the drums of war // [izzy leisure day 6]
Nov 30, 2022 8:20:13 GMT -5
Post by rook on Nov 30, 2022 8:20:13 GMT -5
izzy rodríguez
The lake is still at the surface, a perfect silver mirror reflecting the moon. Rippleless it stirs, soundlessly it speaks, formless depicts. Images in your head, words in your ear, visions on a black beach of a pale boy more pale than you remember under the twilight glow, that, or it's the cold touch of death that's made his skin even more milky.
You don't get the opportunity to apologize, his black hair floating as if he were submerged in liquid, each strand an inky tendril extending out as his hollow eyes bury into you.
"I wanted to be wrong this time."
The fabric of the world is thinner here. Something deep inside you is stirring, like the daedric tendils that lurk beneath the lake, churning away in dark waters. Your flesh is rippled, fingers numb, abdomen burning and dripping red.
You're dying.
You try not to move as you stand there, transfixed on the mirage of Akira, a long way from Nine. You don't know what to say. You swallow your apologies, pride spreading into a scowl on your bitter face. This is the Hunger Games - people die. The only question that floats above the pale surface of the lake is will you follow your comrade into death, or choose to walk away?
Choose another way.
You are a monster hunter.
You are the only untouched, untained human walking across these lands, and this barren, desaturated, twisted plane is your arena. Soon these dark clouds will dissipate, and blue skies will follow, but not before you've been washed in the rain and the blood and the glory.
Then you will return home, with the heads of every beast and demon in here left on a spike.
