#a carve bone and just using water to control dust is crazy. not using a mask isnt a big tough guy thing you can literally feel the god damn

[thelordstears]

Writing totally isn’t a passion of mine *Wink, wink*

"Fools, always think they're the smartest one in the room, as is the same with saints, it would seem." - Moores Thomas

"The crow must have a very watchful eye; for even his flock is called a murder." - Valkronin Sambridge

"Sometimes what others do to obtain peace leaves you in pieces." - Bentley Harlem

"He is the enemy screams my ragged bone mind; again and again the shouts of my father echo in the night of my darkness, and again and again I let the lie envelop like blood in my chest." - Alastair Sambridge

"This wicked heart doth not beat lovely." - Valkronin Sambridge

"We're pawns in a game that doesn't fucking care; the King and Queen have left the brooks and knights bleeding on the edge of the board. All that's left of us is the way we move across a checkered board, wondering why black, white and red is the only color we can see through these loyalty blinded eyes." - Flitz Haktoll

"We're all lookin' for glory at the end of a faded bullet; grins echoing in the decaying lights of justice and heroism." - Benjamin Scotsfire

"Glory is not found in the pursuit of death. It's often found in the pursuit of something greater." - Henry Onlark

”Lies fall slick from the tongue of the foolish.” - Cross Smykens

"I left the war; but it never left me." - Jay Foster

"Ya know; a man once told me to turn my rage inta power. Let it be the kick of my bloodied rifle, but as I turned that rage to power, as I let that bloodied rifle bruise my shoulder; I learned that power's name was corruption all along." - Maximus Bates

"When everything is ripped decadent from your veins you find a substitute for that abyss in your heart; and I've filled it with cracks of who I'm not." - Terminus Hydra

"People like us don't get third chances. We just get ta live the rest of our lives in this flat circle, we're doomed ta try and run on these hand me down shoes; but we'll just get right back where we started. Standin' stagnant in our cruelty." - Scottenmire Travol

"You haunt many a folk 'round here and you don't even know the names of the graves carved into the stone of your heart; everyone's nameless too ya. But everyone's got a name and a couple thousand stories to tell, what merry little tale do you think I plan on orchestrating tonight?" - Monte Pelamo

"I thought I was raising a rifle to fate; but then I bled as my finger curled around the trigger." - Alastair Sambridge

"Glory and death often go hand in hand; interlocking bloodstained fingers within one another's as to best watch humanity flitter and fade away into dust and ashes. Have you ever noticed how cruel people get when life fucks 'em over? How evil seeps through the good man's heart all because he had a bad fucking day? I'm the seed of evil planted into the good man's ribcage, blossoming like a black rose of thorns and shadow in the heart of kindness." - Diablo Bohnsello

"I already walked that path brother. I already have a coffin fitted for a man that ain't me; it's why I'm so fucking dangerous." - Hectorvallo Bloodwain

"If you can't fucking get something out of doing what's right, than what's the point of being the good guy?" - Trent Aval

"Oi'm just a stumblin' deer, wonderin' where these breadcrumbs will lead me." - McKady Cornwall

"Some men call me a mad man. But I imagine you'll call me a monster, or karma, in some wicked sense. Who I am is usually defined differently for every man I come across. They all have their own little tale. Some weep as they read the poetry scribed like scars in their heart, some rejoice in the wicked man's tale. But you, little one shall die, in some strange and peculiar way. Not in the sense that I'll bury you, but in the sense that I'll wipe your slate clean and scribe little pieces of my darkness onto your blackened pages." - Westell Gramstein

"Crazy and misunderstood is a very thin line many walk." - Westell Gramstein

"I was stuck in a shadow like trance, dancing with the light of my very own moon. It was under the decadent and decaying lights of that pale light cast from the sky that I was stricken by a very sudden madness. A very quiet, madness." - Shackelstan Puppeteer

"Any man can become a shadow wisped secret of himself. How do ya think the darkest of creatures are made, brother? They start off as good people doin' good things. But sumthin' comes along the line and rips them from their shadow, leavin' them defenseless against the dark." - Valterren

"In all madness, my friend, there is what created it. Dare you tread in the black waters of my mind?" - Westell Gramstein

"When it's your life or mine I tend to get a little selfish, a little cowardly. And these days, the bullet is my only saving grace." - Kyro Bellford

"I stand stagnant in a pool of others blood, wishing it was my own." - Alwine Hickory

"I looked for who I am in all the wrong places. Like the way a boys hurt tasted on my heart, or the way a cigarette burnt my tongue. It's as if I never really found me. As if I never will. Because in all honesty, I feel as though I was never someone that could truthfully be called Inazo Lizomann." - Inazo Liomann

"I'm licking fate off of the barrel of temptation's revolver, my heart splintered and weary. Once you get a taste of the things that damn you, like the way cruelty tastes on your tongue, you begin to fall away from yourself. I swore up and down I'd survive. But I didn't. I never had." - Huntsdale Klizollo

"Unity with control is like putting a cat in water. You think it won't resist, you'll think that peace can be found within the feral animal you've dropped into the waters of unified revolution. But eventually, claws start to fly and the once unified civilization becomes nothing but the ashes it once started as." - Hex Sweeney

"I'm cursing you with the thought of life in the midst of the death of those you called friend." - Sevelsworth Hickory

"They always say, oh go ahead, open up. Let those scars bleed so you can reach the light everyone's always preaching about. And then you let your emotions come running from your lip like a river, and they put a dam in your mind and tell ya no one gives a fuck about the kid of trouble and bone. So you pick up a few bad habits, you throw another fist against a kid in your same situation and make due with what ya've fucking got. As if the dam built in your mind keeps all but the rage in." - Flizo Thompson

"I'm old bones buried beneath the rubble of identity. Don't matter how much I struggle, how much I try to survive. Because I'm already dead, and at this point, bein' a walking grave don't sound so appealing. So I burn up my lungs and pray I drift away with the smoke." - Ramo Bonewitz

"No one cares about you Ramo, you're already a ghost. All I have to do is give that little extra push into the unknown." - Quentin Satchel

"You won't make it out of this alive. You'll try. You'll walk mile after mile. But you're just a tombstone with legs." - Quentin Satchel

"My thirst for blood started young. The first day I saw the driblets of crimson drop to the tile floor was when a kid brought a razor blade to school and drew blood against his bully. An act of defense. And gradually my thirst for this kind of behavior grew. It started with rooster fights, watching the little fuckers claw at each other with those sharp nailed talons of theirs. But that gets boring quick. So I moved onto dogs. And that evolved into watching wolves fight in my father's barnyard. But eventually you get sick and tired of fur and fangs, so you settle for something more dangerous. Something more rewarding. My father taught me the game of gladiatorial fighting. Civil. Just. Merciful. And as I watched that man cut his brother down in the blink of an eye, oh I knew I could never go back. And I never would. I became a master of the arena, sitting on my throne of gladiator and gladiatrix's corpses." - Sevelsworth Hickory

"The blood of my father's victims sits on my hands, as if it was me pullin' the trigger. As if all along, I were pullin' the strings. Sometimes, when all ya can do is watch tragedy unravel, you get this funny lil idea that it's all your fault." - Alwine Hickory

"I was raised on the Devil's backbone of sin, standin' like the snarl of a rifle. Don't you come ta wonder what makes monsters like me? Brother, life has always been what makes monsters outta human men." - Cavowit Hickory

"We're all just thieves and bastards lickin' up the pieces 'a fate we got left. So why you gon' go damnin' me for preventin' the crooked bitch from comin' for me sooner? Son, I'm just doin' what it takes ta survive this Devil's country." - Stalkman Hickory

"I got a tattoo runnin' below my eye that tells the truth, as if the grim reaper has put her eternal mark on me." - Henio Bonstook

"You'll become a reflection, of sorts. You won't exactly, look like me. You won't exactly, look like my gunmetal stained past. But it'll be there, lurking in the corners of the mirror. Waitin'. Watchin'. Readyin' itself to pounce on the little gunslinger who thought he could, and that my friend. Is the day you'll die." - Ulfrich Diggory

"It's not about, who you are in the now. It's about who you're gonna be after I start carving little pieces of you off with the edge of my gunslinger malice." - Ulfrich Diggory

"Truthfully, I killed someone for that woman. I carved little pieces from off my heart, begging her to love them, but she was a Devil wrapped in gossamer, silk and roses, telling me that our little secret was nothing more then a flickering streetlight, providing little protection to the darkness of the night. And I suppose, my streetlight flickered out, leaving me with nothing but the sparks of a cigarette and the warmth of a revolver." - Grant Filepen

"Where once faith swung like curtains behind my ribcage, now it feels more like a couple of nooses, whispering my fate into the winds of my feeble, decaying sense of self." - Amaziah Bokenmay

"To the circus you shall go, to lose your mind and find a darker soul." - Moores Thomas

"Truthfully we're all heroes in some capacity. But some cast that away, they tear it screaming from their heart, our heroism often begs when faced with greedy fingers, but the cruel don't care. And to all the heroes who invited the kindness in, I hope it didn't take too many pieces away from you, to let the fact that cruelty exists despite the bravery in you break you." - Kirsten Hezofrein

"The cruel call peace a revolution just so they have an excuse to kill the protestors." - Sebastian Dovens

"The blood ran black from my wrist, dripping down like candle wax damnation." - Joey Alderson

"Skinny and starvin' I died, sittin' on the edge of my frozen over revolver. I shivered, I shook. And mate, I didn't make it ta the end of the tunnel, I was caught by the traffic of beasts, but 'ow peculiar is it, that they stared at me with eyes I recognized? As if pe'raps, friends can become enemies within the span of a god damn blink." - Arv Harknizia

"Darkness has to blot out the sun for light to shine later on." - Gustave X. Van Velk

"Those in power are often the weakest man kind's got to offer." - Garth Yeager

"I saw life flash before my eyes in the banging of a rifle, sins sitting cruel on a masked man's sleeve. It was in that moment of death that I cut humanity from out my heart, becoming something unfamiliar. But these cackles of insanity start to feel beautiful." - Tahasha Moonlight

"Life keeps forcing me down, these shadows start to whisper into my mind that the light is just outta reach. And those damned shadows rip at the threads of the sun's golden rays, ripping into the warmth of Summer forevermore. I'm telling you man, you think Summer memories will always be goofing off under the hot sun, playing videogames with your best friend as your mom brings you cookies and lemonade. But all I can hear now is the gunfire melody of the hunt, sickening cackles ringing in my ears like poppers goin' off to damn early." - Scottie Bloodvallo

"Death is something we can not avoid. It catches all souls who live, it lingers in the cold mountains and in the hot springs, hiding in the shadows and the light. Wherever we go it is hiding, always hiding. But I find it so,  innately cruel that sometimes, death catches up to men and women who still have miles to walk. People who from then on out have to walk mile by begrudged mile in death's wicked boots." - Caesar Cagelstan

"Men like me, men of the mountains and cold harsh winds of Antarctica don't really fuckin' live. Sure, we breathe. But as an old friend said there's such an ugly difference in that, cause as I puff another hazed, stale old cigarette, smoke drifting towards the Heavens, I come ta realize these angels wear smoke wings and ember halos, praying that this warmth is enough ta melt the ice in their hearts." - Daryl Fate

"People think that because they've walked comfortable miles, they know what it means, to truly be alive. But breathing and living are a very thin line many cling too, as if it was the lit fuse of a pact of dynamite, praying that it doesn't cover them in shrapnel truths and war bound horrors. I no longer live. I breathe. And there is such an ugly difference in that." - Mankar Hagmallio

"You don't know this city like I do kid. There's sharks swimmin' in the waters of these secrets, boy, and you're starting to smell a helluva lot like blood." - Roman Ustolgio

"I'm a Diablo, friend, and you're here for a handshake." - Abundio Garciel

"They called me a fucking misfit, as if who I am wasn't enough for society. And so as I washed myself in the blood of my innocence, draped in the crimson shawl of my identity, I came to realize no one, and I mean no one at fucking all, can add up to the expectations of a civilization ruled under the boot of the Heavens. And so we call ourselves angels, as if that made us holy in any sense of the fucking word." - Nicolla Bravajin

“ These skyscrapers stand like dead goliaths of faith and virtue, reminding us that New York city is where identities go to die and justice comes to wither and writhe underneath the heat of another darkened day. “ - Bartley Exodus

“ There comes a time when every man must choose who he wishes to be. He can walk the road seldom traveled or walk amongst the villains, slipping a mask of fangs over his face as to hide the bravery flickering in them golden eyes of his.” - Bartley Exodus

“ I pick up my old, rusted revolver and carve a couple dead men's names into the bullets and shove 'em into this chamber. Did I say dead men? Sorry. I've got a tendency to talk future tense." - Bartley Exodus

“ There's a locked room in my head where all the thoughts used to go.” - Bardem Lazolla

“ You know, all my life I've had to be tough, had to be just a bit stronger than the last guy; but I'm tired of the act. This mask is beginning to slip and I fear who I'll be once it falls. I've been someone else for so long that I don't know who I'll be once I'm me. “ - Bardem Lazolla

“ Isn't it strange how some people choose to be stuck in a nightmare while everyone else is living the dream? They can say we're all crazy, nutcases who belong in the looney bin. But in the end I'd rather be crazy than normal. I'd rather be me than someone I never was.” - Axelo Hayware

“ We've gotta be accepting, because humanity is built on love; but some people think power and hate is what gets you a name remembered. Yeah sure, names like Adolf Hitler and Julius Caesar are prevalent in the history books; but who do you look up to? Martin Luther King Jr or the fool who let power get to his head?” - Axelo Hayware

“ Humanity isn't doomed, we're just a little stuck is all." - Axelo Hayware

“ You know how when you're just a kid you dream of one day changing the world? Well look at you! Look! You did it; I promise. We're all changing the world daily with our actions, wondering if we ever meant a damn thing in the end; and I'll admit, I stumbled a few times. This path had a couple of roots along the way that felt like a noose wrapping around my dreams, forcing me to sputter and choke on nightmares.” - Tom Hanson

“ I refuse to let the gunshot melody become my song. “ - Tom Hanson

“ Look, there's a time and place to be a hero. And that's everywhere and all across the clock.” - Spencer Vokeswagon

“ I'm just the civilian who watched in wonder as the sky burned with glory bound promises, smelling the way they broke in the air.” - Spencer Vokeswagon

“ I'm falling inch by inch; wondering why the fall is such a slow descent, it has taken years for me to reach the atmosphere, and I have been burning ever since I first touched a broken star with human fingers that never should've found those old secrets dusted in the corner of a shelf in her son's bedroom.” - Valentine Valks

“ I shall never discover for I fear taking a step forward.” - Valentine Valks

“ Was that taut leather in his eyes or love?” - Valentine Valks

“ He is cruel and unjust, claiming himself an angel as he rips the wings from other's backs if only to stitch them onto his own. Is it such a sin to give life to the devil whom would steal it? I didn't know, I plead to the Heavens. But in my skull I hear the booming voice of God fracturing my pieces, and he tells me, "It matters not. He is your blood; and so you shall bleed in his place." And like a fool I accept my punishment as Jesus once did. I am bleeding on a crucifix of my son's sins, crown of thorns wrapped around my head as all the color bleeds from me. Black and white blend to a warped sense of grey; and all I know becomes fogged and misty. “ - Valentine Valks

“ I was raised a warrior, fighting battles of mind and blade, because in a world where evil lurks in every corner; everyone needs to be a hero or have the capability to be one. “ - Kadlin Paulson

“ The true warrior fights for what she loves and what she knows to be true.” - Kadlin Paulson

“ I'm an old tree trunk covered in the scars of the hatchet; and I know they dare not remember my name. For if the hatchet were to remember the name of every tree it cut its handle would begin to rot. Because to cut and cut and cut; the hatchet must have slain a couple of once sturdy trees. But I will stand sturdy forevermore. “ - Kadlin Paulson

“ I was young when I learned to keep a watchful eye on all that one loves; for everything has a darkness waiting inside of them, prowling in the depths of all saint's bones, waiting to pounce on the weary hearted followers of God. Dare not let this darkness prevent you from stepping into the light; for this is how the shadows in your ribcage win, how the demons start cackling with a strength they didn't once possess. “ - Nial Moorannan

“ My hands are stained with the blood of every man I've ever been.” - Nial Moorannan

“ I have watched the sun set one too many times; aiming the scope of this fox hound's rifle a thousand and three times, always me in my sights. Always me I watch go down in a howling scream of blood lit confessions and regret cackling at the midnight sky ever burning.” - Nial Moorannan

“A serpent followed us into our perfect little garden of Eden and stood watchful at our forbidden trees; eyes beady and forever burning with an emptiness that was never quite human. And he stripped the roses from Heaven; he tore the angels from a once clear sky and cackled as fire erupted through the clouds. And so all the angels of Eden fell; forever fell. On that day I died a death like no other, dreaming of beauty as I fell from Heaven, grasping the burning clouds wondering why death tasted like a memory on its way." - Nial Moorannan

