#oc:Jakob

[hejanic]

just a whole buncha kisses

[melodyofflight]

An angry god flies through the trees, hardly minding how their wings clip the bark.

A growl has settled itself into their chest, rattling their bones in a hot, blinding way they haven’t felt for decades. The voices of their stolen, beaten children ring in their head, calling to them for salvation. As they fly, they come across their beautiful creatures, mutilated and stitched together. Each fuels the fire in their heart as they stop only briefly to stop their pain, hot tears stinging behind their eyes as they mutter a short apology. 

“I’m so sorry... I am so sorry I failed you...” 

Each creature fuels their rage, their wings pounding harder with each hot, shaking breath. The black markings against their pale skin begin to light with the green flame that licks out from their core, cloaking them in the heat of their rage.

They sort through the cries of pain and fear of their children, locking on to the wretched, blasphemous voice of that man. The one who hurt their friend, the only friend who could take their cold heart and thaw it until they could feel, could breathe... could be a person again. They hardly have time to cry out in rage before they find themself landing with a loud, solid bang on the floor of one of the many ruins that dot this cursed city. 

They barely have time to settle their weight before the wretched being before them looks up, his orange eyes daring to meet theirs. The man’s body is soaked in sweat, his hair stuck to his face until he scrambles to push it away, leaving a streak of blood on his forehead. The room reeks of it, and upon looking the man over in more clarity, they can see why.

He’s surrounded in... bits and pieces, both feral dragon and man, even some beastclan pieces in varying states of decay, a dark light shining from every piece as they twitch in pain. They feel their stomach roll as they look over the scene, their eyes seeing what so many cannot. The ripped, broken souls clinging to their only pieces left, scattered amongst the crying bodies of his failures that he doesn’t have the decency to kill. 

They step forward, stopping when the man pushes himself to his knees, opening his arms to them. 

“My Lady! Hello, my name is Jakob, your humble servant,” The man bends to bow to them, the thick blanket over his shoulders shifting in an odd way they have no time to think too much on. Nor any want to. It doesn’t take him long to come out of the bow, those disgusting eyes looking upon Firae again with such fervent obsession.

“You needn’t disguise yourself in such a limited form my Lady, not here! I am not like those heathens below who would shun you, and I can see by your sacred flames that you are holding too much energy to remain so... contained,” 

His voice drips with disgustingly sweet admiration, his smile spreading across his face in a horridly charming way. Or it would be so, if Firae couldn’t feel the disgust rising in their chest along with the flames. 

“...What have you done to them?” They growl, their voice spiraling and echoing with the sounds of all the souls they’ve managed to save on their way. The man blinks, the blanket thrown over his shoulders caked in blood and shifting with him as he leans over to pet the head of the creature before him, it’s bony claws scratching over the stone as they cry out in pain. 

“Do you mean my little pets? Aren’t th-” Firae dashes forward and smacks his hand away, picking him up by the throat and hurling him into the wall. He lands with a thud and a sickening crack before falling to the ground and trying to lift himself. 

“M-my Lady, how have I displeased you? I created these creatures as a gift, to cleanse this cursed city of the ones who would choose the lie of life over your ever-looming certainty!” He cries, eliciting a wave of green flame from them, the power hitting him like a ram to the gut. 

“I am not your Lady! And you have gifted me nothing you filthy, worthless creature! You’ve stolen my children, torn them apart as if they were mere dolls for you to play with!” They throw themself at him, again throwing him into the wall with an almost primal yell. 

“They are my children! You have tortured them and dare offer them to me as a gift!”

The man chokes, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he hits the ground. His expression is one of hurt, of genuine surprise. Firae is disgusted to learn that he actually thought this would work, that they would want this. That they were so very evil and cold. 

“My Lady, you misunderstand. They are simply a tool! Your gift is the cleansing of this wretched place, a new start, an army at your disposal!” The blanket falls from his shoulders to reveal possibly the worst thing yet, something that sends them reeling back in shock and disgust.

At his back, glowing with the same dark energy that he’d wrapped like chains around their beloved dead, are six mismatched, stolen wings, haphazardly stitched to his body and decaying as they stare in horror and the man steps closer.

“Don’t you see my Lady? I’ve crafted myself into your image, I’ve honed your blessed craft to this point, I’ve cleansed the non-believers from this cursed place! I’ve sacrificed my own men to try and take down your enemy, I am your Apostle! No! I am your Angel!” He comes closer, getting close enough for them to smell the sweat soaking his clothes as they stand in shock, burning from the inside out, staring in horror at their torn and broken children, the haphazard stitches, the absolute, sick, twisted joy in his eyes. They put a hand to his chin, tilting it up to stare at his face in shock.

“My Lady, accept my sacrifice, and share your power with me so I may continue to spread your word. I will bring you the godhood you deserve,”

There is a long, heavy silence as they stare into his awful, clouded eyes. And then, all at once, their flames die out and they put their fingers to his lips, a gentle and beautiful smile gracing their own. With that smile, their beauty becomes otherworldly and so kind, so gentle, and so.... blinding. As he sighs, leaning into them and closing his eyes, their smile drops. 

“Burn.” 

