with its phantom chased for evermore
12-01-2015, 11:28 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-10-2015, 02:58 PM by Cesar.)
Navigation: Barren Hills
With a capricious dedication (or lack thereof) to dispositions, a sort of chill had taken over the ghoul as he traipsed out of the western lands. No awful grin was stitched to his face and no manic giggles escorted him to his next adventure. There was no particular reason for the disappearance of his wicked cheer; he felt the same as he always did (although the absence of Brutus did twist and prickle in the back of his brain with some sickening sensation of worry) – hungry, empty, and unfocused. He was just quiet now, quiet like death. His mouth hung open as he walked, and out of it, he could imagine his breath pouring like fog. He could imagine a palpable silence slithering in his throat like a living thing, poised and ready to strike. He liked it. Most of the time, he talked all the time. That was what he usually preferred, but sometimes it was nice to… sink… seep… ooze back into silence. Somewhere in his memory, silence had a special place, rooted deep and gripping the most distant of his thoughts like a vice. Silence was where he came from. He couldn’t remember anything exact, but he felt it… He was both afraid of it and drawn to it.
The monster’s lips pulled back slightly as he walked on, the tips of his teeth flashing in a strange expression that was nothing. The ground was getting softer. More grass, he noticed. And hilly. He went up and down, and in some places there were cliff-like drop-offs in the ground. It was a little strange, but interesting and stimulating. He continued on, pouring over edges and sliding in between crevices with catlike fluidity until the sounds of struggle stopped him. Scratching. No screaming, but scratching, writhing – the sounds of something caught that didn’t want anyone to know it was caught. His ripped ears perked and he stretched his neck, listening for a second. The scrabbling sound stopped, but it was too late. With the direction in mind, the beastling slid forward, his eyes searching the uneven and shattered terrain. Up ahead, slightly hidden by the rubble aftermath of a quake, was a small crack in the ground. A rabbit had fallen in and gotten wedged at the bottom, condemned by its own body. Immediately he began to slaver, but stood over it for a second, staring. What luck! He hadn’t eaten in forever. And he especially hadn’t had anything fresh in a very long time. Without further hesitation, he placed a paw on either side of the crevice and reached down to seize the rabbit. It scratched at his face, which hurt some but was given no regard. He laid down, and pinned it with one paw and then began to rip at its stomach with eager teeth.
With a capricious dedication (or lack thereof) to dispositions, a sort of chill had taken over the ghoul as he traipsed out of the western lands. No awful grin was stitched to his face and no manic giggles escorted him to his next adventure. There was no particular reason for the disappearance of his wicked cheer; he felt the same as he always did (although the absence of Brutus did twist and prickle in the back of his brain with some sickening sensation of worry) – hungry, empty, and unfocused. He was just quiet now, quiet like death. His mouth hung open as he walked, and out of it, he could imagine his breath pouring like fog. He could imagine a palpable silence slithering in his throat like a living thing, poised and ready to strike. He liked it. Most of the time, he talked all the time. That was what he usually preferred, but sometimes it was nice to… sink… seep… ooze back into silence. Somewhere in his memory, silence had a special place, rooted deep and gripping the most distant of his thoughts like a vice. Silence was where he came from. He couldn’t remember anything exact, but he felt it… He was both afraid of it and drawn to it.
The monster’s lips pulled back slightly as he walked on, the tips of his teeth flashing in a strange expression that was nothing. The ground was getting softer. More grass, he noticed. And hilly. He went up and down, and in some places there were cliff-like drop-offs in the ground. It was a little strange, but interesting and stimulating. He continued on, pouring over edges and sliding in between crevices with catlike fluidity until the sounds of struggle stopped him. Scratching. No screaming, but scratching, writhing – the sounds of something caught that didn’t want anyone to know it was caught. His ripped ears perked and he stretched his neck, listening for a second. The scrabbling sound stopped, but it was too late. With the direction in mind, the beastling slid forward, his eyes searching the uneven and shattered terrain. Up ahead, slightly hidden by the rubble aftermath of a quake, was a small crack in the ground. A rabbit had fallen in and gotten wedged at the bottom, condemned by its own body. Immediately he began to slaver, but stood over it for a second, staring. What luck! He hadn’t eaten in forever. And he especially hadn’t had anything fresh in a very long time. Without further hesitation, he placed a paw on either side of the crevice and reached down to seize the rabbit. It scratched at his face, which hurt some but was given no regard. He laid down, and pinned it with one paw and then began to rip at its stomach with eager teeth.
*Cesar's antics can quickly turn from innocent to hostile.
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