“ There's a black serpent slitherin' in me ribcage; darin' me ta take a step forward in this dance with me shadow, and I dance, and I dance, and I bloody dance. A pirouette in the soddin' dark of me own bloody moon. “ - Arnold Schull

“ First time I died was when I were covered in da blood of boys sent howlin' ta an early grave, dagger drippin' crimson wif' regret. Second time I died was when I shook da hand of a masked devil, anarchy and violence howlin' just behind me. And mate; I've died many more times. “ - Arnold Schull

“ I've neva' seen 'is face. But those eyes dance wif' somethin' sinister. “ - Arnold Schull

“ Sometimes we hit the clouds before we make it to Heaven.” - Armellos Crescendo

“ Feather by feather who you are will be restored. “ - Armellos Crescendo

“ Rejoice, my friend; the sun of humanity has yet to sink. “ - Armellos Crescendo

“ I got fight left in my old bones and people to protect with all I got, so I roll up my sleeves and stick a cigarette between my teeth, letting the smoke be a warning of the fire that roars inside of me. “ - Armellos Crescendo

“ My father once told me that we have a choice when faced with the edge of a bullet; we either run from it or let it dig into our hearts. We're either the shield or the one that's behind it. And my mother once said that the world is a sorrowed plain of darkness; we're just the stars living in the blanket of shadow. And these words echo in my mind as I try to push back against the life I've been living, the sorrow ached life I've been given. “ - Ariel

"There's a storm in me heart. It rumbles and cackles with lightning and thunder; red rain pouring down on me cracked and broken ribcage, and as I try ta rest I feel the storm brew like death in this weary little fool. “ - Annabelle Courtney

“ I didn't pull the trigger, but I din'it stop anyone from lettin' the bullet soar neither. “ - Annabelle Courtney

“ I was a good woman once. But ever since I met that woman underneath the streetlights, I knew that I was a goner; she wore her nails red as blood, leather jacket draped over her shoulders as she snarled at the sky and all who made her the way she is. And as I fell through the ever lit skies of her rage I became something much less than who I am. She once dug sharp nails into my cheeks and snarled at me to paint the walls the color of my namesake, and with mournful regret I watched the white walls become a ruby red. “ - Ruby Vollstale

“ She's just a wild dog that doesn't know how to calm herself down.” - Ruby Vollstale

“ I once told myself that the fall is a long way down; but as I started to trip, the fall felt like only a few begrudged seconds. “ - Ruby Vollstale

“ Before one can fall head first into death he must go through the echo of life.” - Zecheriah Holyton

“ We are dropping like flies swatted by the electric swatter; dying as flashes of light in the nebula abyss of earth.” - Zecheriah Holyton

“ I was born curious, my friend. So I dug into the truths of philosophy and secrets, tearing my measly little claws into the greatest poets man kind ever knew trying to find the purpose of a life so obsolete. And I discovered that in truth; life is what we make it. But it also happens to be heavily influenced by our surroundings. “ - Zecheriah Holyton

“ I look into the stars of Heaven and often wonder if it's angels or graves in the sky or if that perhaps the sun is a culmination of all the burning wings set ablaze to give humanity warmth on event the harshest of winters. “ - Zecheriah Holyton

“ We are dualities of what we've done; wondering if what we didn't do condemns us in the end. “ - Zecheriah Holyton

“ Humanity is a vessel; of what I can never tell. All I know is that we're Babushka dolls." - Zecheriah Holyton

“ It's funny, how people will look at the unwell man with such fucking disgust; they say, "Look at the battered whore of a man! Sipping on the delusion that he is something other then his madness!" But don't they understand I'm trying to stuff myself so full of placebos that this fucked up thing I've become finally passes me by? “ - Arthur Wellburn

“ These emotions whir around my mind like cannons and gunfire, always hitting me down to rock bottom. But then I soar! Oh how I fucking soar. But I'm always falling within a month; laughing at the thought of splatting bloodied against rock bottom once again. “ - Arthur Wellburn

“ They always say you're strong for fighting the mental illness, but if they could see my heart they'd recoil and ask me to be put in a mental ward for all the thoughts that swim like death in this black watered river of my fucked up mind. “ - Arthur Wellburn

“ I'm just a nobody looking at the world through the eyes of Arthur Wellburn, wondering why I can never see a reflection of my mania. I'm stuck in this little corner nowadays, as if I'm just this little monster in a cage of his mind; and I'm always thinking the cure to my disease is a revolver shoved in my mouth and a wildly loud BANG! BANG! BANG! It'd be so much easier to die than to live, you know? So much easier to let the weight of my burdens fall onto my families shoulder like a ghost that lingers on the other side of death. But I never do it, I never do! And I get to wondering, "Why?" Because as life guns me down; I cackle in the red rain." - Arthur Wellburn

“ Look, I was just a kid hiding his truths behind dorky smiles and girls I didn't even have a crush on. But my brother, my sister, they were always gonna accept me as I am; there were never strings attached to our bonds; never scissors waiting to slice. “ - Tony Ikelfur

“ I am nothing more then a messiah of the broken and condemned; come one come all, safety is found in the comforting embrace of the shadow mistress. “ - Antonio Sharp

“ I walk within the light if only to watch it fade; striding beneath the sun if only to watch it sink one last time. “ - Antonio Sharp

“ I was born under the shadows of pinewood trees and howling wolves.” - Antonio Sharp

“ As the world comes to a grueling close who do you think will walk into paradise? The holy; or the heretics of life? Who do you think will be praised by the oh so holy creator of darkness but they who embraced it? We are beasts and bastards in these shadows my brother; so become one with the edging blade of destiny. Let it cut pieces of your identity from off your skin, let it call to you with the silver shadow of a soon to be crimson soaked dagger. We are children of the shadows; messiahs of the night. Dare the hero walk into the night with his rifle and bravery he will be shown as an example as to why the darkness is superior. “ - Antonio Sharp

“ I'm cheap smoke rising from the New York sky.” - Ambrose Walsh

“ Ever since the day I dug a grave I ain't been who I am. The lantern shed a pale yellow light across my face, cigarette stuck between my gritted teeth as I huffed and puffed, shovel working hard as the soil dug up beneath me. The moon was cast sorrowful on this broken man's soul, the reflection of a wolf dancing in the stream right by the old cemetery that knows too many forgotten names. You really don't wanna meet who I became that cold, Sundeh night. Because not even I can face the bastard in the reflection. “ - Ambrose Walsh

“ You can't trust the dogs who kept on a diggin' despite the way the soil reeked of death.” - Ambrose Walsh

“ You know how you try and be who you are after tragedy? You cling to the memory of the smile in your mirror and convince yourself that you're still that person? Because I tried real damn hard to be that person after the fire. But I know that boy is gone; buried underneath the secrets he found in a town he thought knew peace. “ - Alex Devonwood

“ I hate to break it to ya, but angels don't fucking exist. We're all just people living our sorrowful little lives selling ourselves to the dream that it gets better one day. But it doesn't, it really doesn't. I've been trying to find that happily ever after for a long time, but the man that haunts my memory? He sits in the recesses of darkness like a leather draped beast always waiting to drag the hopeful into his devious maw. Truth is life wasn't made to be lived. Life's only purpose is to serve us to death on a silver platter and I don't wanna stand for that. I wanna live but know it's impossible. “ - Alex Devonwood

“ I tried to tell my story; but no one roots for the underdog who never bit back, the dog who never barked his truths to the sky. People prefer tales of perseverance over the tale of the boy who never won. It gives them false hope, that they can be like the boy who won. But the boy who lost eats their dust." - Alex Devonwood

“ I used to be full of this joy that you couldn't really kill; but that man, he tore it from me. Sorrow leeched at the edges of his eyes; a dogs bark snarling somewhere in his throat, and he told me that we all live our lives confined in a locked room. And that the wrong person had found my key. And into my locked room he walked, ripping my heart from out the walls, digging into the wallpaper to discover the secrets I hid like confessions in my chest. And it was on that day that I was left as barebones of who I was. “ - Alec Bonehoff

“ I was just a fucking kid, man, I shouldn't have had to bare the weight of my brother's unguilted conscience. “ - Desmondo Dreadful

“ Sometimes ve chase our dreams. Sometimes zey chase us. “ - Luka Schiefer

“ People are always gonna hate even though it don't get no one anywhere, so when faced with this rage, when faced with this hatred ever seething. Take a few deep breaths and remember emotions often lie; and given the chance they'll shoot ya down with pellets of doubt and fear.” - Gary Heartlock

“ I was just a kid enjoying the company of himself, always told he just weren't a good influence. “ - Gary Heartlock

“ When you let the armor of lies shed from off your skin you start to grow a tougher skin of truth; don't you know that's why Icarus laughed as he fell? “ - Gary Heartlock

“ Be so authentically you that the hateful use you as an example of what's wrong with humanity; be so yourself that you set the bricks for the next man's path. “ - Gary Heartlock

“ You know how it is, right? You try and do the right thing but get caught up in all the bad of this world, wishing you had just stayed the fuck put.” - Dominiqua Claytor

“ Somedays I look back at the bridges I burned; memory of my eyes watering stinging my mind, the idea that I once smelled the smoke killing me from the inside. But I learn my lesson and move on. “ - Dominiqua Claytor

“ My brother and I are just two cold cases no one cares to look into; because who the hell cares about the death of identity? Who cares about the cigarette that never sparked up? “ - Adella Furrow

“ With my tattered boots and old leather jacket I walked into the unknown, and from whence I never returned. “ - Abel Romiro

“ Everyone stared me down, blaming me for the way fate unraveled, and I started to wonder if that town was home or just another house of too many damn walls. “ - Abel Romiro

“ That town was just too filled with devils for a single angel to do a damn thing.” - Abel Romiro

“ I've been both Cain and Abel truthfully; both Judas and the apostles who followed faithfully. But in the end I betrayed my own namesake, blood of a brother staining my once pure hands; and on that day I killed the hero inside of me. On that day the vultures flocked around my heart; pecking at what was soon to be dead. “ - Abel Romiro

“ That man locked me in a cage of the mind and told me to flay these pieces of identity from off my skin layer by layer. I bled for hours on the meat hook. A starving and skinny crow I became; yearning for a day where death didn't seem like a dream. And I found it in the hearts of my shield sisters. “ - Aadab Zivell

“ They say good fortune comes to he who raises a pistol in the name of peace; but often the man who slings bullets and sins ain't the man who finds the stairway to Heaven. “ - Aristead Solace

“ I've spent my life huntin' the cruel, finding them in different states and dead end alleyways. But still that one case sends shivers like death up my spine. Think of a lion; blood covered maw snarling inside of a cage it called the world, now take this lion and put him in a field full of gazelle. What will you get but a slaughter? That's what that man was to the world. Just a lion in a field of waiting gazelle. “ - Aristead Solace

“ Sometimes the heroes, they think their villains because ya gotta break a few commandments to stop the sinnin' man, and we call ourselves regretful devils. But we're just human, huh? And that's what made all the difference." - Aristead Solace

"Humanity. Kind one moment. Cruel the next. “ - Varkens Willowbrook

“ I have come to learn that there is an evil plaguing this world, it's wrapped in barbed wire and gunfire violence, the rage within sitting heavy in the open chest. And it goes by the wicked name of humanity. But simply because humanity is wicked does not mean that all of humanity is wicked. You'll find the kind ones somewhere waiting for you; but you are sure to find the wicked man often in a world that operates on kill or be killed. “ - Varkens Willowbrook

“ I believe that this world is kind despite the bad apples in the barrel; though those few bad apples started to rot the rest of the seeds within; the water roaring with the infection that came with the sin. Unfortunately just one bad apple effects the whole barrel. So one bad man effects the whole population. “ - Varkens Willowbrook

“ Somedays, the wolf; he wins. He trots around my ribcage victorious as can be, but that's when he gets cocky, when he begins to get careless. So the half-winged angels in me swoop down like a reaper's scythe and banishes the wolf to the locked door in my mind; where all the horrors go to starve. “ - Salvatore Graham

“ Ever since my father first laid a fist against my mother's cheek justice breathed through me as if I were a vessel in which it could see. And I told justice that I would dare not go blind. “ - Salvatore Graham

“ I pick up this blade; knowing one day I must turn it on thyself. “ - Salvatore Graham

“ Oh you know me; just a child of the old night sky, singing the blues as sorrow passes me by with a mournful sort of smile, knowing I'll come back around to her place in a day or two. “ - Franco Jonwitz

“ I'm just cigarette smoke chasing trouble.” - Franco Jonwitz

“ I take this old hat from off my head and read the poems that've been scribed in my ribcage, sadness following the words and prose I speak to the empty night sky. I've been a boy of sorrow ever since ma and pa became graves, moving along to an old orphanage with the scent of sadness wafting from off my papa's old, white suit jacket, hands and tears hiding somewhere in the fabric of that coat. I hold pieces of him inside of my heart, pieces of my mother hidden inside of my smile; and I guess there's sumthin' beautiful about that, huh? “ - Franco Jonwitz

“ I must confess, I've named a few of the stars after the ghosts that follow me, praying that they can fly up to the sky and find Heaven. But here they remain in my mind; reminding me that with sorrow comes trouble, and with Franco Jonwitz comes the inevitable idea that death kills before ya die." - Franco Jonwitz

“ War rains heavy over the weary soldiers who didn't make it past the gunfire; the ones who survived selling themselves to this ideology that their sins were for some greater good. But trouble etches its way into the bones of all whom pulled a trigger in the name of glory, sin or their own self gain. “ - Terminus Hydra

“ I lost everything, my friend, so a sin I became. “ - Terminus Hydra

“ Random acts of violence are often the ones that drive a man halfway to insanity, and the acts of violence he chooses to commit are the ones that drive him the full mile. “ - Terminus Hydra

“ I am a bad man. Dare not let my past tell you otherwise. If the people I knew where to speak of who I was they'd say he was a loving man who didn't let his tragedy define him; but speak to my enemies and they'll spit my name like venom on their breath. Two men tell two very different stories. My father would say I am a man of honor, but an old friend would call me the serpent to his corrupted and decaying garden of Eden." - Terminus Hydra

“ These scars on my legs tell the tale of a girl who lost herself too early; and it seems I can't hide my history from peering and bloodshot eyes. “ - Mayell Da Ville

“ My son tells me that one day, when I realize that who I am is beautiful despite the scars I'll find the wings had always been in my mind rather then on my back. But these scars, these horrific scars; they prevent the wings from growing ever again. “ - Mayell Da Ville

“ Here lies Mayell Da Ville; the ghost who found life too late. “ - Mayell Da Ville

“ There's a wolf on my shoulder; snarlin' at the frontlines and tellin' me ta stain my rifle in the blood of the innocent, and with a grin dancin' with moonlight I head inta the shadows and play myself a little game of huntsman and the lion. “ - Dekiah Doorvenstail

“ My father raised me ta be a killer. You should expect nothing but the bang of my rifle. “ - Dekiah Doorvenstail

“ Once you get blood on your hands it begins ta grow like a garden in your chest. But there's sumthin' different about this haunted little flowerbed. You begin ta realize that your ribcage was once Eden, but slowly, as the blood trickled down your fingers, Adam and Eve started fleein', the angel of flamin' blade nothing more then your heart that slowly faded ta black and grey. And as the serpent slithers onta your shoulder, you begin ta realize temptation lives in the hearts of all man kind. And only a special few accept their primal urges ta become nuthin' but a slaughterhouse on a cold Sunday afternoon. “ - Dekiah Doorvenstail

“ We were never wolves, my friend. But fragile people with hearts that can break and minds that can scar easy, but dare not turn to the shadows for comfort. They hold a dagger in one hand; and they hide it in the crevices of their darkness.” - Sabu Thorn

“ I think that if one is to find peace within themselves, they must first find peace within their scars. “ - Sabu Thorn

“ Eons ago I lost my mind.” - God

“ They say that dead men tell no tales; so who will whisper the tale of humanity once I'm done with it? “ - God

“ Everyone's always saying God's not dead. He's with us he's with us! But as I come down from my heavenly throne; the blood of humanity staining my shawl of lies and secrets; you'll pray that I am. But all your prayers have fallen on listening ears friend; and yet they never come to fruition, do they? “ - God

“ In the face of evil; silence is compliance.” - Gustave X. Van Velk

“ They don't tell you that the fall is so easy. They don't tell ya that we're all one crooked grin away from violence; so I take a steady step forward and throw a fist or two towards the evil that sits violent in this town of unwelcome shadows. “ - Gustave X. Van Velk

“ I've always tried to understand the enemy; walk a mile or two in their shoes, but Milos' boots are just too damn heavy and stuck in the muck of his powerful identity. “ - Gustave X. Van Velk

