|
Post by Kyurem "Vanadis Grímsson" on Jan 8, 2014 5:28:47 GMT -5
Above, dark blue and covered intermittently in storm clouds, the stars were easily visible. Thousands of them could be easily counted by curious fingers or sharp eyes. One or two aircraft, crimson lights blinking like solitary embers, gave the illusion of waiting wishes to the truly hopeful.
The moon was full; its silvery light allowed even the most feeble-eyed simian to clearly see the rocky area. From this position resting upon the cliff, it was an easy matter to pick out the broken coliseum. The building, crippled and decrepit, hunkered there like the skeleton of some ancient crown. Rising from its center visible only in its lack of light, was the black gate. Chains, as resolute as the day they had been twisted into place, occasionally gave a bell like ring. The wind rattled them into a frenzy on this breeze-filled night.
That noise, which confirmed her master’s imprisonment, drove her to irritation. It should not exist! The only sound she wished to hear, hopefully in the near future, was the complete shattering of metal. The cracking of stone, the collapse of the cell, and the scrape of gentle paws upon stone. Regardless, while she was not optimistic enough to needlessly check the sealed door, Vanadis came here two or three times a month. It offered a place to hunt; the humans may as well, with things such as Stantler, built an enclosure for them. Fear had them trapped far more securely than a chain-link fence.
The infected rarely strayed into this land. Kyurem, while she truly missed the hunt, had realized the dangers of the sickness long ago. This place had become one of two hunting grounds for the ice-dragon. The mindless creatures could sense the oddness within this area; the prey remaining provided enough game to make her blood sing. The very place sent hair rippling along peach skin; even the beast before the abyss, who enjoyed the food offered within. The noises, many seeming to come from eras long since lost, echoed out from the center of the gourge. The sound of torture, to the dragon, reminded her of home. The city beneath, lost like so many, drew only the briefest of glances—there was little to eat inside. It was no longer important; the huntress did not waste her life, as many humans, mired in the past.
Tink, tonk, thump! A shattered piece of bone, belonging to the hip of a Girafarig, tumbled down the blood-stained stone to rest at the bottom of the cavern. The fall took a surprisingly long time to end with that echoing clatter. Marrow was sucked from the center of the broken bone. Blood and meat pulled from beneath fur of ebony and piss-yellow. “It is good. Do you not want, Alfheim?” The beast beside her, as he had for five-hundred years, gave a loud snort. He grumbled. Great tusks, yellowed with age like the ivory they had once been harvested for, moved briefly from side to side. Mamoswine did not partake in meat—even if the annoying tail had tore a chunk from his white-haired nostrils. “No.” He was gruff.
Bones shifted. Cracked. Limbs shrunk, elongated in the case of the arms, as her skin turned a lighter shade of grey. The figure sitting upon the ground, aside from a few features, was a human woman with nothing on. The corpse, all but eaten before the offer had been made, was shoved into the gourge below; it smashed onto a rickety roof and into unseen darkness. The golden eyes, with no visible sclera, glanced upward at the starry sky.
This place was home. It had no ill air. No smoke colored the skies. Humans did not buzz about with their auto-mobiles. Food was plenty. It felt as if time had stopped in this area—which might be a reason her master was trapped.
“Humans were better when they thought those souls.” It had been nearly twenty minutes since his mistress had spoken; when full, as now, she became as sluggish as any reptile. She also found herself a bit more talkative than irritable (she was almost always hungry. Light blue eyes, nearly asleep, peeled open with a rumbling sigh; even his breathing sounded old and ragged. “. . .why? Because they were stupid?” Ice billowed from her nostrils; it matched the frost beneath her stubby tail and human rear. The cold was unnoticed to the ice-type. “No, Alf, they were humble monkeys then.” Regardless, whether modest or arrogant, humans were sometimes pleasant to dine on. They did not have the muscle of a deer. They were not the animals with the best-tasting flesh. It sometimes was gratifying to listen to the snapping of their bones.
