| 6/5/12; Bad Dreams | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 5 2012, 10:44 PM (159 Views) | |
| Mirrorface | Jun 5 2012, 10:44 PM Post #1 |
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idk
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[#] What is this? It seems you've fallen into a hole in the sand. Death is everywhere, but the scent is dulled by the almost freezing temperature. It is a stark contrast from the burning surface. Just how far underground are you? Banyan. Silver bones glinted in the moonlight, their mouths lifted towards the heavens in a constant unheard scream. Behind them the sand gave way to a hungry black mouth, sand falling into its opening at all sides. It beconed him, cold air whispering past his twitching whiskers. A small shudder of fear jolted down the tom's spine as he took one painful step forward, then another, growing steadily calmer. Now, the opening rose out of the sand and bellowed, dust billowing around it in angry clouds. For a moment, he thought, run! Run, get away, bad idea! This was definitely not okay. He was in a dark place now, the pit from before nothing but a distant memory that may or may not have been there at all. Well, okay then -- onwards and upwards... or downwards. Banyan crept along the shadows like a rat, yet his eyes seemed to cast their own light now, two green pricks in the near-total darkness. Was this hell? No, must still be the desert -- the bones were still there, smiling up at him, laughing at him. The sound echoed all around the walls, the skulls staring up at him with eyes like glittering stars. At this Banyan closed his eyes and whimpered for them to please, please leave. Then there was silence, and a new palce entirely, or perhapse not so different. The bones were still now, finally, and he was alone. Yes, completely, totally alone. No way anyone could be here, he dared them to come. Nope. Blissful silence... Marshland. From behind the pale tom-cat, unnaturally bright silver eyes emerged. They had not been there before but, as if triggered by the newcomer's presence in the darkness of the pit, they were now. The creature they belonged to stalked forwards on paws so accoustomed to the shifting nature of sands that they made not the faintest hint of sound. The monster behind those horribly cold silver eyes was not only an apex predator of the desert, but the apex predator of the desert. It was the King, the undisputed ruler of all the sands. Made of nothing but fur, bones, muscle, and pure terror, the feared image emerged from the settling sands. Like torches, it approached its quarry. It's size made it now difficult to remain concealed, but the massive animal hardly cared. Dark lips parted. Pale teeth gleamed in the dim, barely existant light. "Trespasser." In the quiet space of the underground den, the horrible creature's voice boomed from wall to wall. Its tail tip flicked in an almost dismissive display. As it drew closer, it became more and more evident that the behemoth was a cat. He was mottled, with patches of dusty brown and pale ivory. A dark slash marked the right side of his face from brow to lip. Stains as red as blood cut across the natural browns of his pelt. Jagged claws glinted cruely, as if thirsting for blood. A tattered feather with a bright red tip hung behind the warrior's left ear. The King of the Desert snarled, and the sound was almost roar enough to befit the great lions of the far away savannah. Banyan. Somewhere deep within the heart of the poor, innocent soul a darkness stirred. It growled within his mind as he turned, mossy lights peering into the eyes of a demon. There was horror there, but something else, something greater that he couldn't explain. Bat-like ears flicked to the sides of Banyan's skull as he took in the mighty creature, his master, and bowed til his nose touched the unnaturally cold sand. Moments later he remembered -- oh, he should be running, screaming his head off, not bowing. Who was this guy, anyways? "Tresspasser" boomed the god, or cat, or whatever the hell it was, and at once the spell was broken. His eyes swivelled rapidly as he tried to get his bearings, pupils contstricting to penpricks. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. What to do, what to do, what do what do? Fight, said a voice. Fight. No, he didn't want to, he didn't want to shed blood, but wasn't he Whirling Winds legacy now? He felt so small, so helpless under the great King's presence but no, he wouldn't fight. The ghostly tom tried to speak, but the words whithered and died in his throat. And then he was running, meeting wall after wall in a sick game of keepaway. Marshland. Had this been the real Marshland, in his tyrant's flesh and killer's bones, he would have thought with disgust that this thing crouching like a mouse before him was his own get. The clan-killer stared down at his offspring with merciless eyes made of crystalline ice and tempered hatred. Without waiting for the cowering cat to catch his senses, the bestial feline would dive down like a hawk, jaws agape. He'd aim a swift bite to the back of his son's neck. If successful, he'd only grab the scruff. Scruff in jaw, the monster warrior would crouch down and then throw his weight up in a single lurching motion. He'd lift the green-eyed cat up and swing him overhead, letting go so that the other tom would go flying into the unforgiving stone wall. Banyan's heart pounded in his ears like a drum as he glanced upwards to see the storm of death sweeping in on him. A screech of horror swept through him, every inch of him screaming for fight or flight. Couldn't get away, couldn't get away! Briefly, a pulse of limey backlight flared behind the pits of the son's eyes and all at once his shoulders rolled forward to meet the brute. He'd leap up, curled claws flicking foward to punch straight into the beast's neck as it hurtled towards him. "Go away!" He would scream if he could still breath by then, pleading, begging to be spared while his body as if with a mind of its own fought to keep pace with the behemoth. He would brace then, all of his weight thrown into his front claws as the beast made its move, using the momentum of the strike with his own to break skin and tear wind pipe. Marshland, with face aimed down at the child, could easily spot the counter attack. Really, it was more of a slightly offensive defense, but either way it was a threat. The moon-eyed ruler and killer would shift the direction of his head to face the clawed paw head-on. As if he'd ever tackle a problem any other way but with the brute force and experienced skill of his own teeth and cloaws. Jaws still open, he'd aim to catch the paw in his mouth. Assuming victory, he'd clamp down like a vice on the many little