“ My sanity peels away in whispers and shadows.” - Cartniza Harvester

“ The word safe is such a fucking lie; no one ever is. “ - Cartniza Harvester

“ I don't know why this heart beats like a slowly rotting flower.” - Mackton Stoneshire

“ They say this Queen of madness is a revolver's shadow standing above peace; and she is. Because as she walks down these halls my bones shiver with shadows and things you could never dream of. Because she's a nightmare in the head of the weary; grinning deviously before she sins another deadly sin. And as my eyes shift to the checkered floors of this old mental ward; I know she can sense my fear. “ - Mackton Stoneshire

“ I'm still stuck under these shadows that fog my mind; heart roaring empty in the ribcage of a coffin. “ - Rupen Schello

“ I can still remember the night flames erupted inside my home; they now flash like colored lights in my memory, my parents' smiles becoming nothing but a shadow I can no longer follow. “ - Rupen Schello

“ A man with a memory can never be free of his torment.” - Rupen Schello

“ Every choice I ever made led to the death of who I am.” - Mervin Gavinwood

“ I never meant to fall; but I was born with the belief that I had wings, and so I leapt from blinding heights expecting to soar. “ - Mervin Gavinwood

“ The day I killed a man is the day I died. As his skull cracked against the bar stool; groaning and dying in the most grotesque way who I am started bleeding from the corners of my eyes as those two devils beside me laughed and laughed and laughed. “ - Mervin Gavinwood

“ He sits in the edges of my memory like a crow just waiting for his murder to come on along.” - Mervin Gavinwood

“ I've just been trying to cope with this loss of who I am for a long time; clinging to memories of him like a blanket that keeps me warm. But there's holes in this wool blanket; letting the cold settle into my bones. “ - Carol Corin

“ I weep for a life never lived; a death already fated. “ - Hexi Moorenfowl

“ Every detective has got her case, right? The one that drives her halfway to insanity because things just aren't adding up. I tried so hard to find those girls, I tried so hard to find that man's wife. But in the end it was a cold case that never went warm. “ - Maryland Fainrick

“ Mysteries often end in tragedy.” - Maryland Fainrick

“ I woke up in a foreign bed wondering why a stranger looked at me in the mirror; that was when I died an unfamiliar death. Falling from the heights of a Heaven I never deserved. “ - Kiddy Wendellburn

“ I choked on who I am a long time ago. And I don't think I can ever swallow my truths; because they taste so fucking vile. “ - Kiddy Wendellburn

“ "When you realize who you are, it's your job to become that person. “ - Adrella Soderit

“ We're all dreamers trying to find our happily ever after despite the nightmares that find us in the light; but don't you think it's the way we react to this darkness that defines who we are? “ - Adrella Soderit

“ So do me a favor and accept yourself won'tcha? Even when everyone around you condemns who you are. Even if you gotta keep that acceptance a secret in a little jar until one day, you can let those torch bugs fly into the open air." - Adrella Soderit 

“ I don't know what one would call him. But he feasts on the sacrilege of identity and flesh, sinking his teeth into innocence as if it were a divine, juicy, blood dripping steak. I'm just the remnants of the girl I used to be, and as I remember his parched tongue against my skin a shive runs cold down my spine and my fighting instincts kick in. As if my mind is a clock forever running backwards. Minutes and hours mixed into a relived past. “ - Marlia Ferotosia

�� I remember his smile. Filled with teeth and unkempt flesh. “ - Marlia Ferotosia

“ I listened to her sorrows. Her troubles. Her secrets and confessions. But she was torn from this world much too early. And that is a sin a man like me can never forgive. “ - Zack Mordell

“ The old soul is supposed to fade before the young one. But fate is a very cruel mistress; dancing with those who don't know the rules to the deadly tango. “ - Zack Mordell

“ I'm a fading symphony wondering when my last notes will play out into the wind, but I keep singing. “ - Zack Mordell

“ Healing will come after the scars stop bleeding, so a little word of advice, don't stab those dagger like thoughts into your skin. “ - Cordemlia Munstwain

“ Some people say they aren't themselves, and I get that; sometimes it's difficult to admit that we're changing. Difficult to admit growth feels uncomfortable in the hurting mind. But eventually you'll grow into this new you. You'll find that it's often like a scab. It only forms to protect ya from the infection a wound leaves. “ - Cordemlia Munstwain

“ Some people say love at first sight don'it exist. And, I don't fink' it were love at first sight. But love at first spoken word. Love developed inside da poetry we spoke underneath da dyin' lights of the street. He's a broken man, but I built 'im new pieces and told 'im ta shimmer and shine like a star in the night sky; and it feels as though when I put a lovin' finger on 'is cheek dat he's started ta feel more human. As if 'e's no longer a whiskey stained ghost. “ - Daubellia O’Snair

“ Fate twists in some awfully strange ways, huh? You could be a normal, everyday girl, fighting hardly noticeable battles and then in the blink of an eye tragedy rips through the air like a bullet in your fucking teeth. “ - Alexia Hathorn

“ Sometimes you gotta make a choice. Live or die. And sometimes you'll do both.” - Alexia Hathorn

“ We're the scar ridden angels of Heaven, soaring on wings stitched with different pieces; like a quilt of many colors. We're not heroes, just people who got caught in the crossfire of a world roaring with evil. “ - Alexia Hathorn

“ Often people in pain's mind is fogged up from the hurt, and so they don't really know what they're doing, ya know? “ - Hispania Hopva

“ Death I've learned, stalks the living. “ - Hannisada Gravewit

“ You can't really cure addiction. It walks beside he or she who used. Like a ghost that doesn't know when or how to move on. Is it really that much to ask for a halfway decent mind? One that doesn't taunt me with the idea of one more fucking high? But I suppose it was my choice to accept that little baggie at a party, right? It was my idea to get addicted, right? That's what they always tell ya. They call the junkies and ghosts monsters of society, but damn it man, we've been victims all along. “ - Hannisada Gravewit

“ I tried to hide my scars under thick coats and heavy blankets, but I bled and soaked through those. So now here I stand. Naked and awfully vulnerable to my demons and ghosts." - Hannisada Gravewit

“ His insanity ripped me from my backbone when I was only a child. I can still remember the violence shattered between his knuckles, the anger on his cigarette snarl. I still remember the screams. The God awful screams. I've been trying to dream for a long time man, but these nightmares always plague the boy who never lived. The boy who never had the chance, to live. “ - Jonathan Enders

“ I just, I don't know how to escape these nightmares, man. Because that man's cruelty echoes in my mind; his smoke whispered anger booming through my thoughts. I was just a kid, man. But he stole that option from me when he put a bloodied finger to my lip and whispered that he was never here. Or when that old, boney skeleton beside him clasped two hands around my shoulder and whispered in a low, harsh voice that they were the boogeymen. And I believe that. Because the boogeyman is what goes bump in the night, right? And if there's anything that could be considered monster, I'd give the definition to them.” - Jonathan Enders

“ I take a fragile breath, hoping it doesn't rip through my throat like a bullet. “ - Jonathan Enders

“ I fought myself for such a long time only to realize the reflection had always been a friend. “ - Baila Von Cascia

“ Ya know how fate works, right? Ya meet one or two people and your whole world unravels. Sure. They're good people. You learn that they've become family somewhere along the road. But the villains you met alongside them just isn't worth it. “ - Joshua Houstella

“ I have fallen down this rabbit hole of oneself, gripping the roots of madness.” - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ I am nothing short of a sin. Nothing short of a monster masquerading as a woman. “ - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ This heart of mine has whispered in sin and death ever since my mother told me all of her secrets, the closet looking like a welcoming home where Narnia and all the lions would protect me. But fantasy has never been as cruel, and unpredictable as reality. For reality hides until the right moment. Waiting. Forever waiting. And one day it snatches you so unaware and drags you through the nightmares. Oh you may kick. You may scream. But you'll most certainly succumb. “ - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ Forever my friend, can last only a second as the white rabbit once said. And forever, has lasted too long for my angel." - Ingretta Shazowlla 

“ I speak my truths in barely audible whispers, screaming my lies at glass shattered levels. “ - Molly Chain

“ My lonely little mind is slathered in grey and blue paint, memories glossed over with thick layers of dark color. I've tried to peal away that wallpaper. But there's endless layers in this house, and I just don't know how much strength I've got left. “ - Molly Chain

“ There's blisters on my strength, and I fear I'm about to slip. “ - Molly Chain

“ All my life I've been afraid. Of myself. Of my father. Of the shadows that hid like monsters in my closet. And as I come to the realization that I will never escape my mind, I know that this is who I am. And she's such a broken girl. A wisped shadow of something great. “ - Clarice Sanchez

“ I honestly believe God started typing me up, but he left to work on something greater and left me an unfinished piece of poetry, as if my prose bleed into the way fate unravels and twists. “ - Clarice Sanchez

“ My peace of mind bleeds from the holes in my heart. “ - Clarice Sanchez

“ From what I know cruelty is the last guillotine, and we're just whittlin' down the rope, wonderin' when it'll snap and fall down on humanities head. “ - Leone Kassophic

“ God's voice is echoed through violence.” - Leone Kassophic

“ If my sins were tangible, would I bleed upon contact? “ - Darkin Vagabond

“ Truthfully I am not me. Just a graveyard symphony ringing like the funeral bell, revolver held in one hand, regrets held feebly in the other.” - Darkin Vagabond

“ I look to the star painted sky and wonder what prayers he's been answering, which whispers screamed the loudest. “ - Zelene Clifforde

“ I am a lover at heart, wishing poetry and words spoken could heal the damage of war. And truthfully, that is the only way to stop a war. You speak to the enemy with a certain understanding. You try to discover who they are past the violence shattered between their bruised and bloodstained knuckles." - Zelene Clifforde

“ I am a gentle soul at heart, but alas, I sharpen my claws and go to war like a sinner who doesn't know when to quit, like an old, tattered wolf who wishes to quit all the bloodshed. “ - Yngvir Alvisson

“ Often I wonder if this heart should just quit feeling. Quit letting the blood stain it like a memory that shalt not be forgotten. But I pick up my heart, and I shove it fragile and broken back inside my ribcage. For to become a beast, my friend, is the loneliest achievement of all. “ - Yngvir Alvisson

“ Way I see it. Hate is a revolver. These men and women fill their chamber with all the good pieces of themselves, firing off for a cause that never mattered, something that shouldn't even exist. “ - Jaspello Crosshair

“ In every sense of the word I'm the hero I needed when I was a kid. “ - Jaspello Crosshair

“ Take life one step at a time, second by second, minute by minute. Eventually the storm will pass you by. Sometimes it feels as though you're not gonna make it, but that's the kind of thing tragedy whispers, it tells you lies in an attempt to weaken your resolve. “ - Chris Shaw

“ Debby and I treat life like a workout. We breathe in. We breathe out. We face it head on and don't let the idea of pain stop us. “ - Chris Shaw

“ I was just a farm girl lookin' for a happily ever after, but that wicked and damned man stole the light from me layer by layer. It's as if he carved pieces 'a me off 'a my skin, whisper by whisper, sin by unnatural sin. “ - Ellen Duster

“ There's so many pieces 'a me missin' nowadays. “ - Ellen Duster

“ Redemption is a sunset, and it jus' don' ever rise." - Ellen Duster

“ I tried to build a paper boat and drift away from my prison cell, but the storm started howling in my mind and I fell off the side, clutching the paper rafts and oars, wondering why this is how life drowned me. Some men drown in whiskey. Others drown in sorrow. But all I ever drowned in was the tragedy of being someone I'm not. “ - Isaac Abernathy

“ If a lie fits the powerful man's agenda, he'll do anything he can to make that lie a truth, or at least make it appear as such. “ - Jacob Abernathy

“ I can still remember how that man told me that we'd save the world together, that as the bombs started going off, we'd be the men history looked at and said, "Well done, heroes, you did it." But as I watched the world fall asunder, my heroes heart fading into a broken one, I knew that all the man did was lie to my good nature, and it was on that day, unaware, I bit into the sacrilege of false revolution. “ - Jacob Abernathy

“ I was just a girl without shadows in her mind until I stumbled into a rabbit hole of Godhood and the way blood spills on the arena floor. And as I fell, little pieces of me being carved off by the blade of a malicious God, I knew that I must have more of this undying pleasure. “ - Sonata Vickowinter

“ I'm just a broken bottle angel who forgot his wings on the downward descent.” - Ash Caesar

“ Often I say I'm better off dead, because this man I am is hardly worth a damn, let alone two cents and a nickel, so I glug down another bottle of whiskey and let my little sister down one more fucking time. “ - Ash Caesar

“ I always say I'll change, but everyone else is running a marathon, and here I am, standing stagnant at the starting line. I dare not cross that line in the sand. Because I'm scared of the regret, the shadows, the way my mother's words echo in the ones I scream. “ - Ash Caesar

“ Truth is, I can still remember the way my mother's open palm felt against my cheek, or how her wine glass felt shattered against my noggin. But those glass pieces of her addiction bleed into me. “ - Ash Caesar

“ All I see in the mirror is a man who fell so cruelly away from himself, and as my sister reached for my hand, I let it slip. And all she could do was watch as this regretful Icarus laughed in the flames." - Ash Caesar

“ I have found, that I am the single black rose in the garden, sitting idle like a warning of what will come if you step towards this black petaled beast, this decaying flower of cruelty. “ - Madam Stephanie Rose

“ I am a tired beast. “ - Madam Stephanie Rose

“ I was once in an empty room. Love knocked, oh how she knocked gently, so softly. As if it were a song that whispered into my ear. But hate drove her away. He knocked, he knocked, oh how rage filled his fist boomed against the door. With tears rolling down my cheeks I let him in. He stole the blankets from off the bed and wrapped them around my throat, choking me with the violence inside of my heart. And ever so cruelly, I became a black, withered, and deadly rose." - Madam Stephanie Rose

“ I sink ever familiar into this garden of decay, praying that someone will save me from the blood on my hands I speak of like darkened poetry. But death, was never a story. Only a harsh sin ridden reality I've given to so many others. How strange is it, that death is the end of reality, but also one in of itself? “ - Mike Duster

“ I'm a man of many sins. “ - Mike Duster

“ I slowly flay myself from my own skin, screaming, forever screaming. I carve another layer of me from off my skin. I subject myself to the meat hook and try so desperately to bleed all the darkness from the crevices of me, but alas, to bleed myself from the darkness would be to bleed all of me away. For all that runs through me is dark, twisted and unfamiliar. “ - Mike Duster

“ The truth, does not whisper, my friend. It screams.” - Ava Callenwillow

“ Secrets stick to me, and more often than not they take over my identity, pulling me into the depths of another shadow, another mystery with my name written all over it. I've been running from fate for a long time, finding ways to avoid this noose around my neck for years, but one day the stable ground beneath me will collapse. And I'll be nothing but history. “ - Ava Callenwillow

“ Wherever I go, death tends to follow like a loyal wolf whom sits at my bedside, howling to the blood red moon that is my wicked and decaying heart. “ - Tezilda Vaxweed

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 3 - Will You Help Me?

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary:  “Will you help me?”

It was a question you thought he’d certainly heard before, but it seemed to shock him. He stared at you, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long moment before blowing out a low, even breath and nodding.

C/N:  Nothing crazy here. Just shaking off the cobwebs.

Word Count: 3.7k

The sky darkened, accompanied by a ghostly wind to punctuate the gravity of what had just transpired.  You gaped at the decimated altar, unable to tear your eyes from it and commit to the path you’d forged.

Silent, he watched you. You could feel the density of his gaze as he waited for you to change your mind and try to flee. How many had made similar offers only to abandon them when confronted with such a stark reality?

You drew a fortifying breath far, far into your lungs and closed your eyes.  As though they’d been waiting just at the perimeter of the moment, the words leapt into your mind.

I can do all things through the Balance. Strengthened by them, it strengthens me.

Bolstered by prayers you never thought you’d recite, you stood and turned to face your fate. He was a more beautiful fate than you’d ever expected for yourself, but he was far more terrifying than any you had. You had no idea what came next, but you would be true to your word, having been raised to keep it above all else.

He turned and made his way back into the treeline whence he came. You followed behind, picking gingerly through the brush on bare feet but knowing better than to complain. Every stinging step you took broke twigs and crunched leaves, but The Ren left no evidence of his crossing. No part of his world was disturbed as he moved through it.

It was only you who did not belong here.

The realization socked you in the gut. It was profound — this knowing that you belonged nowhere and with no one.

Tripping on a vine, you crashed to the ground on a yelp. Pressing your hands to your chest, you tried to get yourself under control, to slow your haphazard breathing. He already thought you weak, and you did not want him to think you any more foolish. 

But it was useless. You were only human. Exhausted, skirting mania, you wept and shuddered. You were alone in the Galaxy with the only creature in existence who was, by design, incapable of feeling, of empathy. He was made to be the uncaring end of all things.