Golden eyes lifted to stare at a commotion behind her. Small wings, glowing slightly, descended from her shoulders. “There is something here—another thing” Nostrils flared. The air was sifted in and out like dirt in a gold-filled river. “Alive. Not sick.” It lacked the smell given by the diseased; it may have just been in the beginning staged.
The grey scales, like paint wiped from a wet canvas, began to fade. Human skin slowly began to dominate. Claws grew more deadly atop of her fingertips. Her tongue, dark between needle-like teeth, licked fingers clean of offal, dried blood, and torn fur.
She might be able to stomach a few more morsels this night.
The stars seemed to become far more numerous; snow had begun to fall.
|
|
|
Post by Glenn 'Yveltal' Talbot on Jan 8, 2014 15:38:25 GMT -5
Beyond reasoning. This land was far beyond any inkling of rationality within the avian's mind as he flew over moaning land, cryptic runes splattered across rock formations, just... unthinkable. The world as he knew it was a thing of great beauty, natural life and splendor, all for him to witness and judge. Yet, ever having come to this rocked region, he has seen nothing but plague, plague and death not his own.
But here, here specifically, enraged him.
The gate enough had been enough to give him pause; aura almost as dark as his own was throbbing throughout the area, devoid of life or meaning. Beyond... reasoning. But yet, Poke'mon seemed to linger; or rather, were devoured. He watched from his perch as a great beast tore into the Poke'mon, feasting, hunting. A brow rose; this other's aura was very cold, as was their companion's. Ice types, eh? Yveltal's wings shuffled beneath him as he glanced around to the blood smatterings then back to the beast; was this... their doing?
'Mmm, well. One way to find out.' Yveltal thought dryly as he spread his wings wide, taking off with a single flap.
He was sensed right away; he saw the Mamoswine turn towards him, an ear perked. And the beast - who had transformed into a womanly figure, to Yveltal's amusement - turned with him, a menacing look fixated on her brow. He flew a high above the area, circling in the same way a vulture would to their prey, watching carefully. A speck of cold made contact with his beak and he peered down, noticing the single snowflake that dared to land atop him.
...Ah.
In one, swift movement, Yveltal dove sharply to the ground, driving himself to a halt with a great flap of his wings, sending a small gale in its wake; dust and stone rattled loose from the ground and was sent flying like a dust cloud. He landed smoothly on the hollowed earth, meters away from the ominous, strange woman, but said naught. He only observed. The air crackled with dark energy around him, creating an ethereal sort-of atmosphere to the area; everything felt... slower. Prey being hunted.
"Who art thou?" he finally spoke, a straight forward question. His talons scrape against the hard ground, curved slightly; he was gripping, in case he needed to take off once more.
|
|
|
Post by Kyurem "Vanadis Grímsson" on Jan 9, 2014 4:39:45 GMT -5
The moon was momentarily silenced. The nocturnal beast noticed little issue in the sudden darkness. Its gentle light faded beneath a shadow of a darkened wing or a cloud. Yellow eyes, instantly noticing the change, once again lifted toward the sky. Her nostrils wrinkled. Her teeth became more pronounced within her rounded and feminine jaw. The peach skin, again, began to shift between stormy and human; her armor would keep out all but the largest of overgrown chickens. Was this a threat? It was large. It circled like a vulture above prey. Yet, its scent was vaguely familiar.
It smelled of corpses. It was a relative. Plumes of white erupted from her mouth as she exhaled; it split upon her dagger-like teeth into little rivulets. It was not some cotton-clad trainer coming to rain spheres upon her head. Some of her family were far from friendly with Kyurem; they disliked her and earned her scorn in return. The stench, which drew up the most primal fear, came to roost deep within her stomach. This was not the alluring smell of the dark god inside the gate. This was other—this was a stranger. The odor of death, which brought to mind various gods, was quickly connected to the bird of destruction. This did not put the smaller Pokemon at ease.