bones and tendons and ligaments of his enemy's limb. Sparing nothing the powerhouse would bunch his muscles and back up, dragging his son through the sand. He'd pull the other tom through rocks and sticks and bones. While Marsh stepped as quickly as he could between ribs and vertebrae, he'd leave little Banny to be scratched and impaled by the bones of the long dead victims of his tribe. Even in death, these cats served him. Banyan. Inside his head the voice was screaming with extacy, and if he thought too hard about it he was pretty sure he'd start screaming too, but his knees folded weakly under him and his jaw locked into a vice as he managed to keep some dignity. His paw crunched and popped like a mouse between the monster's teeth, bones now warped. The pain-- unemaginable. There was no sound to be made, only low gag and a hiss that spilled from his throat like thick oil. He couldn't breathe, sand spilling all around him, rocks bones and twigs peeling back his flesh as it nagged at him. No, no, stop, please! Tears gleamed wetly in that hopelessly terrified gaze as he kicked and pulled, sweeping his claws forward to grab onto his attacker and lift himself away from the carnage, possibly slowing the charge with his own weight. He was, after all, the son of Marsh, and although he might have appeared small due to his meek nature, the lion had left traces of himself in the descendant -- size included. If he managed to swing his good paw forward and latch around the behemoth's leg, he would pull back, anchoring his hind legs into the stinging sand to send them both toppling head over. Just... just make it stop! Marshland's only regret was that he couldn't verbally abuse his snivelling son without releasing his prize. As the son flailed, the father would only continue with his torture. Angry at the weakness of his get and generally everything that had a pulse, the monster dug into the bleeding flesh of his opponent's paw. The green-eyed victim swung his paw forwards with surprising strength, catching Marshland's front limb. The fearsome creature braced himself against the pull, using mostly his musculare haunches. He'd stop the dragging and, quick as a snake, lash out with his free paw in an attempt to press it against the back of Banyan's neck. If he should prevail, the tyrant would push down as hard as possible with the goal of pushing the younger cat's throat down against the sand. He'd end this with a slow, painful suffocation. Banyan's determined silence broke into a short-lived squeel for help as the larger tom whipped around. Battered and broken, he clutched onto the other's leg tightly as the beast forced him into the sand. The earth sucked his breath away greedily as the grains raped his nostrils, tearing tiny holes into the poor, confused tom's nostrils. Instinctively he let go of the other's leg and tried to scoot his good paw under his face to provide some leway, hind legs battering angrily at the sand as he tilted his head with the push and dug away. Breath, breath, yes, air... That was good just keep breath, breath, breath. The world became a collage of reds and browns around him, nothing more than a blur of vague dots impossible to decode in the darkness. He was crying. Told himself he wouldn't cry, why was he even thinking about that now? In one final kicking motion, the ghostly tom would push his butt up in the air,making a little pocket to breath in by the crook of his neck and hopefully sliding the monster's paw off of the crown of his head. Marshland felt the enemy's body shift and writhe as the tuft-eared cat tried to find air to breathe. When his foolish son released his leg, the desert warlord knew for certain that the battle was over. The dreamer had given up on the fight and was focused on clinging desperately to life. Disgusting. While Banyan tipped forwards, the tyrant would merely attempt to dig his dual-tipped claws into the opponent's head flesh. The claws would give him extra traction. Before his paw could slip off of the other tom's head, Marshland would dart in like a sand viper and snap at the back of his child's neck with wide killer jaws and sharp hungry teeth. Banyan wasn't given enough time to respond. A cage of vicous teeth was soon wrapped around his neck, his own teeth bared in yet another desperate plea. The power of the desert king's trained jaws was enough to throw the inexperienced street-rat's spine into a convulsing arch, his eyes rolling back into his head. His body went stiff beneath his hold, paralyzed once again by pandemonium. He stared at the back of his skull wide-eyed and uncomprehending. The useless stump of a paw was forgotten for a moment as he swiped out at his father's shoulders and leg with the broken lump lump of meat. Given, this would do nothing to help him other than stail Marsh's coat and cause a helluva lot of pain to shoot up his arm. No, no, no god please oh god Nail where was Nail and and and Kes and... "P..Please don't k-k-kill me..." Marshland, totally ignored the cries and struggles of his crippled son. Here was the kill he'd been wanting for so long. The fact that it was his own abyssmal excuse for a child made the kill... well it was a kill anyways. From the warlord's experience, all blood ran red no matter the power or lineage of its owner. This was a kill and this was his kill and that was all that mattered. The beastial feline would lash out over and over, aiming bite after bite at the pale tom's neck as if he was trying to chew through it. Someone who theorized such wouldn't be too far off. Face covered in gore, the General would snap at his victim's neck until the blood ran out. Banyan's eyes bulged for a brief moment as he gasped, liquid gargling in his throat, gleaming metalically in the cold air. His free hind in continued to kick and writhe in turn, growing stiff with each snap of the murderer's jaws. A pandora's box opened onto the pale mess's flickering mind, sending a thousand neural impulses surging through him in tiny, prickling waves. Cold, it was cold. Hurt, squishy, his body was not unlike roadkill. Bite, lurch, bite, lurch, growing fainter, hurt. Stop, stop, stop! It didn't hurt so much now, even if he could feel the faint clench of jaws on his neck. Something had apparrrently sssevrrd. Now the world gave way to a blackness that was actually soothing in its chill, but the pain from before came rushing back and he opened his eyes and screamed -- oh, where was... He was back in the den. A dream. A very, very bad dream. As silly as he knew it was, the little 'captain' curled into a tight ball and began to sob softly, body quaking like a leaf. He missed the city. |
| Hakoda/Deadface/Marshland/Fearsome/Marksmain/Leathe | |
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