Long moments stretched as you tried to compose yourself. This wasn’t simply sadness; it was a mortal response to the reality of immortality. It is one thing to believe in gods.  It is something entirely different to know they are real.

Whether it was pity or impatience, this particular god turned back for you. In only a few strides, he was at your side. He tucked the book and blade against your chest and crossed your arms over them. You stared at his profile, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he lifted you into his arms effortlessly and resumed his path.

Despite how much you wanted to walk, to follow him like a willing adult and not be carried like a child, you wondered if he ferried everyone who died like this? It was hard to believe he was capable of tenderness, but the act of carrying you was, itself, tender.

Like nothing you’d ever wanted before, you wanted to study him, to absorb every detail and blister it into your memory. You also wanted to push against him, twist out of his embrace, and show him you could do this. In what you felt was the wise choice, you fixed your eyes upon your own ruddy fingers and leant your head against his chest.

Mysterious forest gave way to quiet vale and a new, delicate scent. He was moving too fast for you to take in very many details, but you knew better than to ask him to slow down. You discerned that a steel blue moss covered the sloping hills, and tiny, white, bell-shaped blooms and bright red mushroom caps decorated the pathway.

Too soon, the valley was crossed, and you disappeared into a yawning mouth carved into the base of a haunting mountain. You felt small compared to The Ren; and in the face of this mountain you knew he had made, you were positively dwarfed and shrank into yourself.

You didn’t notice that his dwelling wound down into the ground instead of up into the sky. Nor did you notice how sparsely it was decorated or how dimly it was lit. You only registered that he stopped moving and sat you upon your feet at the edge of an opulent pool of water.

Benumbed, you slipped into a wholly unfamiliar kind of overwhelmed. Your brain could not process any more of this world, and you crept nearer and nearer towards a fractured psyche.

He divested you of your things, eliciting an immature whine that you instantly hated. Chidingly, he gripped your chin and tipped your head back so he could look down upon you. You lost yourself to his freckles and the gentle echo of waves at the bath’s walls.

“Get in the bath. I’ll come for you soon.”

You looked from his stern eyes to the bath and furrowed your brow. You only just noticed that the contents of that ornate fixture were stone black, shining like oil. Forsaking your injuries for what you felt was good sense, you met his stare again and shook your head, too far gone to exhaustion for words.

“You’re injured.” A vice grip circled your upper arm, and he dragged you closer to the well. “Get in; or, I’ll throw you in.”

The irritation in his voice brought tears to your eyes, but you couldn’t articulate your anxiousness.  He made every single thing in this world to be as deadly as he was, and you didn’t trust that this bath wasn’t exactly the same. It made perfect sense to you that the black water was murderous, but you couldn’t say it out loud.

It was all too much, and you sunk out of his grip and onto the floor with a thud. Rocking back and forth, you pressed your fists into your eyes and wrestled with this innate fear you couldn’t shake.

Thunder cracked when he snapped his fingers, and your eyes shot back up to find him glowering at you. He pointed at the bath again, and you swallowed your own spit, trying to moisten your mouth and throat as though you had something to say, but it was only a ploy to lengthen the moment, to put off whatever came next.

“Will you help me?”

It was a question you thought he’d certainly heard before, but it seemed to shock him. He stared at you, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long moment before blowing out a low, even breath and nodding. You intended to look away as his nimble fingers made quick work of his clothes, but you found you couldn’t even do that.

Your breath stilled. Your mouth fell open on an inaudible sigh. Captivated, too tired to be ashamed, you drank in every detail.

They said men could not, should not, look upon their gods lest they be disappointed, but you could fathom no one being disappointed at the sight before you. Ever.

He was perfect, all broad shoulders and muscle. His beautiful skin was dusted with beauty marks at such places you thought were the exact right spots for kissing. He pushed thick fingers through raven black hair, edging it back away from his face. You lingered on abs, on hip bones, on ankles; and at each one, you found yourself surprised. There was no part of him that was unattractive. 

He was built like a man, but it was as though he was the blueprint from which man came.

Long and lean, he left you in your dirty crumple and stepped into the bath. He disappeared beneath the surface for only a second, only long enough to blacken his already ebony halo with the tainted water. He stood in the very center of the pool and lifted his hand to you.

It was the single best come-hither gesture you’d ever seen in your life.

“I’ll not do it for you, lamb. Come.”

You had been so certain before, so sure that you could do this if he helped you. But now? Now, he was naked and waiting for you, and you stuck to the floor as though it cemented you there. Your heart rate skyrocketed. Sweat dampened everything, everywhere. You could hear the increased pace of your anxious breathing.

Your body made the decision without any mental involvement.  On auto-pilot, you slid the ruined robe to the floor, pushed to your feet, and reached for his hand. His touch sparked electric current racing to your most intimate parts. The surge dipped into your heart, your spirit, and you willed yourself to not jerk away. He took another step toward you to strengthen your balance, and you dipped your toes into the pool.

Consternation knit your brow as you stepped further in and reached to brush your fingers through the liquid, assured it would sting, bite, burst into flames. Instead, the water was neither too cold nor too hot. You expected a strong chemical or crude odor, but it didn’t smell bad at all.  Rather, it smelled like lilies.  Besides being so dark it obfuscated your toes, it was slippery and tingly, and you swore it all but coaxed you deeper in.

Like a womb, the water enveloped you, warming to your exact body temperature. The further you sunk down into it, the more you accepted it, the more it practically vibrated around you. Beneath the surface, something of a current lapped at aching muscles, pulling loose an appreciative groan.

Head tipped back, mouth slightly parted, you were almost there, almost at relaxation when you felt it. Staring at his face, you blinked rapidly while trying to talk yourself out of what you thought. 

Surely, there was nothing else in this bath with you. Surely, he didn’t lure you into this complacency to feed you to some demon from the deep. Surely…..

The slide against your legs came again, though, scaly and undulating, and you launched from your lazing faster than you could even register. A volley of shrieks echoed in the chamber; and somehow, you climbed The Ren like a tree in your terror.

“What’s in the water!?”

It was his curse that broke through the haze right before he physically unwound you from his neck. You cinched your legs tight around his middle and scratched at his biceps, trying to hold on and resisting being plunged back down into the bath. Strung tight like a bow, you clung to him.

“Flowers.” He reached into the inky abyss and pulled up a drenched bloom. “They enrich the water.”

You turned away, eyes shut impossibly tight and not caring that what he said made sense. You were beyond the point of comprehension and could only see in variances of anxious, bewildered. Nothing in this place was safe except this spot right here.

“Please.” 

Your voice was softer, more fragile than you ever remembered it being before. His beautiful mouth pursed, and he relented. Shifting so you were face to face, he wrapped your legs around his hips, splayed both hands across your back, and lowered you both into the water. 

He lifted a thumb to brush away mud and caked blood from your face. You swallowed any further objection, but your eyes stayed round as moons. You looked over one shoulder and then the other.  You looked over his shoulders, too, searching for how this bath was going to kill you. It was irrational but unstoppable. 

Tinted by your fear, the water’s heat dropped away. It responded to every nervous chirp and twitch. Soon, your lips were blue, and your teeth chattered.

“If you don’t calm yourself, you will die.”

The almost affectionate way he murmured it was disarming. In your fugue, you followed the line he was making for you but very, very slowly. Your face crinkled with confusion. He had stopped you from dying before; hadn’t he? Isn’t that how and why you were here at all? In the middle? As though he could hear your questions, he lifted your arm from the water and brushed his thumb through the bloody loop.

“I’ll not keep saving you from your own stupidity.”

When your brain caught up to your body, you snapped your mouth shut hard and nodded, forcing your jaws together to stop the clacking.  You were causing yourself further distress by wallowing in that distress. Intent upon steeling yourself into some measure of calm, you counted the freckles on his face. You’d moved on to his throat when the tension in your back eased and your shoulders dropped.

You didn’t notice that he had slowly waded you out into the middle of the pool; but when you did, your eyes darted around quick and uneasy. He folded you further into his embrace, tucking you against his chest, and hushed your discontent. Grateful and giving more, you slid both arms up around his shoulders and pressed your breasts flush against him. The pleased noise he made soothed you, as did the way he nudged at your jaw with his nose.

“Better.”

Satisfied that you were coming back around to sanity, he rubbed at your calves, ribs, cheeks. There was a frisson of something every place his fingers touched — a pinprick, an impossible hook, a sizzle under your skin. Coupled with the strange alive-ness of the water, you were quickly lulled into a peaceful quiet. You vacillated between watching his face as he bathed you and laying your head upon his shoulder to simply feel it.

You pretended that he was comforting you over the loss of your family, that it was benevolence driving his soft touch and not preparation. Silent tears slid down your nose to roll along his skin; but if he noticed, he said nothing.

This was likely the only kindness you would get from this creature, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

“Turn this way.”

Stress barreled back into your body at the interruption of his voice, and you dug your nails in when he tried to move you. Having just learned the lesson, however, that the water would adjust to your mood, you held your breath and leaned back to look where he was instructing.

“Are you not healed?” He gripped the thigh he’d sliced open as proof to the claim. When you hadn’t been paying attention, the water was undoing some of the day’s damage. “Open your mouth.”

The look that crossed your face must have betrayed your initial impulse to refuse because he hooked a finger underneath the obsidian collar to keep you from wriggling away. You all but pouted, wondering if he would reduce you to feeling like an infant every single time he spoke. Caught like a fish, you closed your eyes to hide your embarrassment and obeyed. Barely.

It was faint, so far beneath his breath you nearly believed you’d made it up, but part of you was so certain you heard him say ‘good girl’ that you looked at him just as he slid his thumb along the inside of your cheek.

Slowly, seductively, he rubbed the pad of his thumb against the bumpy ridges you’d made by chewing the tender skin. He dipped his hand into the water and repeated the effort on the opposite side until you squirmed. He checked your gums and the roof of your mouth for what you assumed to be cuts from the athame hilt. 

He crooned and rubbed something against the very center of your tongue, which pulled an involuntary noise from deep in your throat. It had a rich, copper taste, but it was so fleeting you convinced yourself it was just more of the magic water.

“We will have to find better uses for this mouth, lamb.”

He tugged upon your lower lip, and you flushed from head to toe. He walked you towards the pool’s edge, and you assumed he was finished. The kindness bubble burst; bath time was over. Your shoulders sunk in defeat, and you nodded even though he didn’t directly ask you anything.

He stopped short and unhooked your legs from around his middle. Half in and half out of the water was cold, sending goosebumps darting across your heated skin.  You folded your arms over your chest, but he wouldn’t allow it. Turning you to face the wall, he wrapped your fingers around the tub’s ledge and pushed in against you.

The doting man who was just bathing you was gone, replaced by someone, something hungry. Those large fingers wrapped around your ribs, holding you in place just where he wanted. You tried to look over your shoulder at him, but righted your face forward at each attempt.

“Where else were you hurt? Do you remember?”

He crowded you into the wall and pushed against you, wedging what could only be an impressive erection into the cleft of your ass. Your brain short-circuited because of course you remembered. How could a person forget being fucked on The Ren’s altar by their own damn blade? There was a great divide, however, between your memory and your brain’s ability to form words — particularly when his fingers traveled the length of your body.

Both demanding hands squeezed your breasts hard. He rolled your nipples between his fingers and tugged until they throbbed from swelling. Dipping his head down, his husky, gravely voice was dangerous, and it set you to quaking.

“Here?”

You bit your just-healed lip and shook your head, feeling the ache begin deep inside your core. You closed your eyes tight shut because you weren’t convinced you wouldn’t beg him for some kind of relief if you saw the way he had to be looking at you.

His knuckles dragged down the length of your spine to disappear beneath the slick surface. You jolted onto your toes when the pad of his finger rubbed against the tight bundle of nerves between your buttocks. Up and down, again and again. Your toes curled with the effort to be still.

“Was it here?”

Pressing your lips into a hard line to contain the whimper, you shook your head again with more urgency, but he continued to stroke that delicate spot until you couldn’t keep the gasp in any longer. Anticipating, hopeful, eager even, your legs shifted further apart to give him room.

His touch dipped lower, two fingers sliding around your pulsing opening, and your head fell back on an obscene sound. He teased the area, never connecting with anything more than the outer rim. Back and forth, he rocked your entire body by this, your new center of gravity.

“Here? Tell me. Be specific.”

Your eyebrows pinched together tight, and you tried to keep yourself from rocking and bucking into his hand. He’d never let you wiggle your way onto his fingers. It was his way or nothing at all. Scowling, both in defeat and in concentration, you shook your head again.

Because the cross guard of the blade wasn’t the thing that left tears in its wake.

“Ah.” He said, pushing two thick fingers up into your cunt with no further pretense. “Here then.”

You cried out in surprise. Your eyes flew open, and you scratched at the tub’s ledge. He held you against the wall with a weighty grip at your shoulder and gave you exactly no amount of time to acclimate to his fingers. He pumped and twisted them until you shuddered. He pushed in as far as your body would allow and curled and wiggled his fingertips through your groaning and gasping.

The water he fucked up into you tingled and cooled your overheated core, a deliriously magnificent sensation when accompanied by the thick intrusion. You wanted more, and you nearly crawled over the pool’s lip to lift your ass higher so he could sink his cock into you; but just as swiftly as it began, it was over.

His fingers withdrew, and you were empty.

Deciding you would not humiliate yourself further by begging, you sniffled and rubbed away tears. Turning, you looked at him through fat droplets and clumping lashes. Latching onto you by your new accessory, he tugged you to him and chased away your hurt with a sudden kiss. He cupped your cheeks tight, thumbs squeezing your cheekbones. 

His lips were plush and firm. His tongue was greedy, and he explored every bit of your mouth. He swallowed every squeal and whine, and he nibbled at your lips until they, too, were puffy from his attention.

And through it all, you only had one coherent thought: He tasted like candy. Sweet cyanide.

“You’re not ready, little lamb.” To your surprise, he smoothed away the wrinkles from your confused forehead. “I will hear you beg for my cock, but not today.”

[rollthehighlightswiththelowlifes]

The Cannibals Curse

Based off of THIS post by @dafaq2, which I absolutely loved, btw.

It had been a few years since Mark had crashed on that archipelago with his best friend and honestly, it hadn’t been that bad. The food was great, the company was fun, and he’d barely been sad or panicked.

They played a lot of games similar to the ones their friend had seen on TV before he’d been trapped on the island. Apparently Friendo, the only thing he let them call him, had watched a lot of game shows in his youth.

He’d also learned that feeling bad was a BIG nono. To quote Friendo, ‘All the world’s a game show and there are two types of people on. The players who have no control, and the host who set the game. You need to stay smiling so you can become a host yourself… Like Me...’ Whenever Mark or his friend frowned cried or panicked or so much as frowned, he’d become twitchy and threaten them with his knife.

‘I think we should leave,’ his best friend had signed to him on several occasions. Mark would always respond with ‘Nonsense. Friendo is perfectly fine! He’s been feeding us and helping us have a jolly old time. Besides, it was your idea to come in,’ which they would frown, nod, and continue on with life.

It had been a few years since Mark had crashed on that archipelago with his best friend and honestly, it hadn’t been that bad. The food was great, the company was fun, and he’d barely been sad or panicked. 

They played a lot of games similar to the ones their friend had seen on TV before he’d been trapped on the island. Apparently Friendo, the only thing he let them call him, had watched a lot of game shows in his youth.

He’d also learned that feeling bad was a BIG nono. To quote Friendo, ‘All the world’s a game show and there are two types of people on. The players who have no control, and the host who set the game. You need to stay smiling so you can become a host yourself… Like Me...’ Whenever Mark or his friend frowned cried or panicked or so much as frowned, he’d become twitchy and threaten them with his knife.

‘I think we should leave,’ his best friend had signed to him on several occasions. Mark would always respond with ‘Nonsense. Friendo is perfectly fine! He’s been feeding us and helping us have a jolly old time. Besides, it was your idea to come in,’ which they would frown, nod, and continue on with life.

-

Mark sat up in the hammock- his friend had made it for him a few years ago- as he woke up. He looked to the right where his friends’ leaf-padded mattress laid on the ground, only to frown when he realized they weren't there. He remembered that he’d heard some movement in the middle of the night. Something in his gut told him that something was wrong. He quickly shook his head as he got up.

“No matter. Maybe they got up early. There's not a problem with that,” he said. Smiling a bit wider as he made his way into the main part of the cave where Friendo was sitting at the table eating some of the food set out. Just like every meal Friendo made, it was vegetables and some kind of meat.

“Morning, Friendo!” Mark said, grinning brightly as his eyes flickered between the dining throne and the other empty chair before sitting in the empty one, leaving the Special Dining Throne vacant.

“Morning, Pal,” Friendo said, his smile diminishing slightly as his eyes also shot to the Throne. “Why not take the throne today, Friendo?” he asked, laughing a little bit.