The temperature continued to plummet further. Ice spread from her claws. Like a cat that lifted its fur, a frog drawing in air, or a bird spreading its wings, the goddess was showing her power to her foe. Claws erupted from her toes; the bottom of her feet became thick and steely. From the back of her ankle, shoving between human veins and bone, emerged a thick claw intended to kill. It crushed skulls. This weapon had parted many things from their lives. The sheet of ice, like spreading fungus, began to crawl down the side of the cliff. The most brittle of the yellowed bones shattered.
Following the flight of the beast, like a cat watching a ball of yarn, Vanadis tested her claws. She was now dying and desecrated body. The offal remaining beside her, barely large enough to constitute a rabbit, was not its property. Her territorial instinct, to protect what was hers, rose inside. God of Destruction or not, it had little right to look down with scorn upon this land; it had no right to force itself upon her if she did not wish. Conflict, if certain lines were crossed, was inevitable. Kyurem, sometimes called the Goddess of the Wild, was not known for her logic and stable temperament.
Alfheim, with a groan, rose to his feet. For a moment, thinking his time had finally arrived, he was silent. Five hundred times was a long time for one Mamoswine; it sometimes seemed to have been too long. Rheumy eyes, the left coated with a silvery cataract, blinked twice. This was far too damn cold to be the embrace of death. “Hm.” In truth, while he seemed prepared to attack, his target would be the touchy dragon beside him. Vanadis would attack death—just because it seemed like an idiotic idea. Bumping into her, when she was focused, was an easily accomplished task. It seemed, as the harsh wind forced his eyes to close, that the ground-type would do so in blindness.
The bird descended. Claws latched into the tough and frozen soil. They aimed to anchor her if the ill omen came too close. Bowing to this thing, under any circumstances, was unacceptable. Her second eyelid, thin and hardy, descended when the bird landed. Peering up from her diminutive human height, she took a few steps closer to Yveltal. Her human clothes were absent—she saw little reason for the fabric in the wilds.
“I am Kyurem.” Her teeth bared. The woman stopped a few yards away. She peered fearlessly into his eyes. “You are Yveltal—tablecloth and board of checkers.” Drawing in his scent, brushing stones from her body, her nose wrinkled. “Death. You are death.” The snow increased its presence.
One thin silvery eyebrow rose in question. The accompanying set of her face looked feral in the light. It was time for a question of her own; her tone was both guttural and forceful. “Why are you here—this place is ours, bird.”, it was not Alfheim, shivering with anticipation, to which she referred. Her companion languished behind the darkened gate.
|
|
|
Post by Glenn 'Yveltal' Talbot on Jan 13, 2014 13:45:35 GMT -5
'I am Kyurem.' His grip eased as the beastly woman advanced, head cantering a slight degree in his speculation, his mind racing through the vaults of knowledge he had locked away within it. Kyurem, mistress of ice, a very similar aspect to that of his own realm. His posture relaxed; his neck no longer craned above her, looking down upon the woman with a guarded curiosity. No, he now shrunk upon himself, folds after fold of feathers and flesh molding, contorting to human limbs, pale skin. Blue eyes closed and reopened red, their hard gleam fading into a mystified one.
He had shrunk down to her equal, a demonstration of neutrality.
"And I am not here to claim it." He finally replied, a grin ghosting over his lips. "Not yet, not ever. Although I may choose to die here, when the time is ripe." He added softly, yet firm. With a twist of his body he turned, taking in the gate with a darkened look of disgust, anger glinting in those seemingly ethereal eyes. A delicate arm rose to point towards it, his vision trailing along his index finger towards the chains that rattled ever so slightly. "What lies beyond this gate, I know not, but a nothingness I do sense, a seeming... void."
"I hate it." He snapped suddenly, his extended hand closing into a fist, as if to crush the gate in his mind's eye. "It defies my realm and I shan't allow that."
