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


    Snail Mail Is The Thing of Yester-Year

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    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 891
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

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    Snail Mail Is The Thing of Yester-Year

    Post by Mortis on Fri Sep 30, 2016 1:59 am

    Time: Noon
    Date: September 20, 0007

    The days were progressively getting cooler, with the skies growing stormy lately to the point of mimicking the rainy season of the spring. By now, all the vegetables that had been in the garden were picked and either had been gifted to his brother and Kev over the course of the summer, or made into treats for Woolie. The excess, which had grown spoiled or simply was too much to be feasibly preserved, were turned to mulch by Mortis' rotting touch and set aside to be tilled int the soil later on.

    Save for the pumpkins, of course. They had all grown ripe enough by this point that he picked and set them in the basement to let their skins harden. He would deliver a few to Kev before he finished the final arrangements of his month-long leave.

    For now, the undead superfiend was reclined beneath a tree, his back resting against Samhain's exposed ribs. over the course of the month, the massive undead mare had been opting to rest with the sheep-skull headed undead when he came to join them outside. Instead of roaming the pasture and sticking her nose in the weed covered land that lay outside of the 3-acre space Mortis had cleared, she began to lumber over to him and lay down at his side, sometimes letting her head rest on his lap as if taking a short nap. Throughout September, Samhain and Angemort's role upon the farm was beginning to change. With his brother having turned himself living for the sake of his family's health, a void had made itself at home within the ghoul's mind.

    Psychic static filled the area where their mental link once was, any and all psychic contact falling dead for the month, and perhaps far longer depending on what Fear thought necessary for his little slice of happiness on this rock.

    Though the two horses were not as gifted as the undead superfiend was, unable to influence the mind to the same degree as the retired Dark Judge could; they still retained a few traits that made them kin. The ability to communicate through a psychic link, evidently, was one of them. Granted, their thoughts made for limited conversation, and a number of concepts were a massive challenge for both steeds to comprehend, but the undead superfiend preferred their company far more than the prickling silence that lingered in the space where Fear once was. As for the horses, the social creatures that they were, the two were more than happy to include their Master to their tiny herd. Even though the undead had already technically established himself within their duo as the highest ranking 'horse'.

    So, there he sat under the oak tree, with Samhain laying her great face over his legs while he fiddled with the strings of his guitar. Now that fall was starting to set in, and the garden did not require as much maintenance as it used to, the ghoul set his attention towards practicing more often with his guitar. The light wood's varnish glinted in what afternoon sun managed to peek through the clouds as he adjusted it in his grip, deciding the tuning was to his liking after a few experimental plucks. Then, positioning his clawed fingers accordingly, began to play a tune that he picked up recently. It was a contemplative song, and despite the lightness of its tempo, there was a certain melancholy that managed to slip subtly into its sound.

    Samhain's ear twitched, but found no reason to remove her head from the bony pillow she decided to rest upon. Further out, Angemort and Woolie glanced up from their grazing, long grass seeming to spill out from the second undead animal's mouth, unable to hold it all with the distinct lack of flesh around her cheeks. Usually the lamb was not awake while her Ma decided to busy his fingers with the instrument, although Angemort was not so interested since she often was still awake whenever Mortis decided to practice. With a slight flick of a hole-riddled ear, she returned to fruitlessly chewing up the long grasses, while Woolie watched with a face puffy with the day's lunch.

    As his fingers danced over the strings, he turned his gaze away from the ewe and undead draft horse, looking up at the sky from under his hat. Empty sockets scanned the clouds, and his mind scanned the nearby heavens for a familiar bird-brain. Since he brought back that buzzard from the desert and fed it, the animal seemed to be in a mood to work with the undead superfiend. The barn may not have the same altitude as a mountain roost, but with the addition of some straw, Mortis turned the loft into an adequate nesting area. However, he was fairly certain what sold the massive bird on staying was the sheer amount of fresh corpses Samhain could pile up around the property on any given day. Yet, as the undead superfiend grew curious about his appointed messenger over the past few days, a trip to the library had given him some crucial insight. He had not caught the average overgrown vulture, but a condor.

    Condor, to him, was just as exchangeable as 'really big vulture' as there was no difference between it and any other carrion bird aside from size. But, he still appreciated the animal for what it is.

    At home in hot climates and cold ones alike, the ghoul was certain he was especially lucky with his find.A bird that massive also had a large range that it covered. One-hundered miles in a single day, one book said. Another book revealed they could live for over fifty years. He recognized the plumage in the illustrations as that of an adult, so likely his bird was well past the stage of maturity. Although he could not age the animal, he placed it at a little over ten years of age from what he gleaned out of a peek into its memories. Keeping the animal loyal to him was no trouble, he thought. With his will alone he could shackle the bird to his bidding, and the promise of food would be enough to keep it around without needlessly expending energy.

    All it took was some measuring and tooling around with the skin he had peeled off of a deer he had shot, and he had crafted a comfortable buckskin harness that the bird could fly in while carrying letters. Granted, tooling meant more defleshing the hide and prepping for being turned into a usable harness instead of the actual tailoring. Even so, nearly a week of work paid off, as he had watched the condor take flight and seek out a suitable thermal to ride upon. The first letter he had ever wrote to his brother and his family was now on its maiden voyage, within it a reason as to why Fear would find a giant bird knocking on the door of his boyfriend's house once every week.

    Aside from it being far too large to sit on the windowsill like the average pigeon.

    Now, after having sent the condor to their house three days ago, he had been patiently waiting for their reply. In the afternoon, once the chores around the property were finished, he began to sit in the field and play a tune while he watched and waited. Soon he picked up the animal's thoughts in the distance, seeking out the farm where his master resided. The tune that Mortis played paused mid pluck, and Samhain curiously lifted her chin from the superfiend's legs. Why her master had stopped strumming the strange wooden noise-maker became apparent as a shadow passed overhead, blotting out the afternoon sunshine for a moment as it circled overhead. While the condor managed to find his way home most of the way, Mortis' influence guided the bird the rest of the way to the farm.

    In a few moments the bird would land, and he would read for himself what his brother, Kev and Livewire thought of the outcome of his idea. Absolutely, this would be a reliable method of keeping in contact while he was away, he thought, as the large black bird came to touch down on the grassy earth and waddle over to him. He could already see Livewire's influence, with all the glittery stickers that were placed upon the satchel that spread itself across the condor's chest.

      Current date/time is Sun Jul 23, 2017 12:44 am