“Nah. I had the throne yesterday. It’s not my turn,” Mark said, eyeing the food in front of him. It looked like some kind of pot roast and he couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Yeah, well… our third friend isn’t here right now…” he said, making Mark tear his eyes away from the meal so they landed on the other man. He was cleaner today, surprisingly. Something he only did if he got blood on him from his latest butcher when making food.

“Not here? Where are they?” he asked. Something in the back of his mind kept whispering that something was wrong. Something… wasn’t adding up.

“Oh, they went to the beach. Decided they wanted to spend the day alone there. Don’t worry about them, just enjoy some food and take the dining throne,” he said, waving Mark towards the dining throne.

“No way is that the truth. They hate the beach. Why are you lying?” Mark asked, standing up quickly.

“Ok, Fine! They’re Not Here! Just Eat The D**n Food!” Friendo yelled, his eye twitching as he stood up as well before pulling his knife out of its sheath, making Mark jump back a good few feet.

“I’ve Been Eating Your Food For Five-F**king-Years! How About You Tell Me What That Food Actually Is Before You Start Screaming At Me!” Mark yelled back, grabbing a large bone that had been left in the cave, holding it like a club to defend himself from Friendo.

“Fine!...” Friendo said, his wide grin bordering on satanic. “Fine… fine, fine, fine, fine, fine… FINE! You wanna know where your friend is?”

“Yes!” Mark yelled.

“They’re here, Friend. Right. Over. There,” he said, waving a hand towards the table.

“What… what do you mean?” Mark asked, lowering the bone-club slightly.

“Why… They’re Breakfast! Where Else Do You Think I Get Our Food? People Who Run Away From Me! People Who Don’t Respect Me And My Cave!... Friend, You’ve Been Eatin’ Human…” Friendo said, before breaking down laughing.

Marks' stomach squirmed before dropping completely. Blood was rushing in his ears as his heart thudded, unable to hear Friendo at this point. His breathing came in several harsh gasps and before he was able to understand what he was feeling or why... his vision went red.

-

He didn’t remember anything when he woke up. Sitting on a raft, floating in the ocean. He turned back to stare at the island, which was just barely visible through a thick mist that seemed to be spreading over the water quickly, like claws extending to grab him and never let him leave the island. He shook his head and turned to face the direction he was floating too. There was heavy overcast, but not enough for rain, meaning there probably wouldn’t be some crazy storm like last time he was on a raft like this.

He shook his head, trying to remember how he’d gotten here and where the raft had come from. He didn’t remember much after learning the sick truth about the food he’d been eating. That… food… It hadn’t actually tasted… bad. Like veal, if anything. Actually… it’d been pretty good-

Mark shook his head again. That food came from other human beings. 

He’d had almost eaten his best friend. There was nothing good about it, he told himself. He told himself for the next three days and nights whenever his stomach growled until a large trading ship picked him up. That was what he told himself for the week he was on that vessel whenever he found himself unsatisfied with the food onboard. That’s what he told himself for the two weeks he was in the hospital whenever he ate one of the overly bland meals prepared.

But no matter how many times he said it, it just… didn’t sound true.

One day, in a desperate attempt to forget his misery, he started searching the internet for his old friends. 

He went from friend, to friend, to friend. He became a little saddened when he realized they had appeared to move on without him, but the worst came when he Eventually ended up looking up his girlfriend. In the four years he’d been gone, she’d found someone else and was ENGAGED. 

A part of him, the selfish and egotistical side, wanted to go see her, let her know he was alive, and take her back. His eyes flicked down to a scar on his wrist.

He’d gotten it on the island when he’d gotten hurt when mountain climbing with his best friend, on one of those days where there was nothing to do in the cave and Friendo was ‘busy’. And so, Mark came to the sad truth that life had moved on, and he’d been left in the dust in the process.

That’s when the idea to google his name came up. After several minutes of scrolling through the internet, he found that a grave had been made for him. A sharp pain in his stomach made him forget about that for a minute, before the pain passed and his mind wandered again.

Mark… didn’t exist anymore, he realized. He was still here, yes, but not only was he thought dead by anyone who cared about him, but he wasn’t the same person. Not anymore. His family, his friends, his life, everyone was gone.

Except his appetite.

-

As he walked out of the legal build, he was glad to have a new name. Mark was almost dead. Almost. He had one more thing he needed to do before Mark would be gone and he’d be starting his new job.

One quick walk later, he was entering the cemetery his grave was. It took twice as long to find the ugly stone with his name carved in. He pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his suit jacket, unfolding it as he did. He read it over a few times despite knowing everything on there. His name, date of birth, birthplace, gender, his parents' names, occupations, birthplaces, and his mother’s maiden name. Digging into another pocket, he pulled out a lighter.

“Goodbye, Mark. It wasn’t nice knowing you,” he said before lighting the birth certificate on fire. He dropped it onto the uplifted dirt patch and stood, watching it burn as it started snowing around him.

It was the Tenth of December that he was born. Not that anyone would know but him. Like how they wouldn’t know of the dead body stored in the hidden fridge at his place of business.

-

“Is everyone in place?” Several people yelled backstage as he adjusted his tie. His eyes flickered over to the contestants who would soon be his dinner. After he’d started eating again, he’d been unable to go to long without eating human flesh, almost like with-drawl. His mind would become clouded, too, making him forget things. Not often, but enough that he’d realize he’d forgotten something important like his favorite dogs’ name. So how better to get free food without suspicion, then a game show with all kinds of special effects.

He briefly wondered if this was wrong to eat like this just to remember and avoid withdrawal symptoms, when his mind went to his best friend. The idea of forgetting anything about them confirmed his decision as he was called ahead by another crew member.

The starting music for his show played up and he grinned as he stepped into center stage. Time for another meal and another game.

“Hire my A*s! The Only Game Show That Gives You The Chance To Win Your Dream Job, My Name Is Bim Trimmer, Let’s Meet Our Contests.”

[oelfinessend]

For all that you have thought

Time to dump my fic drafts here! 

Or, where Loki is an actual god and I explore the incomprehensiveness of the concept and differences in biology. Unbeta-ed and really, is very raw. 

Loki moves in his prison like a creature unknown, born in all the worlds and none, created among the stars with the sole purpose of being confusing. The guards try to not look at their former commander and thus miss the way he sometimes flinches and cocks his head and turns slightly to look somewhere past glittering walls.

The tickle is annoying at best, but mostly aggravating; Loki can’t pinpoint its source or origins, his mind constantly distracted by that same non-corporeal itch. Some days it’s almost gone and some he is ready to break something, not at all unlike a mindless brute, which is the only reason Loki keeps himself in control.

After one particularly intense bout of distraction he arrives to the conclusion that it is Odin who allows this - not the great punishment, but a mediocre, annoying distraction, that will, unfortunately yet unerringly, lead Loki’s vast mind into ruin. So he grits his teeth and focuses in it, trying as the process might be, catches the illusive thread and smiles as he finally, finally pinpoints it; it has been centuries since they were banned from Midgard, and even then, during his last stay there had never been a plethora of those who would call Loki their own.

But those who would, followed him always.

Loki smiles, inhales and pulls back.

For a lesser being, an ignorant As, or flighty Ljosalfr it would be impossible to right themselves and become the master of the summons, but Loki has been delving deep into knowledge lost and vaults forgotten, he has taught himself what Bor decided to bury forever under the bones and ashes of svartalfar, who had skirted on the edge since their suns were young.

Loki twists himself among the calling threads of rude, invading seidr, tugs at them gently and finally as soon as the oppressive presence of Hlidskjalf is no more on his back, Loki spreads his own will and might and is finally free.

He manifests a splaying shadow among the ruined, blood-soaked stones. Here, the ancient rituals are still carried in the very ground underneath his bare feet. At first Loki thinks that it’s a peculiar coincidence that the new blood awoke the old and he was called, but he cannot recall that place of worship, and he has never liked when all finesse and knowledge of proper calling was cast aside in favour of massive sacrifices.

There are three runes of his, even if arranged improperly, carved with unsure but strong hand in the altar; they are the ones that ensure that Loki hears the pleas, and old victims of this place only helped the prayers to reach him through the thick magicks of Asgard. They, and Odin’s own dismissal; Loki was released from Asgard’s numbers, cast from it’s seidr’s protective shroud and thus became immune to All-Father’s ban of influencing mortals.

Loki’s laugh is everything dark and triumphant as he makes himself visible above the stone. He is not a deity in this moment - so much more, fed by stolen worship-power and his own joy, and the disbelief and elation his summoners feel, the despair and anguish their victims fall into, it all is directed at him, in him, and Loki drinks it all, formless and bright in his blackness, like a sky of stars or nocturnal waters.

The summoner who crawls towards him, Loki knows, is babbling something, but even so drunk on power he is not mindless and so he turns his head - a nebula of singing movement - to the girl spread out on the hard stones.

  why her he wants to know and so his question is heard. The child is nude, and thin and hungry. Loki wished her mind was calm and so she sleeps, and sees the pink skies of Alfheimr shine with predawn.

  she is frail, small and lacking in knowledge Loki’s musings is more of a presence in mind than a voice, a sound wave.

  what is a higher being to do with such a gift and how to crown such a thought

Loki whispers on his many terrible legs across the blood-remembering stones and symbols calling for gods he knows not, recalls not and cares for not.

Eight mortals was given to him so far - five more are awaiting him still; but Loki has no need for blood, no desire for power, no lust for idle madmen’s worship.

He sighs - the water flows to sky from springs nearby and the altar turns to dust, the girl, still sleeping, covered with a blanket made of his will.

  children are but promises of future Loki finally deigns to hum, turning the ground he reclines on to glass, and the one who waited to put a knife to frail mortal skin just turns into nothing.

Among the frenzied, crazed thoughts bombarding him there is one of clarity; vicious and pointed, there is satisfaction, dark victory and even darker gratefulness Loki feels turned onto him, onto his shapeless, many-faceted being, That’s better.

Many burning, blackless eyes turn onto the man called Jake and Loki becomes Jake for as much as a frail and little mortal mind can allow; and so Jake becomes Loki, for as much as he can bear to witness the form not fit to shape itself on mortal, corporeal planes of Earth.

Jake is a simple man, an accountant who likes his job enough, loves his husband very much and their girls even more. Him and Mike have been planning this trip for almost two years and the twins were ecstatic, and he doesn’t want to die, having heard now every scream those motherfuckers wrought out of other people in their group; but Jake also is grateful it was him who got to ride in the second bus, and not Mike, because poor Isa is only a year and a half older than his girls, and he would have probably gone insane already if either of them was here.

He wishes every last one of those motherfuckers dead, surely but slowly, excruciatingly dead, for every scream they wrought out of poor Ann and Sarah - they were eighty, for fuck’s sake - and sweet little Rose (she was five, five, at five Emma was playing pranks at Sophie and driving both Mike and Jake up the walls) and her poor lab, slightly crazy Derek, Carl, that strange chick who had five names, so Jake didn’t address her and called That Chick in his head, Paul and Tom, unfortunate heirs to a frankly mediocre fortune.

But Isa is sleeping and smiling in her sleep and something has just swallowed the raving lunatic up or maybe disintegrated him, Jake doesn’t care; he wants them gone and to be finally at peace.

what peace is there while you still live The Voice again is in his head, knocking out thoughts and making room for Itself. Jake’s brain can keep up with what that mind part of him is perceiving - a shape among the roads paved with comets, a mind cradling his own and shaping the very air to make a room for Itself. The Voice is filling his body now, a herald of the Mind, which Jake is helpless to push against, but he is not going to - he is bared, so he can take in return.

He knows -

There was a man, a woman, someone, long time ago for them of everchanging Earth, who caught the glimpse of the Mind, like that, and accepted, fully, the knowledge of Its existence and presence, agreed to be the latch and burden.

A balance between living the life for themselves and being devoted to something you have to let go to fully grasp is the only sort of prayer Loki takes, covets, a greedy being, the benefactor of the scholars of Asgard.

Among the dirtied and craven shouts of blood-spillers, Jake’s thought is clear and aimed right at him, at Loki, so Loki will bow so, turn to him who has freed himself to see as much as was allowed; as such will Jake belong to Loki, now; his sight was claimed, his freedom, settled.

And that is fine, Jake knows, if fall, then why not onto the stars?

The flow of mangled seidr ends as soon as the last of madmen is crushed under Loki’s will; as such, he is no longer torn apart by their expectations of him, fear of him and greed for him, his own unwillingness to take a useless corporeal form, or which one to choose. The girl is sleeping still, the blanket turned into leaves, three mortals have become senseless somewhen after his arrival and only his Jake still stands and watches, somewhat detachedly, as Loki allows his form to settle into one he is most used to, then shapes the matter around him into clothing, nondescript but suited for him nonetheless. He may be disowned, he is not lacking in pride.

Thin trickle of awareness is still present - will be until the end of the mortal’s short life, Loki already knows - and it gives him warmth as nothing else.

“What, are you, like, my- my god, or something?” Jake stutters, watches him, pale and drawn, unsure.

“I am Loki, first, last and always.” Loki simply answers and that seems to settle the mortal.

They have a long way to go - there is already a restlessness rising in Jake’s chest, a desire to know what comes next, and as much as Loki can relate, he is displeased, because he laid claim and all questions not to him but about him have become redundant.

No matter, he shifts, yawning, into a canine-like shape and trods away from humans, sniffing at the air and spreading his seidr wide to catch a glimpse of a creature he can mirror.

In a few minutes, there is a howl, ringing through Venezuelan forests; in a few hours, a member of searching party glimpses some animal running from what appers a mutilated human arm, another four hours later, Jake is ushered into a shock blanket as he stares, unblinking, at the black and gold snake resting on the glass of the helicopter, seemingly not bothering the pilot. It opens its mouth, showing two rows of serrated but human-looking teeth, sniggers and twists, turning birdlike as it dissolves into goldish mist.

[stormquiss-blog]

Dancer in the Dust

Prelude:  The Patchwork Man

On the last day of summer, as the sun melted into the savannah, children gathered at the edge of Ellomyr with paper gliders and reed fans, waiting for the evening wind to spin dust devils off the Brackenridge.  Lightning flickered in the distance and the air was thick with the smell of acacia, elephant grass and loam.

The Patchwork Man stood apart, pale and tall, watching as gliders swooped and fans spun, listening as children shouted with delight or cried out in frustration.  Soon, most of their toys lay crumpled in the dirt, but some soared in the updrafts, rising higher and higher, chasing the fading sun and the very last moment of summer.

Some of the dust devils picked up scintillae, a shimmering, metallic dust that sparkled in every colour imaginable; violet and teal, a deep smouldering umber, and colours only abhumans could name.  The scintillae writhed and curled, now dazzling now dull, and even as the sunlight failed the motes took on an eerie luminescence.

Peering upward, the Patchwork Man saw a solitary glider, still rising, and wished it well.  Then parents called their children into supper and their annual ritual was done.

The Patchwork Man closed his eyes, testing the wind with his long slender fingers.  Ellomyr was full of strangers tonight and he was conscious of their voices, hushed and strident, hoarse and hollow.  Laughter and music crested and receded as the doors to Taleen’s Hostel banged open and shut.  Metal ticked as the beetle-shaped crawler nearby cooled, exuding the smell of oil and ozone.  The whistle of a riverboat drifted across the water and a calliope responded.  All distractions, ignored, discarded, as he listened intently for the strange music of the Trilling Shard.

His breath quickened his eyes opened.  Now.

A ribbon of scintillae coiled in the air shimmering like gems crushed and scattered.  It drifted languorously into the town square even though the wind had failed.  A last ray of sunlight reached out and the Trilling Shard sang.  For a moment so brief there was no name for it, the Patchwork Man caught a glimpse of the Dancer in the Dust.

Then she was gone.  A single tear, a sob swallowed, and the Patchwork Man turned away, trudging back into the savannah, his annual ritual complete.

I. Misereya

Misereya’s kite soared and plunged as she wrestled for control with the wind that blustered across the savannah.  The twine she had painstakingly spun from scraps dug into the flesh of her fingers, and her knee ached where she had outgrown the socket of her makeshift leg.  The dust blowing from the Brackenridge helped her to read the wind and she blew a strand of hair from her eyes as she regained control.

The kite snapped, fluttered and swooped as she tugged on its strings.  The prior-world comb she had found a week ago on the riverbank after the floods hummed and keened, purred and growled.  It was working.  A trail of fine specks was forming behind her kite like a captive rainbow.

Her mother called them scintillae - tiny motes of metal that infused the dust around Ellomyr.  Her father had called them a nuisance.  Even though he had been killed five years ago by the Margr, she still had a clear memory of his voice.

The scintillae worked its way into mechanical parts, like the joints of Misereya’s leg, causing them to wear faster or seize up.  Just a month ago she had accidentally rubbed one into her eye, which had grown swollen and red and teary.  Misereya hated tears.  Yet the scintillae was also coveted by crafters.  Her mother mixed it with wood polish for the furniture she sold when the riverboats visited Ellomyr, as rare as that had become.  

