February 01, 2018, 01:44 AM
(This post was last modified: February 01, 2018, 01:44 AM by Nemesis.)
barges in
Blackfeather Woods has packed up and left, and she could not be happier.
While she is no longer its acting regent, she prowls its grounds like she had never left. The familiar sinking feeling settles into her bones as she walks among the blood that taints its soil, claws digging with specific earnest as she seeks to physically reconnect with her home once more. Her home. The dark woods would forever be her's; despite who led it at present. It is where she first truly killed, tasted the blood of her own kind, committed treachery and betrayal. Where she had condemned her sister to death and threatened the lives of newborn children. Where she had birthed her own, and enslaved them too. While the world burned before her eyes, she arose from its depths and set ablaze her own ungodly wrath. She had conquered and overcome, and had sacrificed all too much for the woods. It had all been for the woods.
And they had gone and abandoned it.
Fury coursed through every bloodstream in her body, igniting a hatred that she only felt when death was on the rise. Someone would pay, as one always did, for leaving the dark woods to its lonesome while its caretakers pranced off in perfect harmony. Nemesis would never have left her home for the sake of survival... she had only done so when survival no longer meant anything to her. Now, she did. Nemesis would reclaim what she had lost, her sons, her husband, her Blackfeather Woods, no matter how many useless lives it took.
For now, she departs the shadows with a farewell kiss to the skull of her sister that still sits planted in the same spot it had been placed almost two years earlier. "I will return, sister." She speaks hushedly to the bones, before marching forth and beyond, in no particular direction. The monarch must find her sons, complete the family, before the dark woods will welcome her home into the endarkened haven of its twisted grounds.
The burning red pawprint placed on her shoulder is something she wears with bittersweet pride, knowing that she had once led the darkest cult to ever reach the Teekon, but also that she no longer worked in service to it. Her skills, having been crafted to perfection over the years, have become stale and she knows that practice is crucial, if she is to reclaim ownership of those she left behind. And so, placing aside her plans of sons, she looks for a victim. Any victim, young or old. Children, the elderly, they are all fair game to her, a warped manipulation of years spent among the shadows of Blackfeather Woods.
It is only a coincidence that the staggered step of a passerby alerts her only as soon as she turns her back; a boy, not much younger or older than Atshen paces unsteadily in seemingly no particular direction. He will do. And so does the Machiavellian woman prowls forth, moving sylphlike towards the boy with one eye, desolate optics in tune with every movement he makes. "Have you seen my son?" Her voice cracks from the silence, parting the shadows as she steps through and blocks his path. "The colour of the darkest hour, eyes like the setting sun... a killer's build. That is what he looks like." Though if you have seen him, it is likely he did that to you, she woman thinks but does not say as she observes his loss of eye. He has been hunted, this one. The stench of fear and desperation a familiar one, eminating from the boy. She leans in closer, placing only a foot forward.
While she is no longer its acting regent, she prowls its grounds like she had never left. The familiar sinking feeling settles into her bones as she walks among the blood that taints its soil, claws digging with specific earnest as she seeks to physically reconnect with her home once more. Her home. The dark woods would forever be her's; despite who led it at present. It is where she first truly killed, tasted the blood of her own kind, committed treachery and betrayal. Where she had condemned her sister to death and threatened the lives of newborn children. Where she had birthed her own, and enslaved them too. While the world burned before her eyes, she arose from its depths and set ablaze her own ungodly wrath. She had conquered and overcome, and had sacrificed all too much for the woods. It had all been for the woods.
And they had gone and abandoned it.
Fury coursed through every bloodstream in her body, igniting a hatred that she only felt when death was on the rise. Someone would pay, as one always did, for leaving the dark woods to its lonesome while its caretakers pranced off in perfect harmony. Nemesis would never have left her home for the sake of survival... she had only done so when survival no longer meant anything to her. Now, she did. Nemesis would reclaim what she had lost, her sons, her husband, her Blackfeather Woods, no matter how many useless lives it took.
For now, she departs the shadows with a farewell kiss to the skull of her sister that still sits planted in the same spot it had been placed almost two years earlier. "I will return, sister." She speaks hushedly to the bones, before marching forth and beyond, in no particular direction. The monarch must find her sons, complete the family, before the dark woods will welcome her home into the endarkened haven of its twisted grounds.
The burning red pawprint placed on her shoulder is something she wears with bittersweet pride, knowing that she had once led the darkest cult to ever reach the Teekon, but also that she no longer worked in service to it. Her skills, having been crafted to perfection over the years, have become stale and she knows that practice is crucial, if she is to reclaim ownership of those she left behind. And so, placing aside her plans of sons, she looks for a victim. Any victim, young or old. Children, the elderly, they are all fair game to her, a warped manipulation of years spent among the shadows of Blackfeather Woods.
It is only a coincidence that the staggered step of a passerby alerts her only as soon as she turns her back; a boy, not much younger or older than Atshen paces unsteadily in seemingly no particular direction. He will do. And so does the Machiavellian woman prowls forth, moving sylphlike towards the boy with one eye, desolate optics in tune with every movement he makes. "Have you seen my son?" Her voice cracks from the silence, parting the shadows as she steps through and blocks his path. "The colour of the darkest hour, eyes like the setting sun... a killer's build. That is what he looks like." Though if you have seen him, it is likely he did that to you, she woman thinks but does not say as she observes his loss of eye. He has been hunted, this one. The stench of fear and desperation a familiar one, eminating from the boy. She leans in closer, placing only a foot forward.
the only way to keep your people loyal is
to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy
to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy
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Messages In This Thread
heavy metal broke my heart - by Titmouse (Ghost) - January 31, 2018, 10:29 PM
RE: heavy metal broke my heart - by Nemesis - February 01, 2018, 01:44 AM
RE: heavy metal broke my heart - by Titmouse (Ghost) - February 06, 2018, 10:11 PM