red dead redemption — andal v. elvena, day 7
Dec 6, 2022 1:35:21 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Dec 6, 2022 1:35:21 GMT -5
His claw is vicious, but his need for redemption is even more than that. It consumes him. There is an irony in it; hubris, even. I will unmake anything to start from scratch. It’s the only faith that’s kept him from the wolf. It’s the only thing that remains as truly and utterly his.
This body isn’t his. He knows it. Lips that do not belong to him curl and grin at her from the dark, baring a mouthful of fangs. He smells blood. It’s such an enticing scent, metal and copper, rich upon the air and as it lands on his senses. He- no, it wants blood. It wants to be showered in it, soaked through the skin with it. Beautiful carnage, a bountiful feast. It hungers so much, so much. It needs to sunder, to eat, to taste …
The red moonlight is softened by a passing cloud.
And he’s a human again, or rather a silver of it. He heaves a few breaths, standing at the edge of her light with a sharp edge within himself. The hunger is still there. And it needs to go. It isn’t his, it doesn’t belong to him. None of it does. His bones feel out of place, his skin inside-out. Also the smell. He can smell the wolf’s breath. It’s fresh death and new rot lingering inside his cavernous mouth. He has a graveyard behind his bloodied rows of teeth.
And there’s the itch.
It starts like a wildfire does, so sudden in its outburst and so metastatic in its growth that it crawls up his legs, to his calves, to his torso, to his throat, towards the air, the sky, the—
Moon.
The screaming isn’t of his throat alone.
It’s every fiber of him. Every bone, every muscle, cartilage, tendon, and organs. A terrible, dark choir of bone and flesh.
He falls over on his back, thrashing. The fur returns, matted and grayish, and there’s a slow, calculated agony as his teeth fall out like marbles onto the ground and new ones grow.
Or rather, pierce through. Sharper fangs. He can feel the places they’d stabbed through on his gums and leave his mouth bloody. He flips over on his stomach, sits up on all fours. Everything is tinted crimson, the thing in front of him the brightest. It- no, she speaks.
"Preach to me again, and when I get out of here, I'll find anyone who so much as share your surname in Ten and burn their houses to the ground."
Burning. Houses. The smell of oil and fire makes him snarl, arid in his nostrils. Yes, he knows what burning is. He’s seen warehouses burn down in Ten, the plumes of dark smoke that linger on like dark fingers across the sky for days. Ash. Embers. He won’t let her, won’t let her.
Like death, Andal pounces with no warning. He claws. Blood. It sprays on his muzzle and a scream that sounds foreign to his ears joins in as she screams. It’s his. He harmonizes with her scream, her agony. Lips split in another grin, this one more delighted, more deranged. It- no, he likes it. The moonlight is so bright here, and so warm under his skin. Under his claws, ribs, and bones.
His scream is replaced by a cry of pain.
Heat. Cleansing fire. The scent of singed fur and burnt flesh. She pushes the torch into his side, and twists. Andal bolts back, but this time he doesn’t leave her light, her fire. One half of his face deforms back to human features, but the other snarls, wolven still, feral and deranged.
"I'm going to cremate you, and the ashes can have your soul for all I care."
“You were made this way, Elvena,” he snarls. ”You’re a product of your upbringing. You were made cruel.” In a way, they all were. In this arena. Made to become monstrous echoes of their old selves. “There’s an end to this. I will redeem you, and all of us, by force if necessary.”
Redemption is bathing in holy water, anointing yourself with oil. But his. His will be new. Rip and tear, until it is all done and forgotten, the curse lifted and the sun back in the sky.
This body isn’t his. He knows it. Lips that do not belong to him curl and grin at her from the dark, baring a mouthful of fangs. He smells blood. It’s such an enticing scent, metal and copper, rich upon the air and as it lands on his senses. He- no, it wants blood. It wants to be showered in it, soaked through the skin with it. Beautiful carnage, a bountiful feast. It hungers so much, so much. It needs to sunder, to eat, to taste …
The red moonlight is softened by a passing cloud.
And he’s a human again, or rather a silver of it. He heaves a few breaths, standing at the edge of her light with a sharp edge within himself. The hunger is still there. And it needs to go. It isn’t his, it doesn’t belong to him. None of it does. His bones feel out of place, his skin inside-out. Also the smell. He can smell the wolf’s breath. It’s fresh death and new rot lingering inside his cavernous mouth. He has a graveyard behind his bloodied rows of teeth.
And there’s the itch.
It starts like a wildfire does, so sudden in its outburst and so metastatic in its growth that it crawls up his legs, to his calves, to his torso, to his throat, towards the air, the sky, the—
Moon.
The screaming isn’t of his throat alone.
It’s every fiber of him. Every bone, every muscle, cartilage, tendon, and organs. A terrible, dark choir of bone and flesh.
He falls over on his back, thrashing. The fur returns, matted and grayish, and there’s a slow, calculated agony as his teeth fall out like marbles onto the ground and new ones grow.
Or rather, pierce through. Sharper fangs. He can feel the places they’d stabbed through on his gums and leave his mouth bloody. He flips over on his stomach, sits up on all fours. Everything is tinted crimson, the thing in front of him the brightest. It- no, she speaks.
"Preach to me again, and when I get out of here, I'll find anyone who so much as share your surname in Ten and burn their houses to the ground."
Burning. Houses. The smell of oil and fire makes him snarl, arid in his nostrils. Yes, he knows what burning is. He’s seen warehouses burn down in Ten, the plumes of dark smoke that linger on like dark fingers across the sky for days. Ash. Embers. He won’t let her, won’t let her.
Like death, Andal pounces with no warning. He claws. Blood. It sprays on his muzzle and a scream that sounds foreign to his ears joins in as she screams. It’s his. He harmonizes with her scream, her agony. Lips split in another grin, this one more delighted, more deranged. It- no, he likes it. The moonlight is so bright here, and so warm under his skin. Under his claws, ribs, and bones.
His scream is replaced by a cry of pain.
Heat. Cleansing fire. The scent of singed fur and burnt flesh. She pushes the torch into his side, and twists. Andal bolts back, but this time he doesn’t leave her light, her fire. One half of his face deforms back to human features, but the other snarls, wolven still, feral and deranged.
"I'm going to cremate you, and the ashes can have your soul for all I care."
“You were made this way, Elvena,” he snarls. ”You’re a product of your upbringing. You were made cruel.” In a way, they all were. In this arena. Made to become monstrous echoes of their old selves. “There’s an end to this. I will redeem you, and all of us, by force if necessary.”
Redemption is bathing in holy water, anointing yourself with oil. But his. His will be new. Rip and tear, until it is all done and forgotten, the curse lifted and the sun back in the sky.
- Andal slashes at Elvena | Glaive -
dXyh5927eiglaive
13107 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage (Glaive)
[ Accuracy | Day 7 ]
glaive
13159 -- 8.5 damage (Glaive) + 1.0 damage (Blades)
dXyh5927eiglaive
13107 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage (Glaive)
[ Accuracy | Day 7 ]
glaive
13159 -- 8.5 damage (Glaive) + 1.0 damage (Blades)