Misereya had even heard that, if added to food, it became whatever spice the eater desired, vanilla or paprika or salubh, though she had never dared try it.  She was teased enough.

While ubiquitous, the scintillae was painstaking to gather in useful quantities.  Tugging on the twine, she turned the kite back on itself in a lazy arc and the wake of scintillae was captured by the paper panels.

Abruptly, the wind dropped as if the savannah had held its breath, and Misereya’s kite plummeted.

Misereya cried out in frustration as the twine went limp in her hand.  Coiling it as fast as she could, she took an awkward step forward, but there was no hope.  The kite struck the ground hard enough to raise dust.

Still reeling in the twine, Misereya hobbled forward.  Her mother kept carving new legs for her as she grew, but the mechanical joints were more difficult to adjust.  She could not run.  The best she could manage was a swift hobble.

As the dust settled, she saw a tall, slender man, standing over her kite.

Long braids of grey hair fell over his shoulders to his waist, bound with scraps of cloth embedded with feathers, chips of mica, and the bones of birds.  His face was covered in uneven bristles and the skin sagged a little, like slowly melting wax.  She could not see his eyes, as he was focussed intently on her fallen kite.  His clothes were a patchwork of furs and cloth scavenged from the town scrap heap.

In hushed voices, his name, the Patchwork Man.  At least that was what the children called him, daring each other to visit his hovel at the edge of the Brackenridge.  Her father had called him a crazy old hermit.  Her mother, with a gentle sadness in her eyes, called him a melancholy old grump and told her to leave him alone.

The Patchwork Man was prodding her kite with his cloth wrapped feet.

“Hoy.  Leave that alone.  That’s mine.”  Misereya tugged on the twine and the kite skittered away from him before catching on a bush.  She hobbled faster.

He held out his hands, palms up, as if to ward her away.  His fingers were long and tapered and exquisitely callused.  “You must be one of Dora’s girls?”  His voice was gravelly, as if he was unused to talking above a mutter.  “This is yours, so?”

She stopped, the kite now between them, and though she kept her eyes on his, she continued coiling the twine.  “So.  I mean yes.  I made it.”

“You did not make that.”  He gestured at the comb suspended on struts in the boxy structure of the kite.  “Where did you find it?”

“My comb?  She shifted her weight to her natural leg.  He was old, but his legs were long.  She was not sure if she would be able to take the kite and run.  “It washed up with a bunch of other junk after the storm.  Why, do you want to trade?”

The Patchwork Man laughed suddenly and his eyes glinted.  “Wait here.  I will come back.”  He turned and walked a few steps, hesitated, then turned back.  “Please wait for me?”  He seemed to take her steady gaze as a promise and shuffled away, before breaking into a slow jog.

Misereya bent down to her kite and recovered the comb.  It was a crescent of smooth coppery metal, as large as her hand, with five small beads on one side that glowed faintly at night.  Fifteen tines were set within the crescent made of a translucent material as strong and flexible as fish bones.  It was the tines that hummed if she breathed on them or if the wind blew through them.

Glancing up, she saw the Patchwork Man disappear into his hovel.  It was built into a crack in the vast tumble of cyclopean stones that made up the Brackenridge.  Tucking the comb into her blouse, she looked back toward Ellomyr and the setting sun, then lowered herself awkwardly to the ground to disassemble her kite.

Dusk was settling gently on the savannah when she heard him huffing and puffing his way toward her.  Misereya stood, brushing dust from her shorts.  The Patchwork Man’s skin was glistening and his clothes were soaked in sweat.  His face was pallid.

“I have…some things…some trinkets…to trade.”  He held his cupped hands to his chest but Misereya could see he was clutching an eclectic collection of objects.  As he stumbled closer, a pearlescent shell fell from his grasp, and emitted a single, hollow word in an unfamiliar tongue.  Some of the objects were oddities, items from the prior-world that her mother called whatknots and her father had called junk.  Like her comb.  Misereya had heard of fortunes made or lost with such things.

The Patchwork Man smiled at her breathless, leaned over to pick up the shell, and fell face first into the dust.

II. Severaixs

Warmth, blood warm, this threshold of sleep, a pool in which he might drown.  Images, feelings, sensation in the membrane that separated him from harsh reality.  A shelf of busts, none of them perfect, smashed and falling.  Goat milk cheese, fresh bread, dark ale and Gurner’s laughter.  A kite, fluttering, falling, trailing a thread of melody, both compelling and elusive.  Her face.  Her face, turning to dust that glittered and spun.

Her face.

He woke, and felt sweat rolling down his neck and a throbbing pain in his left arm and jaw.  He barely had a moment to realise he was in bed, before the small, dark room whirled.  He fell back mere millimetres to his pillow and it felt like he was falling into a chasm.

Her face.  His eyes closed, the world stopped spinning and his lagging memory returned.  The girl, so like his lost Lalitheia, even down to one green and one violet eye.  The girl and her kite.

The girl who was looking at him, right now.

Severaixs opened his eyes again and saw her sitting cross legged beside the bed.  No, not cross legged.  Her artificial leg was propped against a small table.  Smiling, she swung up on her right knee until her face was level with his.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes", and closed his eyes to hide the lie.  "I am at your mother's house, I take it?"

She nodded.  "My brother and I brought you here.  We have a wheelbarrow.  Would you like some water?"

Severaixs was suddenly aware of the sandpaper tension in his mouth and throat.  "Please."  He propped himself up, trembling.  Why was he so weak?  "Dora, your mother, would not like seeing me here."

“You have been here all night.”  The girl poured water from a wooden jug into a wooden cup, both lovingly carved and painted, from whole jaravhi seeds.  "Mama is not here now.  There is some big town meeting.  Something about Margr?  They would not tell me.  Mama does not like me to worry.  My name is Misereya by the way."

He sipped slowly, deferring the implied question.  She was watching him intently.  As he set the cup down he met her gaze and smiled.  "Sev.  Call me Sev if you like.  That will do."

"Oh no."  She absently swept up a stray droplet of water with her finger.  "I should call you sir, or elder, or some such."

"Sev is fine."  He reached for the cup and saw his esoteries set neatly on a shelf.  Along with mundane items such as a calyptor horn and a peacock quill, there was the nonsense shell, the sharpening ring, the far eye glass and the sighing stone.  His empty satchel sat neatly folded behind them.

The kite. The scintillae.  Memory flooded back.  "Thank you for picking up my things."

"I am not a thief." She pulled herself up and sat beside the bed.  Gentle pressure on his shoulders leaned him forward so she could plump the pillows.  "You wanted to trade.  I say we trade."

Severaixs took a moment to appraise the room.  Dust floated in a beam of light from the window and he was suddenly conscious of the smell of wood polish, sawdust and mineral oil.  He shook his head.  Lalitheia had loathed those smells.  She preferred lavendar and saluabh and vanilla oil for her hair.  He dipped his fingers in the cup and wiped it across his forehead, trying to keep his voice even, unexcited.  "The thing on the kite.  Your comb.  Do you have it?"

She reached into her smock and drew out the comb, extended her arm, then drew it back as he reached for it.  "This is worth many shins.  When I fix my kite I can collect more shiny dust in an hour than my brother can collect in a week.  The shiny wood polish fetches a better price."

"Scintillae," he murmured.  "May I?"

She frowned, theatrically, then set the comb down in his hand.

It was lighter than he had expected and the metal was warm. Blood warm, and he shook his head to clear the last wisps of his dream.  Gently, he pressed on one of the tines, and felt it vibrate so fast, so subtly, it set his nerves tingling.  The next tine he pressed resonated at a different frequency, accompanied by a barrel audible hum.

The quality of the light in the room shifted as scintillae shimmered in the light that drifted in from the window.  He felt a thrill.  "How much?"

Her eyes flicked to the bedside table.  "All of them."

Severaixs was shaking his head but found it difficult to suppress a grin.  “Show me the two you like the most."

She pursed her lips then reached out and tapped the far eye glass and the sighing stone.

“Then we have a deal?”

"I like these the most, but I still want all six."  Her gaze was steady but she was smiling back.

Severaixs stroked the comb and knew he was beaten.  "Done.  You drive a hard bargain, young lady."  He pushed himself upright, then stopped.  "Ah.  And what do you want to return my clothes?"

She chuckled.  “Nothing.  That is proper courtesy."  She bounced herself to the bottom of the bed and pointed out the neat pile of laundered and deftly darned clothes.  Then she quickly strapped on her leg, stood with a flourish, followed by a wobble and an embarrassed grin.  "I should let you dress."

She swept up her treasures and walked through the curtain pretending to be a door.

Severaixs held up the comb, hummed a few notes, and replicated them on the tines.  A few stray motes of scintillae adhered to his fingers.  Then he set the comb gently in his satchel and donned his clothes.

Even with the homespun laundering, they still smelled a little of old sweat and regret.

Misereya was waiting in the small room beyond the curtain.  A homely kitchen and dining table and a door leading out into the square.  He could hear the murmur of voices, ebbing and flowing outside.  Time to go.

He bowed slightly.  "Thank you, Misereya.  For this."  He gestured at his satchel.  "And this."  He pressed his palm to his heart.

She looked down at her feet.  "You are welcome."  When she glanced up again her eyes seemed a little sad.  "Maybe I can bring you food, some day?  It must be lonely out there at the Brackenridge."

He remembered the way the wind howled and whined, and the way the thorns creaked and crackled.  "It is better, if I am alone."

Bowing his head, he exited through the door.  On the street, he shaded his eyes against the sun, peering toward the crowd gathered at the square, before turning away.

It seemed as if the air was brimming with scintillae and he was certain he could smell lavender, salubh and vanilla oil.

*

Misereya watched the Patchwork Man stride into the glare.  A few minutes later her mama stepped into the kitchen from her workshop.  "You should not bother him, Missy.  There is no need to bother him."

“Because he is a melancholy old grump?”

“Because it does nobody any good to poke a hornet’s nest.”

"No."  She narrowed her eyes.  It was her thinking face.  "No, I mean, why does everyone hate him?"

Dora sighed.  "Long before you were born, he knew your great aunt Lalitheia."  She narrowed her eyes too, then nodded slowly.  "Everyone thinks he killed her."

III. Misereya

When the wind gusted, it sent long, rolling waves through the grasslands, flicked a loose strand of hair into Misereya’s eyes, and brought the heartless, endless sound of Margr war drums into her ear.

Misereya took a direct path across the plain to Sev’s home, the same path she had walked almost daily for the last few weeks, but she faltered when the wind blew, feeling exposed.  Her stump hurt and her metal knee joint clunked and squeaked with each step, but she focused on the stones of the Brackenridge and endured the pain.

The Margr drums, rose and fell with the wind, but with every gust it seemed they were louder, closer.

The elders had tried to stop her from leaving, but in all the chaos of the defensive preparations, she had slipped out.  Parties had been sent to bring in the last, recalcitrant farmers but Misereya knew that nobody would be sent for Sev.

Severaixs the killer.  Misereya had pieced the story together as best she could asking the elders who might have known him.  Gurner had been his friend and his rheumy eyes had glittered at the mention of his name.  A handsome stranger.  A rebellious dancer.  A mysterious disappearance.

A bright flash gave her a fleeting, second shadow.  It was followed by a snap and a bass rumble that shook her enough so that she stumbled and fell to her knees.  They had begun testing the lightning tower.

Misereya stood, wobbled, and hesitated.  The Brackenridge seemed so far away.  She shaded her eyes against the sun and saw a column of smoke rising to the south.  As she watched, another puff rose nearer still.

Narrowing her eyes she pondered the smoke, and the distant tree line.  The Margr were maybe half a day away.  She still had time.

Severaixs’s home appeared as little more than a lean-to set against a deep fissure in the jumble of red stones.  Set beside the flap of cloth buttoned over the entrance, were more than a dozen wooden plates.  Six still had food scraps on them, scattered by small animals or covered in mould.  The half dozen nearest the door had been neatly stacked.

At least he was alive.

Flashboom.  Another test.  They had been filling the moat as she scurried across the causeway.  Someone had told her it would make the lightning more deadly.  Her stomach felt suddenly hollow and she struggled to swallow.  This was real.  The Margr were coming.

She drew back the flap and stepped inside.

The lean-to turned out the be an antechamber lined with buckets, baskets and pots filled with refuse.  Sev’s home extend back into the fissure.  A narrow passage was lit by dim glowbes, of orange, violet and blue.  Faintly, she heard a hissing, ticking sound interspersed with mutters and flurries of music from a stringed instrument.

Setting her hand on the cool red stone, she walked slowly in the dimness.

Soon, the passage grew broader.  Wedges had been pounded into the stone to support haphazard shelving.  Mouldering books slowly compressed into pulp under layers of dust.  A line of perfect jade sphere rocked back and forth so slightly it caused her eyes to tear up watching them.  One set of shelves had collapsed and a pile of clay fragments were scattered on the floor below.  She recognised a the arc of a cheekbone, a sliver of lip, and long shards of hair.  Busts of a woman, and the occasional eye gazed up at her as she hobbled by.

The next room was lit by candles, some tallow, some wax, and their smell was mingled rotten and sweet.  Severaixs sat on a hassock at the middle of the room with a dulcimer crooked in his forearm and a bow held in his hand.  A cloud of scintillae filled the room, and Misereya had the strange sensation she had stepped into a snow globe.  The cloud was thicker in front of Severaixs, swirling and pulsing as he breathed.  She took a step nearer and felt a gentle pressure pushing her away, as if the scintillae formed a membrane of embers.

He glanced at chalk marks on the floor, lifted the dulcimer and played a succession of notes, an alien melody.  The scintillae flowed toward him and shapes coalesced in the cloud.  An arc of cheekbone, a sliver of lip, and long shards of hair.

Her comb had been fashioned to the headstock of the dulcimer, each tine fixed to a key.  Misereya felt her skin tingle, as if lightly touched and she smelled lilac and lavender.  The face grew more distinct. The mouth trembled, then opened and Misereya expected words, but the only sound was the dulcimer, and the tick and hiss of the confined scintillae.

Thunder rumbled, felt as a ripple through her skin.  The image in the scintillae dissolved and Sev cursed.

Misereya sensed her moment.  “Sev.  Sir.  We need to go now.  The Margr are coming.”

He did not seem startled, but turned slowly to face her, shaking his head slightly.  He blinked once, twice, then yawned.  “The young trader.  Misereya.  What do you want?”

“To tell you about the Margr.  They will be here tonight maybe.  You have to come home.”

“Did you not see?”  The words tumbled out.  “I am so close.  She was here.  All along, in the dust.”  His gaze was intense.  “I can bring her back.  I can fix it.”

“Fix what?”  She narrowed her eyes.  “You can…”. Boom.  Dust, ordinary drab dust, fell from the roof.

“When will they stop that racket?”

Misereya set her lips, and took a deep breath.  “You can finish this in Ellomyr.  There are walls and many strangers have come to help.  Please come with me.”

“My notes.”  He gestured at the chalk marks.  Setting down the dulcimer, he rubbed his left arm.  His lips moved, but he did not speak.  “Wait.  What is making that racket?”

“They have lightning stored in a tower like water.  It goes flashboom when they let it out.”

He chuckled and closed his eyes.  “Flashboom.  Descriptive enough, child.”  His eyes flicked open.  “Of course.  How stupid.  A flash then a boom.”

He stood gingerly, joints popping, stooped down to sweep up his dulcimer, and vainly brushed dust from his patchwork clothes.  “The notes you hear from the trilling shard.  I can use them as a catalyst but its too far away.  Sounds is slower than light.  Flashboom, you say.”

Relief set her trembling.  “We must hurry.”

“Of course.  We must not dawdle.”  He looked around his hovel, patted his pockets, shrugged.  “I suppose there is nothing else I need.  Come along, little trader.”

He led her back outside.

Another column of smoke stained the sky and now the drums could be heard without the wind.

IV. Severaixs

The Trilling Shard.  Severaixs wondered who had coined the phrase.  In his youth, there was a cook on one of the caravans with a penchant for naming every small landmark they passed, regardless whether there were names already on the map.  Widow’s Peek, the Snarling Rock, the Trilling Shard.  Perhaps that was how it had been named?  A random traveler, an appropriate name that simply stuck and became so careworn with use that people no longer truly saw the thing behind the words.

Monty.  That was his name.  All of his recipes involved beans.

Severaixs closed his eyes and gripped the dulcimer more tightly.  Chaos, distraction, fear.  Proximity to the Trilling Shard enhanced the music that manipulated the scintillae which responded more precisely, more swiftly to the notes.  It was the human element that was failing.

Focus.  The exquisite tension of the strings on his fingers.  Each note, perfect in his mind, aloof to the dismay of battle.  Sequences of notes, forming phrases, passages, counterpoints; mathematical more than melodic.  Her face, memorised over the brief few months they had been lovers, by sun and candle light.

