top: -50px;background-color: #252e40;box-shadow: 0 0 10px rgba(78, 152, 165, 1);text-align: justify;width: 530px;padding: 15px 20px 0 20px;color: #10030D;border-radius: 20px;}.chemosh_name {position: relative;text-align: right;z-index: 10;padding: 0 30px 0 0;margin: 0;font: 36px 'Syne Mono', monos pace;color: #000000;}.chemosh_quote {position: absolute;z-index: 15;top: 330px;width: 600px;text-align: center;font-size: 12px;letter-spacing: 2px;font-style: italic;color: #eeeeee;}</style><center><div class="chemosh_container"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/bv17k35s/creepygif.gif"><p class="chemosh_quote">in this hole, that is me...the dead are rolling over</p><div class="chemosh_message">
The shadows swirl and the creature speaks and still, he remains unafraid. Cautious, yes...but only marginally. Perhaps it is something in the lilt of the creature’s voice, or the stillness of those around him. Whatever it is, he listens intently, his eyeless face aimed towards the place where the shadows danced.
The lack of fear would prove to be a stupid decision, as he soon will find out. Sometimes, a man can be either handsome, or smart, but not both. Chemosh is perhaps one of those men.
In the blink of an eye the shadows consume him, threatening to choke him though he has no trachea to squeeze or lungs to collapse. His skeleton frame blends into the dense white fog, rendering him invisible from even himself. But as quickly as it snatches him up, the fog releases him, leaving his bones trembling on the Beach. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings, and it does not take him long to realize he is the only one here. At least, for the moment. With a shudder he takes a step, and that step brings the land of the dead into the land of the living. He could not have caused more of a disruption if he had stepped on a landmine.
All around him the dead rise from the sand, all in various states of decomposition. Some are rotting, others more freshly dead, and still some match his current, skeletal form. They do not notice him at first, for in the land of the zombies, a skeleton shifter has a large advantage. But despite his gift, he is very much living. There is still somehow a heart that somehow pumps blood throughout his body, somehow keeping him very much alive. Like bloodhounds they turn on him, and the noises coming from their putrid mouths make his currently non-existent stomach churn. As a whole they come for him. Even their maggot passengers make their way towards the living skeleton. He is given little time to think and less time to react. While his skeleton form is resistant to some things, in many ways it is weaker. With a shake of his skull he cloaks himself in his bay and nebula coat. He is in motion before the hair seams itself together on his back. Eyes set on the water he runs, and though the zombies walk, he never seems to gain on them. He feels teeth on his rump and spares a backwards glance at the rotten mouth who had dealt the blow, but no more than a glance. Finally, his hooves hit the surf and he plunges chest deep, wondering exactly how smart this was when he sees the creatures following him…
The water must have been the tonic to ease the fits of the nightmare land. Before he can take a deep breath and plunge beneath the waves, he feels a jerk at the base of his spine and the mist consumes him once more. This time, he almost feels safe in the mist, like being cocooned underneath his mother's neck. Finally, the mist spits him out again, right back where he started. Dripping and nursing a sore rump, he stares at the shadow creature much more cautiously, and there is a worried arch to his newly-formed brow.
Some men learn lessons the hard way. Chemosh is one such man.
<p class="chemosh_name">--CHEMOSH</p></div></div></center>
The shadows swirl and the creature speaks and still, he remains unafraid. Cautious, yes...but only marginally. Perhaps it is something in the lilt of the creature’s voice, or the stillness of those around him. Whatever it is, he listens intently, his eyeless face aimed towards the place where the shadows danced.
The lack of fear would prove to be a stupid decision, as he soon will find out. Sometimes, a man can be either handsome, or smart, but not both. Chemosh is perhaps one of those men.
In the blink of an eye the shadows consume him, threatening to choke him though he has no trachea to squeeze or lungs to collapse. His skeleton frame blends into the dense white fog, rendering him invisible from even himself. But as quickly as it snatches him up, the fog releases him, leaving his bones trembling on the Beach. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings, and it does not take him long to realize he is the only one here. At least, for the moment. With a shudder he takes a step, and that step brings the land of the dead into the land of the living. He could not have caused more of a disruption if he had stepped on a landmine.
All around him the dead rise from the sand, all in various states of decomposition. Some are rotting, others more freshly dead, and still some match his current, skeletal form. They do not notice him at first, for in the land of the zombies, a skeleton shifter has a large advantage. But despite his gift, he is very much living. There is still somehow a heart that somehow pumps blood throughout his body, somehow keeping him very much alive. Like bloodhounds they turn on him, and the noises coming from their putrid mouths make his currently non-existent stomach churn. As a whole they come for him. Even their maggot passengers make their way towards the living skeleton. He is given little time to think and less time to react. While his skeleton form is resistant to some things, in many ways it is weaker. With a shake of his skull he cloaks himself in his bay and nebula coat. He is in motion before the hair seams itself together on his back. Eyes set on the water he runs, and though the zombies walk, he never seems to gain on them. He feels teeth on his rump and spares a backwards glance at the rotten mouth who had dealt the blow, but no more than a glance. Finally, his hooves hit the surf and he plunges chest deep, wondering exactly how smart this was when he sees the creatures following him…
The water must have been the tonic to ease the fits of the nightmare land. Before he can take a deep breath and plunge beneath the waves, he feels a jerk at the base of his spine and the mist consumes him once more. This time, he almost feels safe in the mist, like being cocooned underneath his mother's neck. Finally, the mist spits him out again, right back where he started. Dripping and nursing a sore rump, he stares at the shadow creature much more cautiously, and there is a worried arch to his newly-formed brow.
Some men learn lessons the hard way. Chemosh is one such man.
<p class="chemosh_name">--CHEMOSH</p></div></div></center>