"But." His arm lowered back to his side and he turned, facing the woman once more. Then, strangely enough, Yveltal smiled. "Thou has passion, whilst I am ignorant." He took a step forward then, completely unabashed by the intimidating aura the woman gave off. He feared not. "Tell me, then. Tell me of the cur that lies beyond, that dares to hide away from me."
|
|
|
Post by Kyurem "Vanadis Grímsson" on Jan 14, 2014 4:25:44 GMT -5
The behemoth was afraid for his mistress. While she lacked the common sense to be the same, in front of the end itself, the old mammoth knew better. Walking with a god had not robbed him of reverence; the company of Destinae, that vile and manipulative darkness, could not make it past his thick skull. Knowing of when Vanadis had been created, likely long after Yveltal had entered the earth, the Mamoswine knew who was more experienced. Remaining tense, even as the situation seemed to defuse, he was ready to charge at a moment’s notice. Death would come for him soon enough.
He waited. “. . . .”. Icy plumes of air, a bit quicker than usual, emerged from his anxious nostrils. Scars dotted his sides from encounters with the temper of the ice goddess. What might seem calm on the surface, like a still pond, could easily explode. A single misstep, a finger in the wrong place, a misspoken word, and the world would explode. Centuries of lessons in civility would be forgotten.
The human woman continued to stalk forward. Claws gave rhythmic clangs upon the rocky surface. Her tail, like that of a cat, twitched irritably through the air. She cared not whether she walked over bone or once priceless marble. Whether Yveltal was a peach-colored ape, or feathered red-and-black, he was the same. Regardless, as he shrank, the female gave a curt nod; it was better for him to bow (shrink) than to lord over her like some king. Vanadis rarely succumbed to fear---nor caution in initial meetings.
This place was hers; the dragon felt that way into the root of her bones. The temperature continued to drop; the frost spread away from her feet like the strands of a spider’s web. “ Good. You would not claim it, Death. Corpses are weak.” Vanadis stared forward into the crimson eyes. Her lips lifted slightly in the tiniest of snarls; it was a promise of future aggression and oddly out of place on her soft-boned features. “Why? Not ever—except in death. Why is that, Yveltal? Are you frightened?” The area was protected. Food was plentiful. The wind did not harm it. Vanadis had learned to ignore the other sickness within this place.
The smirk did not sit well in her full stomach. It was the expression of gloating, soon to be bloated, apes. That face was often followed by patronizing words. Turning slightly, following his gaze, she began to feel her temper boil. He had no right to stare at her master—or his prison—in such a manner. The snow began to twist into little shards of ice; these were hard enough to break skin. This interloper had trodden into her area; he was allowed due to only her leniency. “. . .it is the void. More than death. Ghosts do not escape him.” The worship in her voice was apparent; they were words of wistfulness.
Alfheim swore. How he wished, like all of those psychic-types, that he could project a stop-sign to the death god. Insulting the cat to his mistress was the quick way to a war.
The snarl appeared instantly. Her chest and face rippled. A roar, deep and echoing, came from her deepest organs.“My realm---HIS realm!” This place was hers. This region was not the property of some bird. He did not know better. The god had admitted it. The anger, like the plummeting temperatures, quickly cooled. Her voice turned softer. Tilting her chin slightly, voice soft, Vanadis reined her temperature inside. “Not yours, board of checkers.” She snorted. “You hate. Ignorant. Yet hating when you do not know. Human.” It was a quality she had most often seen in the races of primates ; they feared and destroyed difference. Seeing that feature in a god was amusing.
Alfheim had charged a few yards to stand between them. His old bones nearly collapsed as catastrophe was narrowly avoided. “Good. Good.”
Leaning in closer, nearly nose to nose, Kyurem managed to push her rage aside. Instincts would not help. This bird needed to understand. “He is my master.” The woman paused. “He is the Lord of the Void. Destinae is the dark cat—put away by traitors.” Pushing past Yveltal, to stare at the outline of the gate, she narrowed her sulfuric eyes. “ He does not hide.” The ice-type pauses. “He waits. He listens. He will be free again.” Shivering, more from a pleasurable image than the cold, she turned back toward her fellow god. Her own fangs were bared in a smirk. “Why is death here---deer?” She referred to the rotting carcass in the abyss.
“I hunt.” Blood was still visible upon her front and fingertips.
|
|