It had never occurred to him that perhaps he had idealised her over the decades since he had activated, then lost control of the scintillae in her tattoos.

Strangers had constructed platforms around the Trilling Shard, and applied all manner of exotic devices, hoping fathom its purpose.  Hoping to prod it to assist in the defence of Ellomyr he supposed.  He had found a spot out of the way and settled down on the cobbles.  Nobody seemed to notice him.  For his purpose, the Trilling Shard was merely a catalyst, a waypoint for caravans, shade for a seasonal market, founding stone for a small village.  If Ellomyr survived perhaps one day it would be a curiosity, in a forgotten square of a town or even a city.  That did not matter to Severaixs.  It was a catalyst for his music, a tool he could use to save his lost Lalitheia.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm, he focused his effort on a new iteration of the music.

Her face and body formed quickly, the scintillae flowing easily into the shade of the Trilling Shard and details were evoked rapidly in shimmering motes.  She moved now, unbidden by the song, turning her head slightly as she always did when she disagreed, curling her lips in a mischievous smile when she thought of some new folly, narrowing her eyes when she was thinking.  Her lips moved and Severaixs felt or imagined her breath on his face, but could not hear her words.

The scintillae ghost of Lalitheia glanced over his shoulder and dissipated.

“Sev.  Patchwork Man.  Severaixs.”

A sudden rage filled him and he turned, ready to snap at the intruder.

Misereya stood in the light of the square.  The light around her was diffuse with smoke.  She wore a carpenter’s apron with panels of wood crudely fixed to it.  He realised she was gripping his sword cane with knuckles turned white.

He gulped back his anger.  “Please.  I am busy.”

She turned her head slightly away.  “Do you not hear the Margr?  The battle is about to begin.”  She blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.  “Is there nothing you can do?”

The anger returned, burning, consuming him.  “Why should I help them?  They did nothing for me?”

“No?  Nieten has kept the wild animals away from your door.  All of us have left food and clothes for you at one time or another.  You exiled yourself.”

In her anger, Severaixs could see the young woman she would become.  Strong and wilful.  If she survived the next few hours.

He looked down at the dulcimer.  “No.  There is nothing I can do.  I am sorry.”

“Are you?”  She shook her head.  “Nobody will let me fight.  I am going to fight anyway.  My brothers and sisters are behind these walls.  I will not live to see a Margr make trophies of them.”  Even now, she hesitated, seeking some response from him but he did not know what to say.

A strange cord wafted over them from the Trilling Shard.  Severaixs turned away.  He wanted to wish her well, but he could not find the words.  Lalitheia was close, and that was all that mattered.

V. Misereya

A large column of dust was rising across the plain between Ellomyr and the Brackenridge hiding the Margr horde.  There was not doubt the abhumans were coming.  Their war chant was growing louder, a living avalanche of screams and howls and drums, and an ululating song that set Misereya’s nerves jangling.  Ahead of the veil of dust, the last of the skirmishers were limping home alone or in pairs and always covered in blood.  The metal-faced man was carrying a woman who had lost an arm and her face was pallid, lifeless.  The dust had effectively grounded the flyers, who had retreated earlier soaring overhead, whooping and laughing.  Misereya envied them and wished she had been old enough to learn to fly.  Flames flickered at the leading edge of the crowd prompting cheers, but soon enough the last of the skirmishers appeared, riding a beast that was half ox and half serpent, covered in metallic scales.  A man running beside the beast, hand extended to catch a lift, fell suddenly with a spear through his chest.

Misereya watched as the last of the skirmishers crossed the temporary causeway across the new, shallow moat.  The gate was closed.  The outer defences had failed.

Fear shrunk her skin, lit her veins afire, and made her want to pee.  She clung to the sword cane she had taken from the Patchwork Man and wondered what it would be like, to lose an arm or feel a spear pierce her body.  Swallowing bile, she forced herself to be still.  Twice, elders had told her to go back to the hostel and hide with the other children.  Twice, she had refused.  If it had been her mother she might not have been able to resist the request, but her mother was busy helping to brace the hastily constructed wall.

Actually, wall was a generous name.  Outside the moat were thickets of spears set into the ground, designed to crowd the Margr together.  Inside the moat was a berm, with a barricade atop it made from hastily chopped tree trunks.  When she had first climbed the platform behind the wall she had found a living leaf on a branch that had not been properly stripped.  She rested her fingers on the leaf, from time to time, felt its smooth texture, felt its stolid indifference to death, and was comforted.

Now the Margr horde was wheeling, emerging from the dust cloud.  They were humanoid creatures, with goat-like heads and thick, stringy beards.  No two Margr looked alike.  Some had extra arms, or serpentine hair, or overlapping chitinous scales.  All of them wore trophies, some still fresh and bleeding, but most were rotted and grey.

At the head of column was a Margr tall enough to look Misereya directly in the eyes if he stood next to the barricade.  This one, their leader, raised a heavy staff made of articulated metal with a hook at one end and a spiked chain trailing from the other.

The Margr fell silent.

Misereya shivered.  After days of ceaseless chanting the silence was terrifying.  A metallic taste filled her mouth and she swallowed bile.  Now she could hear the gentle hum of the lightning tower, the muted chatter of the defenders, the cries of the wounded and the occasional, diffident note from the Trilling Shard.  Even though Severaisx was old, even though he had ignored her when she had taken his sword, she wished he was standing beside her now.

The Margr leader howled and brought down his weapon.  The other Margr screamed and chittered, clashing their spears and thumping their shields, and the sound rolled across the plain and punched Misereya hard in the chest.  She took a step backward and saw others do the same.  The sword cane almost slipped from her sweaty fingers.

Somehow, Nieten’s voice cut through the cacophony.

“Is that it?  Is that all they have?  I have heard worst sounds coming from the privy behind the tavern.”  There were some nervous laughs.  “They have come for our homes.  They have come for our flesh and blood and bone.”  She paused, turning to catch the eyes of those on the barricade.  “If they win all of our stories will be gone forever.  The time Gurner locked himself in that self same privy.  The time that Abindh’s sheep were trapped in the floods and we formed a human chain to save them.  Our tragedies, like the Red River.  Our ghost stories, like the Dancer in the Dust.  Our births, our weddings, our honoured dead.  These Margr would wipe them from memory forever.”  She paused again and turned her gaze to the enemy.  The cries of the Margr were fading to a mutter and a clatter.  Everyone that could see her was looking at Nieten, and for the first time it seemed as if the shy, competent Glaive revelled in their attention.  “If we allow it.  Only we can stop them and stop them we will.  Together.  Behind us are our homes.  Ahead of us, our enemy.  We stand between.  Let us make sure the two never meet.  Let us give Gurner some real stories to tell.  Are you with me?”

The defenders roared, and Misereya raised her sword cane with the others and felt a giddy energy suffuse her.

Then the Margr charged and the smell of rotten flesh rolled ahead of the vanguard in a palpable wave.  Misereya wished her mother was beside her, and wondered if she might be with her father soon, but she stood her ground.

VI. Severaixs

Oblivious.  Is that the word?  Oblivion?  No, they had different meanings.  On one level, Severaixs was conscious of the shouts and cries, the clatter and grate of saws, the resonating impact of hammers.  He could hear the hum of the lightning tower, and felt the hair on his forearms bristle in response.  As the skirmishers returned, he could almost taste their blood.

Yet he set all that aside.  He drew the bow across his makeshift dulcimer and felt the felt the alien notes as pressure of his fingertips.  Whenever the Trilling Shard sang, he felt the strings of his dulcimer respond.  Indifferent, it acted as a catalyst for Misereya’s comb.

In the air ahead of him, Lalitheia’s body was forming from the spinning, shimmering scintillae.  Still as ephemeral as dust on the wind, there were enough details now that he could see the scar on her lip, the birthmark on her thigh.

Her lips were moving but he could not understand what she was saying.

Soon, his mistake would be unmade and Lalitheia would return to him.

Violet light suffused the square, followed almost immediately by a snap of thunder so close, so loud, it set ripples through his body.  For a moment, Lalitheia faded, but he bent to his bow in an effort to restore her.  She was gesturing now, toward the barricade and the battle, her mouth moving again, and perhaps he imagined her voice.

“Go.  Help them.”  She reached out and her slender fingers stroked his cheek, the slightest pressure, then she turned away, shimmering hair covering her face.  “Help her,” he thought she said.

Then a cry pierced the illusion.  Dora’s voice.  “Misereya!”

Severaixs’ heart thudded and fluttered.  Lalitheia smiled, slightly, and started to dissipate.  Severaixs reached out but felt only the tickle of dust on his fingers.  “Misereya,” the cry came again.

Lalitheia was gone.  Severaixs stood, trembling, and almost dropped the dulcimer.  The scintillae were swirling around him now, filling the air with their shimmering iridescence.  At first stumbling, then walking, then running, Severaixs headed for the Barricade.

*

Standing on the parapet, Severaixs tried to comprehend the battle and failed.  It was too chaotic.  There were still living Margr flailing about on stakes and many lay dead in the moat.  The mechanism to collapse the wooden causeway had failed and a large group of invaders were piled up against the gate.  One was tall enough that his metal staff slashed and snapped across the rough parapet.

There was no sign of Misereya.  Some defenders lay dead at the base of the barricade and some lay wounded, untended, on the wall itself.  Fliers, on strange metallic boards, swooped over the battlefield firing bows or dropping rocks but they were lightly armoured and he saw two of them fall.  One was snatched from the air by the Margr leader’s chain, another came too close to the lightning tower when it fired.  Ozone, and decayed flesh, blood and bile and a deep loamy smell from the moat, combined the make him gag.

He saw a leaf fluttering in the breeze, rising, drifting away and wondered where it was going.

The people of Elloymyr had not given up - they were fighting back, along with the strangers who had come to assist.  The metal-faced man ducked the great chain and tried to entangle it with a wooden staff.  Flame erupted from his left, and a woman laughed, as a group of Margr who had been attempting to breach the barricade fell back, blackened and smoking.  Nieten was bloodied, fending off Margr with a pike who were piling up the dead climb the barricade.  A strange, hairy creature dropped barrels of water which instantly froze on contact with flesh.

Where was Misereya?  He hoped she was not laying in the mud but there was no time to find her.  In moments, Ellomyr could fall.

And what could he do?  The scintillae swirled around him and the Trilling Shard sang, a deep, thrumming note that set the strings of his dulcimer vibrating.

He knew.  Lalitheia’s voice echoed in his memory.  “Help them.  Help her.”

Lifting the dulcimer he drew his bow across the strings.

The scintillae pulsed in tune with the alien notes.  He urged them outwards and they billowed over the barricade.  More scintillae rose from the mud, from the wooden stakes and logs, and drifted inwards against the breeze.  They thickened into coils and ribbons and translucent sheets, a living aurora.

Through the gathering scintillae, he saw a group of Margr readying their spears.  Projecting his will through the dulcimer, he thickened and turned the shimmering sheets.  The spears struck the scintillae, and were slowed just enough that they fall short of the wall.

Severaixs felt a moment of exultation.  He may have lived apart from Ellomyr for forty years, but it was still his home.  And Lalitheia’s.  And Misereya’s.

The bow hummed in his hands and he found himself humming back.  Startled, a hunter fell back as a rock narrowly missed her face.  The scintillae cushioned her fall and in moments she had darted back up a ladder bemused but unharmed.

Another group of Margr surged forward, and the scintillae swooped and formed a mirror, briefly dazzling them, long enough for the defenders to rally, and push them back into the moat where the lightning tower finished the job.

Dust devils were forming on the plains, drawing out more scintillae and Severaixs blinked away tears.  For a moment, dancing among them, he though he glimpsed Lalitheia - the Dancer in the Dust.

There was a roar and a shudder ran through the barricade, followed by a crunching, splintering sound as the gate collapsed.  The leader of the Margr was missing an ear, and had been disarmed, but his mighty claws were more than enough to maim and kill.  The defenders fell back to the inner defences and, for a moment, the two groups simply glared at each other.  Then Nieten cried out and the defenders charged.

Severaixs turned his attention to the melee, but the scintillae were learning.  The metal-faced man leaped to strike the leader of the Margr, and the scintillae formed enhanced muscles around his weapon arm.  The nano he had seen on the wall could barely stand.  The scintillae gently lifted her and then focussed her flames so that it would only strike her enemies.

Severaixs was no long playing the dulcimer.  The scintillae was conducting its own defence of the town, enhancing, shielding, but never directly attacking, and in all the confusion Severaixs did not believe that anyone realised it was there, helping.  That she was there, helping.

He fell to his knees, weeping.  I am sorry, so sorry.  He did not see the Margr leader fall, and did not see the defenders surge, or the route of the horde.  He did not hear the ragged cheers, or see the heroes lifted on the shoulders of the villagers.

His awareness returned with a gentle touch on his shoulder.  He looked up and saw Dora.  Tears had drawn tracks through dried blood, all the way down to her neck, and her eyes were red and swollen.

Dora’s voice cracked as she spoke.  “Misereya is asking for you.  We have to hurry.”

VII. Misereya

The room was full of silhouettes, wispy shadows of people she loved.  Her mother, sobbed on Nieten’s shoulder.  Her siblings stood behind her and little Fionnde waved shyly when Misereya tried to smile.  But where was Biris?  Dora had sent for Staven and he had treated her wounds so surely she would be fine?

And where was Sev?

Misereya had only the vaguest memory of the battle.  Clutching her sword, she had faced the Margr horde as they thundered across the plains.  She remembered the dust rolling over the palisade, and the stench.  Then she was on her knees and hot liquid was flowing over here face.  She could no longer see through her left eye.  Oddly, that had not hurt.  Presumably one of the Margr had thrown a stone.  Then the slim, barbed pilum had struck her in the chest.  If the stone have missed her, the spear might have struck her makeshift leg.  A sensation like wax melting filled her lungs followed by and exquisite sensation so far beyond her experience it could not be called pain.

A moment later, conscious had been sucked away like water down a drain.

For a time, she could only remember moments, between blinks of her good eye.

“Misereya!”  Her mama’s voice.

Blink.

Gentle hands lifting her onto a blanket.  Her eyes had filled with blood but someone sopped it up with a rag.

Blink.

In the square, now.  The light was suffused with a violet glow and strange music chased her from the palisade as if it wanted to tell her something important.

Blink.

A loud crackle.  An avalanche?  Was the Brackenride coming to help?  It amused her to think of it as a sleeping giant, annoyed with the noise of battle.  She coughed.

Blink.

Home, and Fionnde running to fetch Staven.

Blink.

Now her mother sobbing after quiet words from Staven.  Misereya felt a moment of deep satisfaction at finishing the memory puzzle.  She tried to move but her muscles only twitched.  A dull ache filled her head and it felt as if a weight was slowly settling on her chest.

“Sev,” she mumbled.  Her mama turned to face her, puzzled.  She gestured, and Nieten led the other children from the room.

Then mama kneeled by the bed and forced a smile  “You need to rest, Missy.  To sleep.”

That smile, a thin veneer over fear and grief.  Not her mama’s best work.  Misereya blinked but her mother still looked strange.  Then she remembered the stone and felt the gentle pressure of a bandage over her left eye.  Had she lost her eye?  Is that why mama had been crying?  Now she would be Misereya One-Eye.  Misereya the pirate.

It hurt when she chuckled.  “Can you fetch Sev?”

“Hush, darling.  You must rest.”  She glanced toward the door.

Misereya struggled to sit but a roar like a waterfall filled her ears and she started to cough.  Mama patted her, and wiped blood from her lips with a handkerchief.

“Is he alright?”

“I saw him on the walls, playing that damned dulcimer.  The Margr may have been too amused to kill him.”

“Fetch him.  I have to talk to him.  Then I promise I will go to sleep.”

Mama turned away, her chest heaving, as if she could not breathe, but her voice was even when she finally spoke.  “I will fetch him.”

Blink.

The weight on her chest had grown heavier.  Why would nobody remove it?

Blink.

In a corner, indistinct, her father waited though she could no longer remember the sound of his voice.

Blink.

“Hello, little trader.”  Severaixs was kneeling by her bedside, his face so pale it might have been spun from moonlight.  “Did you have another deal to make?”

Even through the medicine, she felt a little knot of joy.  “Mama says she saw you on the wall.  Did you bring her back?”

“Yes, of course.”  He closed his eyes to hide the lie.  “In a sense.  I could not save her, but she was there, on the battlefield, guiding the scintillae at the end.”

A deep lassitude was spreading through her body, the aches fading.  “But you know what to do now.  You can try again.”

“So I will.  You will meet her soon.  She would like you a great deal.

Blink, long and languid this time.  When her good eye opened again, she saw Sev leaning close.  He had pulled the comb from his dulcimer and was pressing it into her hands.  It was difficult to be sure, but there was only the faintest flicker in the fifth bead.  The others were dark.  It felt warm, and reassuring in her hands and she was certain the tines vibrated, just a little, as her fingers settled on them.