They growl, their arm bursting into flames as they pull his jaw open, the flames pouring into his body and muffling the screams that try to escape him. They turn their eyes towards the sky, waiting through the screams until he falls silent, in both body and soul as they burn away every dark bit left of the man. 

Throughout the city they can feel their beloved dead detach from their prisons of flesh and bone as the man’s magic is replaced by soot and ash and the bodies they were forced to inhabit crumple and fall. the souls gather before them, reforming themself and showing the dragon that a few more have joined their family. They soon drop the man’s body to the ground before turning their gaze to the souls that hover around them, watching. 

They take a breath, gritting their teeth as their body floods clean the feeling of that man’s soul, and their mind quiets to only their own once more. 

“...I am sorry, my beloved children. I have failed you. I allowed something so... terrible. So broken to happen. And to the newly fallen,” They look up, frowning heavily as tears slip down their cheeks, only a few. 

“I am in your debt. I cannot return you to your bodies, not alone, and not in time, but should any of you wish to stay, with me here, until you see your families and loved ones have moved on, I have empty vessels for you to inhabit. I can make room. I can atone,” 

As always, the dead don’t respond. They simply... affirm. Thank them. They take a breath and fall to their knees, their body aching and empty as they let their head fall. 

Once again, all is quiet in the cursed city of Melody. But they know that while their hard part is over, their dearest friend will suffer much more before the light of day can bring new warmth. 

But for now, it is all they can do to collapse and fall asleep, their fire reduced to smoldering ashes. The souls of the saved cover them like a blanket, ready to protect them until they wake. 

[melodyofflight]

Voices clamor over the sound of clanging metal.

Merchants set up and organize their stands in the city square, the weed-choked cobblestones shining in the early sun filtering from horizon.  The large, welcoming fountain in the center of the city is being cleaned and polished, the coins sifted out from the bottom to make way for the many more that will break through the surface of it’s waters. 

The air is already filled with the scent of cooking food, jovial voices breaking through the chill morning air as everyone prepares for the annual Festival of Angels. This festival, to celebrate the kind and generous Mother, is always one that excites everyone in the city. People from all over come within Melody’s walls to visit and take part in the food, the games, the attractions of the festival. One merchant carefully organizes the Blessed Pendants sitting on her display, her tail wrapped around the pole that holds up the bright red canopy of her stand.

She hums a mimic of the Mother’s song as she works, making sure each and every pendant is perfectly clear and free of scratches, the smoke trailing up from the cigarette between her painted lips rising to mix with the steam and smoke from the cooking fires that surround her. Inside of the crystal clear resin of the pendants are single, perfect petals, said to be plucked from the Mother’s garden. And of course, the merchant selling them is no cheat, to her knowledge, they come from exactly that place. 

Her supplier is the tall, scrappy dragon that’s said to be a servant of the Mother herself, and who, quite honestly, is a much kinder soul than the naga once thought. The jeweler is able to get as many flowers as she’d like from the Mother’s garden, for only the price of company and a listening ear, which she is more than happy to provide. The woman finishes organizing her things and moves to sit behind her counter, stretching with a quiet groan. 

As her large, beautifully brown eyes scan the large, circular market, she takes in the competition. Some of the other merchants are people she’s known her whole life, others, newcomers who have come simply to see the festival and the sights of the city. It’s in the moments like these that she can appreciate it’s dilapidated beauty for what it is, and truly take it in. The way the ivy climbs up the buildings, how rose bushes seem to grow from the stones themselves, allowed to be wild and overgrown. She smiles to herself as she leans back on her palms, waiting patiently until the festival is due to begin. 

Meanwhile, as the preparations for the next few days of festivities goes on, a king and queen anxiously prepare themselves. Danyl, the beautiful queen of Melody, sits back at her vanity with a sigh as her husband gently places his hands on her shoulders. 

“Whatever could be wrong my petal? The Festival of Angels is about to start! This has always been your favorite time of year,” Windrow leans down to kiss her cheek, the queen’s graceful hand moving to cup his as she allows a small smile to come to her lips. 

“I’m not sure darling... I just have a bad feeling about this year. I’m not sure what it is but something feels... off,” She turns her emerald eyes up to his face as he comes around to crouch beside her chair, gently tucking a strand of her hair back into place.

Windrow studies her for a moment, frowning a little at seeing his love so upset, before simply kneeling beside her and bringing her hand up to his lips. 

“My dear, if you don’t want to, or are scared, we don’t have to make an appearance this year. We can always stay right here, in our home, together. Anything to make you happy,” He smiles, gently rubbing her hand between his. 

The queen looks over his face, smiling a little wider before shaking her head and laughing a bit at herself. 

“No, no, we’ll have our guards, I’m sure everything will be just fine. I’m merely worrying too much. Come, we should finish getting ready,” 

What the king and queen don’t know, is as they are finishing getting ready for their appearance, and the merchants are organizing their wares, a lone man sits at the edge of the city, changing the bandages on his shoulder and allowing the rage boiling inside of him to grow ever hotter. And as he takes to jotting down runes into the dirt for a summoning, the queen’s heart grows ever heavier. She can’t help but feel as though something is going to go very, very wrong. 

And perhaps, just perhaps, she’s right.