Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


    Champion of the Ss'ruul
    Champion of the Ss'ruul

    Posts : 753
    Join date : 2009-05-08
    Location : Ghosting
    Level : 52

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    60/60  (60/60)
    Health Bar:
    570/570  (570/570)
    Stamina Bar:
    104/104  (104/104)


    Post by Arro on Mon Oct 06, 2014 4:44 pm

    Time: 5PM
    Date: 9/22/14

    Part of him --scratch that-- all of him, wondered why he was doing this. His body begrudged him every ounce of matter he shifted, the heat steaming off his hide was like the whispers of a bemused bystander in his ears. He'd never participated in anything like this back home, he knew others did it but it always seemed like something celebrated by isolated groups. Groups who didn't have to deal with the war and politics brought on by living in tight quarters with each other with another more dominant population of sapient species and an ancient who-knows-what breathing down their necks.

    Maybe that was the answer right there. It was done by drai and people who lived away from the fear vaporizing half the planet. The people who heard about it several months after the fact, hemmed and hawed at how terrible the news was and then got back to their own business, resolving to deal with things should they ever reach the threshold of their weyrm.

    It was a thing normal cyrm did. In their free time. With others.

    The concepts were so novel to him that he'd begun fantasizing the mundane in his dreams. Imagining sharing old rocriish stories over meals with visitors or tearing into the stomach of a fleeing behemoth with a team. Not that his life was all that different from theirs now, he surmised, but it was still missing the last bit that wrapped it all up in a nice... bow?

    The others part. The fact of the matter was he craved interaction with something like himself, he was a social creature and he was aware of what his mind was doing to his esteem without that psychological nourishment. It was humiliating to think he now hated the thought of being the only one more so than he hated the thought that the others were all dead.

    He should probably be over it all by now, but he knew he'd never been strong enough for a recovery of that scale.

    Arrogath dropped one last stone, roughly weighing the weight of car, onto his blazing tower.

    For the wrath of Thiammatkamohk was he soft.

    He fell away from the immolated monument of rock and it's seven burning counterparts. They stood out in violent contrast against the evening sky, sending stacks of smoke and light into the air like a circle of conspirators carrying torches to a mob. The leathery wisp of a drake turned and landed in the evening of the new autumn to observe his work from below.

    Each cairn was roughly one-hundred to one-hundred-fifty feet high depending on it's purpose. Scattered around the circle were the bones of the giant creatures Arro had caught and slain during his stay in the underground cave he'd constructed. Some he'd convinced in life to excavate stone for him before harvesting, others he'd dispatched on the spot to sate his ravenous hunger.

    The settling light on the horizon tinged the bones of those beings red with the sun's spilled blood. Bite by bite the horizon devoured the star, it's rays angling closer towards a focal point that would shine it down the length of another nearby stone structure. And as the chiseled light struck the stone towers and worked it's way down their bases, striking reflective sheets of sand blasted glass and holes in the cairns it would cast far stranger shadows.

    It made him feel normal. In this alien world that by amazing coincidence or ordained purpose had the same length of year and seasonal changes as his home world, this of all things made his existence feel grounded. An old tradition he'd never once observed whose original meaning was lost on him save for the fact his ancestors had done it. On this day and this day only were both day and night at an equal impasse. Maybe some old romanticized ideals attached to those concepts, light and dark, bounty and starvation, had something to do with it. But the initial meaning wasn't exactly why he'd bothered with the mess.

    Arro watched the light dance across his chthonic leviathan of stone, fire, and glass. The conflagration casting long flickering shadows in the wind, interrupted by the sun's piercing lances, those same shadows slimming as the immolated and foua soaked stone melted in the domineering inferno, and the reflected beacons of light blinking out one by one as the sun drowned. A dance of fire and darkness played across the dunes of the wastes. Strange symbols burst forth across the sands and died down in an instant to be replaced by something else, like shadow actors on a puppet stage rapidly changing the shape of their hands composure.

    He retreated to a mountainous dune and took flight to see how it looked from the sky.

    The far reaching disc rotated under his beating wings, transforming from a distorted oval to full bodied circle, and the images came into focus as if he'd adjusted a lens. The shadow play told savage stories in pictograph shorthand, as they were the only sort he knew. Some were malformed and only barely recognizable as the words they were, others failed entirely to appear. Though those mistakes were known to him alone he still winced at their appearance, as if someone else with the knowledge to judge were watching and critiquing his work. When he wasn't making a mental note on what to change next year however, his eyes were widening and his maw was unhinging ever so slightly at the figures that clawed their way across the endless wastes. He read the images and listened to the fire, for a moment feeling as if he was not viewing his own recited words but having an epic told to him by the desert itself.

    Imaginary monstrosities fought with resurrected characters, brought back from oral history to life on the sand. Men, drai and beast lived and died by eachothers doing, worlds were destroyed and created in the old fashioned ways. And more personally, people he'd known came to life again. All in the form of cryptic shapes of light and dark that to anyone else appeared a geometric phantasm of fractals.

    When it was over it was sudden. The shapes of darkness began to outweigh those of light, as slowly the last reflected sunlit notes faded to murmurs and dropped off over the horizon; one by one blinking away like candles blown out in the night.

    Arro landed again in a flurry of sand, waiting for the dust to settle so he could watch the imposing cairns bubble and melt around their massive bases. The molten rock spread out from the sentinel's epicenters, flowing downhill in lazy rivers that stained the sand glassy and left the impression of several miniature volcanic eruptions. The dragon approached the remains as if they were twitching dying beasts. He sniffed the cooling mounds of rock, the sizzling foau, and the bones. The stone would burn on into the night and the next few days, growing quieter as the cold seasons came into full force. Arro however wouldn't be there to witness the dying breaths of this curiosity of his defunct species.

    Away from the fires he knew it was cold, but however far he flew from that place into the night, he felt nothing but the greatest warmth; as if he flew not alone but in a throng of thousands.

      Current date/time is Fri Apr 20, 2018 11:11 am