She was struggling to catch her breath.  “Wha…will you trade for it?”

Sev chuckled, sadly.  “It is a gift.  All heroes receive rewards at the end of a battle.”

She clung to it as the room grew dim, and she smelled lavender and lilac.

VIII. Severaixs

The sun was smeared by smoke when Severaixs stepped out of the Redmire house.   Gurner was waiting.  He gripped Severaixs’s shoulder, nodded then turned and shuffled away without saying a word.

There were scintillae in the air but they flitted randomly, empty of purpose.

Severaixs had never felt more weary.  He looked down at his hands and realised he was still holding the ruined dulcimer.  He tossed it aside, set his shoulders, and walked toward the fallen gate.  People had gathered in small groups, the survivors, brimming with nervous energy, drinking and telling their tales.  A row of blankets marked the bodies of the fallen.  None of it made sense.  Surely if he made his way and home, and slept long and deep, when he woke the tiny village of Ellomyr, would still revile him and Misereya would still be offering ridiculous deals.

Nobody noticed as he walked by and crossed the causeway.  The piles of Margr had been shoved aside so the Kelemish riders could enter.  A small pen had been hastily constructed for their aneen mounts nearby.  The saviours of Ellomyr, he supposed and in many ways he was diffident about the tales they would tell.  His only friend lay dying and his lover was dead.  Decades dead, he knew that now.  If her consciousness still resided in the scintillae that had consumed her, Severaixs no longer had a way of giving it substance.

All this obsession, for nothing.

A pyre had been built for the Margr, some distance from the city.  Villagers and newcomers alike, toiled to pull bodies from the moat, or from snapped and splintered stakes.  It was as if the battle would not be truly over until all trace of the enemy had been removed.

His jaw was aching again and his left arm felt numb, but a sense of peace settled over him.  Perhaps it was not for nothing.  He had burned out the comb, but he had used his only remaining skill to aid in the defence.  He recalled the woman who fell from the wall, her surprise at being unharmed.  Severaixs was unsure how many were alive now because of his virtuoso performance with the scintillae.  

He was certain, nobody was aware of his sacrifice but Misereya.  He was certain Lalitheia approved.

Shadows filled the rills, flowing into the vale and across the savannah.  The red stone of the Brackenridge caught the high sunlight.  Dusk came swiftly, brimming with smoke.

Severaixs coughed.  A heavy weight pressed on his chest, crushing his heart.  He clutched his arm and fell into the dust.

A gentle touch on his shoulder, a whisper in his ear, and the smell of lilac and lavender.  “I forgive you.”

He smiled and the pain was gone.  Something floated high in the fading light.  A leaf or perhaps a kite.

Dancer in the Dust Coda:  The Patchwork Girl

Misereya dashed across the savannah trailing a kite.  Aemark, a shy Kelemish woman, had shown her how to make one in the shape of a queb.  The kite coiled and rippled through the air, tiny bells tinkling as it soared.

Her hair was full of sawdust, but as she ran, it fell behind her, until all she could smell was the lavender blooming after the rain.

Misereya paused by the graves of the fallen.  All who had died in the defence of Ellomyr had been buried in a place of honour on a small hill overlooking the village.  At dawn, the shadow of the Trilling Shard reached out and touched the new graveyard.  Her mother said it was the least the survivors could do for those who had given their lives.  Severaixs would call it foolish while nodding in respect.  Misereya did not linger.  Now the sun was high, and wind was blustering across the plains, lifting her kite ever higher.

It was not long before she reached a solitary grave in the shadow of the Brackenridge.  She paused to reel in and capture her kite, then sat down on the stool she had salvaged from the ruins of Severaixs’s home.  At Gurner’s insistence, Severaixs had been buried close to his home.   At Misereya’s insistence, mama had made a grave marker.

“I have a great deal to tell you, Sev.”  She stretched out her new leg.  It moved just like a real leg, but appeared as if made of glass filled with shimmering, roiling motes.  The same substance flowed up her body in coiling tendrils, covered the left half of her face and infused her hair.  Her left eye was no longer green, but black and filled with stars.  With the tip of a perfectly formed toe, she flicked dry leaves away from the grave.

“I am well, thank you for asking.”  She drew a sandwich from her satchel.  “Some of the Kelemish have decided to stay.  I might have another mother soon if mama gets up the nerve to ask Aemark to stay for dinner.”  She took another bite of her sandwich.  Biris was on kitchen detail until he fully healed.  His scars were ugly, horrifying, and completely impressive.

Leaves skittered by and the Breckenridge creaked.  “Of course.  I had forgotten.”  She reached into her satchel and drew out the comb.  All of the beads were dark now but it was still a pretty thing.  She tied it to the grave marker and leaned back.

The wind gusted again and Misereya looked up, shading her eyes.  Dust devils were flowing across the plains.  “We had another navarac fly out of the Valley of Sins last night.  It flew around the town, squawking, before it flew away.  Gurner says the aurora came down from the sky and confused the poor thing.”  She leaned closer and whispered.  “We know better.”

Soon enough the wind grew chilly,  Misereya pulled a wooden wrap from her satchel and stood, stretching, her new leg fluid in its grace.  “I will be back in a day or so to check on you.”  She tossed her satchel over her shoulder and picked up her kite.  “Oh, before I forget.  Aemark is going to teach me to dance.”

She whirled away, laughing.

Behind her, in the dust, glittering motes formed in a vortex from the grave marker, and a tiny figure flowed in a graceful complex dance, before dissipating into the dust.

[inanisrex]

Voltragon chp 1. Encroaching Ice

We know how the story began, so let us move ahead to when the story really begins. When the yet to be realized paladins find themselves within the presence of the great dragon of ice. When the Azure Paladin Rises. We found ourselves inside a cavern as Hunk followed the readings, me and the others stopping as we noticed the large carvings all over the wall. Both Pidge and hunk seemed very impressed. Shiro stopped to ask Keith what these carvings were, "These are the Dragon carvings I was telling you about, they're everywhere around here." Keith explained. I went up to a nearby large carving to get a good look at it, it was a bit hard to see through all the dust so I brushed some off. But I was hardly expecting it to start glowing, "Whoa, Whoa!" I yelped in surprised as I back away from the carving, all the others beginning to glow too. It startled the others too, Keith mentioned something about this never happening before. I wasn't paying too much attention considering the floor has begun to crack and glow beneath our feet. Quickly giving away,  we fell into quickly moving ice cold water as we were swept away and sent to a pool of water in another cavern. The cold numbing the force of the impact but it still hurt a bit, I got up slowly, the pain and cold making it a bit hard. But what I saw was unbelievable, "they are everywhere." I muttered as I gazed upon a massive blue mechanical dragon sitting in the middle of a frost covered cave, the force field around it giving off a slight mist from the cold it was exuding. The others got up and we all walked towards it, "Is this it? is this the Voltragon?" Pidge asked, "It must be" I heard Shiro say in response. "This is whats been causing all this crazy energy around here. Look there’s a forcefield around it." Keith states as we keep walking, the frost crunching beneath my feet. I watch the dragon as I approach, it almost seems like its following me. So I ask the others, " Does anyone get the feeling this is staring at them?" Shiro tells me he doesn't, the others stay silent, But I swear the eyes are following me. As we now stood right in front of it, the cold almost seemed to be rushing off of the shield. " I wonder how we get through this." Keith questioned aloud as he placed his hand upon the shield, rippling around his touch. " Maybe you just have to knock." Which is exactly what I did, but the second my hand pulled away after the second knock everything flashed white in a rush of cold rushed over me. I brought up my arms to cover my face as I stumbled back, a harsh wind blowing around me. After a few seconds the wind stopped and I slowly lowered my arms, what I saw before me was unbelievable. I found myself standing in the middle of an ice field with nothing as far as the eye could see save for some faint mountains in the distance. The bone chilling cold wind started up again, not as harsh, almost gentle. I was so confused as to how I could of possibly gotten here, just to make matters worse, the sky began to darken and snow started to fall. just as I felt the hint of panic rise through me I heard the ice crack loudly, I looked around frantically to see where it came from. A few seconds later and another crack, my head whipped towards the sound. A few feet in front of me two large cracks lay in the ice, which now began to pop as it slowly cracked further. I backed up, afraid of what might happen. I didn't get far before the ice heaved and I fell down, the snow and wind picking up as the ice began to break. I scrambled back as the ice burst upward spraying me with ice and snow, then it stopped. Dead silent save for the wind, I waited before I stood back up, afraid the ice would break. I watched the ice cautiously and after a bit I relaxed, sighing heavily. But of course something happened the second I let my guard down. Something massive leapt out of the ice, right over my head and as soon as it landed it took off. Its footsteps echoing across the plain, just as quick it showed up it was gone. leaving me alone once more, the cold starting to get to me at this point. I sat back down and took a deep breath, I needed to stay calm, think of what to do next. After several failed ideas, I heard something echoing across the ice, a roar of some kind. Was it what came out of the ice? whatever it was, it froze me to the spot in fear. My breathing short and fast, it fogged up the air around me, the snow started to come down faster too; reducing my visibility even more. I heard the roar again, closer and louder this time. I got back up on my feet and started looking around franticly to see where it was. Snow blocking my vision but I swore I could see something moving, I could almost hear faint footsteps in the distance. I tried to keep track  of it as best I could, but another burst of wind and snow caused me to bring my arms up to shield my face. After it died down I slowly lowered my hands, why is so dark? I looked up and my heart stopped, mere inches from my face was the head of a massive ice dragon. As it gave a might roar that shook my entire body, I froze to the spot gazing fearfully at the beast as it turned its head to closer look at me, its yellow eyes striking against the blue of its scales and white and pale blue frost stuck to it. Our eyes locked, and I felt something stir within me, like seeing an old friend after a long time, something familiar. But I found myself lost in the dragons eyes, the connection felt much deeper the longer our eyes held. It almost felt like looking at myself. The fear began to fade and I mustered up the courage to reach out and pet the dragon, which to my surprise gladly accecpted. Turning its head and allowing me to pet its snout, which earned me a content huff and a low rumbling sound, I could only assume it was some kind of purr. Despite being an ice dragon, its scales had an odd sense of warmth, save for the actual ice on it. After a while the dragon laid down and let me scratch behind its ears and chin, no longer afraid I gladly did that. For a dragon, it was really friendly, suppose thats better than being eaten. After it seemed to have its fill of petting, it got on its feet but remained crouched; extending its neck. Somehow I knew it wanted me to get on, which surprised me. I hesitantly got on, its large ice covered horns right besides me. Once comfortable it stood up, I could feel the power of the beast just from one simple movement. I held onto the horns as it began to run across the ice, I could feel the shifting of every muscle, the poweful breath as it ran, the impact of its claws against the ice. The wind rushing past me didn't even feel cold as joy and excitement came over me, my whole body felt lighter, almost like I was the dragon and the dragon was me. The dragon, more than likely feeling the same as I did suddenly took off. I held on for dear life as the dragon shot upwards at an incredible speed, the wind blasting against me. I closed my eyes and held on until I felt the wind slow and wasn't moving anymore. I slowly opened my eyes and look up, What I saw I couldn't even describe how it felt to see myself far above the earth, the clouds, the sky stretching endlessly before me. The overwheming joy that overcame me brought me to tears, I let go of the dragons horn and let my arms fall to my sides. I don't know how long I spent there taking in the view of the endless sky but eventually a thought came to me, "fly.", and thats just what I did. I grabbed the dragons horns once more, with my tears dry, head clear, and open heart, I took off. The wind rushing around me as the beast and I soared through the sky, I closed my eyes and just let goit felt so dreamlike. All of a sudden another flash of white and I found myself watching the robot of the dragon I was just with fly alongside four other dragons and in a brilliant flash form a massive robotic dragon. Another flash and I found myself with the others again. "Whoa.." I heard myself and pidge say together. "Uh... Did everyone just see that?" I asked. "Voltragon is a robot, Voltragon is a huge, huge, awesome robot!" Hunk shouted excitedly. "And this is just one part of it! I wonder where the rest of them are." Pidge stated. "This is what theyre looking for." Shiro says, just as the sigil beneath the azure dragon lights up along with the beasts eyes. A blast of cold air blows past all of us as the mighty mechanoid dragon awakens, lowering its head and opening its vast jaws. A small platform lead inside, I glanced around, the others too shocked or hesistant. I smirked and headed inside, afterall. It seemed to like me. I looked around inside the white, blue, and black interior of the dragon. A door opened to lead to what appeared to be the cockpit. I glanced at the seat a bit before sitting down, crossing one leg over the other and crossing my arms. "Here we go." I say confidently before the seat shoots forward up to the controls, almost falling out of the seat. The controls lit up before me as I looked at them confused. The others came in too, gathered around as I looked at the controls. Suddenly everything in the cockpit faded into a deep blue as a deep growl reverberated through me, like it was trying to talk to me. Just as quickly as it happened it stopped. "whoa, did you guys hear that!?" I asked the others. "Hear what?" Keith asked. "I think its talking to me." I explain as I back at the controls, almost instinctivly pressing a series of buttons. The dragon got up and roared, the others freaking out behind as I just smiled, my hand went to the controls. The deep vibration coursing through my body as I grabbed the controls. "Ok, got it. Now lets try this." I say confidently as I pushed the controls forward. The dragon lunged forward, bursting out of the cave and into the air. The dragon flipping around to orient itself as we approached the ground, the force behind the dragon was far greater  than in the dream. The dragon took off, flying around. I was pinned against my seat, struggling to control it but it some way I could tell the dragon was happy to be out. Eventually I got a feel for the movement and control of the lion, as the dragon flew low and skidded into a run across the desert. I found myself pretty happy as we sprinted, granted everyone else wasn't having a good time it seemed. "Isn't this awesome!" I ask the others anyway. "Make it stop, make it stop" Hunk pleaded besides me, looking pretty nausues. "I'm not doing anything, its like it's on autopilot." I explain to Hunk. "Where are you going?" Keith asks, well, almost like demanding. "I just said its autopilot. It says theres an alien ship approaching earth. I think we're supposed to stop it." I explain to Keith and the others. "What did it say exactly?" Pidge queries. "Well its not like its saying words, more like feeding my brain ideas. Kind of." I tell pidge as we start flying upward, the earth getting further and further behind us; I was starting to feel a bit nervous. "Well, if this thing is the weapon they're coming for, why don't we just, I don't know, give it to them? Maybe they'll leave us alone. Sorry dragon, nothing personal." Hunk states nervously. "You don't understand. These monsters spread like a plague throughout the galaxy, destroying everything in their path. There is no baragining with them. They won't stop until everything is dead." Shiro tells hunk, his tone very serious. "Oh. Nevermind then." Hunk says before the azure dragon lets out another roar, this time, the dragon was pissed. "Uh... Holy crow! Is that an alien ship?" Hunk asks, rather scared at this point. "They found me..." I hear Shiro mutter. "We've gotta get outta here!" Pidge shouts. "Hang on!" I warn the others before pushing the controls forward, launching towards the ship. "Alright, I think I know what to do." I say to the others. "Be careful man, this isn't the simulator." Pidge warns, the alien ship starting to attack; I quickly start evading the lasers, the dragon guiding me. "Well, that’s good. I always wreck the simulator." I tease before unleashing a laser across the broadside of the ship. The side of the ship froze before exploding violently, "Lets try this." I say before pulling back on the controls nosediving towards the ship, evading the lasers with ease before raking the dragons claws across the ship. The gashes in the metal soon exploding as we flew away. "Nice job Lance." I hear Keith compliment behind me. But I paid it no heed as we had more pressing matters. "Okay, I think its time to get these guys away from our planet." I tell the others as I start flying away from earth. The ship following almost immediately, "Oh no." Hunks says, sounding pretty scared; "They're gaining on us!" Pidge informs as I focused on flying. "Its weird, they’re not trying to shoot us. Just chasing." I say, actually feeling pretty nervous myself. "Okay, seriously, now we think having aliens chase us is good? I am not on board with this new direction, guys." Hunk rants, but a nearby planet grabs out attention. "Where are we?" Keith asks, "The edge of the solar system. There’s Kerberos." Shiro sternly tells us. "It takes us months for our ships to get out this far, we got out here in five seconds." Pidge says in shock. Suddenly a huge wormhole appeared in front of us, "what is that.." Hunk asks; speaking for the all of us. I had the sudden urge to go through it, or well, the dragon did. "Uh, this may sound crazy, but I think the dragon wants us to go through there!" I tell the others. "Where does it go?" Pidge asks quietly. "I-I don't know.. Shiro, you're the senior officer here. What should we do?" I ask, turning to Shiro. I watched him contemplate for a second, "Whatever is happening, the dragon knows more than we do. I say we trust it, but we're a team now. We should decide together." He tells all of us. I sigh, "all right, guess we're all ditching class tomorrow..."