Post by Kiniro on Oct 21, 2006 1:07:04 GMT -5
Mwenyezi - Sunning Rocks
Mtule - Stubborn Old Mwenyezi Lioness
Gwandoya - Mean Nasty Ghost
The sun is blisteringly hot today- just the way Mtule likes it. It gives her an excuse not to move, and warms some feeling into her numb old bones. Her breath wheezes out her marred nostrils, her ribcage rising and falling against the smooth surface of the rock she's sprawled her skinny, sagging form over. It won't be long before sunset, and she's going to get as much out of this lovely weather as she can.
This blisteringly warm weather certainly isn't lasting long. The sun is turning to the brilliant orange hues and cheerful purples as the evening begins to close in. Enjoy the rest while you can, old one. It will be some time before the denizens of night make themselves known... but then, when did time ever mean anything to that which had spent so long free of its effects?
Mtule frowns, her expression outdoing the scorching glare of the sun. It's getting cold, and speaking of the sun, it's leaving much too quickly for her liking. When did the days become so short and lifeless and the nights become so long and lonely? The elderly creature gives a guttural sigh, rolling her head back against the rock. Soon, she begins to feel the chill creeping into her limbs, a furtive, menacing presence that reappears with more tenacity each night. Damn the effects of old age! She never wanted to be feeble, she never wanted to be useless, and she certainly never intended to live well past the time that her beloved King did. Damn it all! Squinting her eyes closed in an attempt to ward away reality, Mtule sinks into the depths of her own misery.
Misery loves company, does it not? The floating spirit dances up from the ground, free of that blasted sun's scorching rays. In life he had always preferred night. It meant lawbreakers and usurpers were out in greater numbers. And if there was one thing that he liked more before his condemnation, it was punishing those who defied his laws. They deserved it. *Everyone* deserved it. The sun sinks below the cloud line, and shadows lengthen, the air cools, the wind picks up... cold, harsh reality will not be ignored so easily. Age did not remove one from the path of wrath. Age? Pah! As ageless as he was timeless, Gwandoya begins to stalk the land, seeking more victims for Talmaleki's trials... and his own amusement, of course. The only evidence of his passing is a murderous chill, and a whisper of a long dead language, whispering malevolently in the wind.
Such a terrible cold! The old lioness clenches her teeth and her eyes snap open, a shudder wracking her body. She huffs, and it seems to her that the breath escaping her mouth forms a puff of crystal smog in the air. A second huff to test this apparition, and the illusion is gone. Well, isn't that simply wonderful? Not only does Mtule have only one good eye, it's begun to lie to her just as her ears have. And then- what was that sound? Much too used to hearing but a whimper when a creature is shouting, Mtule lifts her head with a degree of difficulty and turns it this way and that, trying to catch sight of the speaker. "Who'zere?" She grunts. Hugh. Hearing things too, no doubt. Damn, damn old age.
The wind shifts, the cold increases. Gwandoya is come. In response to the lioness's question, there's only a maleficent rumble, echoing all around, half formed words, a snarl... the shadows are deeper than they should be. The wind seems directed somehow. Things are not right, not right at all! But still the monstrosity refuses to reveal himself fully, choosing to poke and prod until he learns more as his chieftain directed.
Her expression shifts as fluidly as the wind, dropping into one of terror and superstition. "Stars above," Mtule croaks under her breath, staggering to her feet and ignoring the pain in her hip in favour of the biting, malicious cold. So, so cold. "Am I dead?" She asks, begging the question of herself, of this strange presence, of the world that seemed so bent on making her life unbearable. First this comes as a happy revelation- finally time to stop caring. But then a fear grips her, and the instinct that gives her the strength to go on and on shoots through her veins. No, no! She doesn't want to go! "Circle, grant me more time!" Mtule groans, cringing against the buffeting breeze, the invisible threat.
There's a bare hint of a chuckle on the freezing wind. "Time..." it whispers, raspy and desolate. The sound of death, if you will, if death itself were ever given a voice. "Time is nothing... like yourself..." The cold rises with the spirit, a fell voice now chanting mindlessly at the deaf stars above. "What fool to fear the inevitable," he admonishes with a noisy, clanking grumble, the sound of stones crackling and grinding against one another.
Mtule shudders, but tries to face the dread that wells up deep inside of her. She brings her neck back up again, searching for some sight, some indication of what is to come. "I do not fear death!" The old lioness snarls stubbornly, "But I resent it with all my heart!"
"You resent the *truth*? The arrogance!" Well, he's not much one to talk, being in denial for the past... millennia, or two or three or so. The wind flows back down, enveloping the lioness. The rumbling noises grow to a crescendo as the ancient, terrible speech rumbles in discontent. Gwandoya, unseen, opens his ghastly maw wide, wide, wide! Before clamping down heavily on the lioness's frail skull, assaulting it with a deluge of images of death, death he has wrought in his foul life. His own brother, blinded and castrated by hhis very paws, countless rivals torn to shreds, innocents guilty of fairly small infractions torn to pieces in his draconian judgments. All of it is shoved cruelly onto the brain of Mtule... but in an incomprehensible manner that she never truly know what she's seeing. Gwandoya had orders not to wreak simply to wreak... but he was in a foul mood tonight, and had been looking for a mouthy victim to vent himself on.
The lioness might rebel against her imminent death, but how does one fight something that goes not only to the mind but also like a poison directly to the heart. Her shudders become vague convulsions, and she tosses her head like a zebra leaping in vain away from the maw of oblivion, its blood already soaking the grass below its feet. Mtule makes a noise- a whimper, a snarl, a pained groan. No. This cannot be all there is to life. This cannot be the world she's clinging to so desperately. And for /what/ purpose does she cling to breath and heartbeat with such avarice? To watch the pride she loved become corrupt, to watch pain and misery akin to what so unexpectedly rages through her head this very second?? No! "NO!" She shrieks!
Oh, yes. Very yes. Gwandoya tears his jaws from the skull of the unfortunate lioness, upping the wind and setting the temperate to nigh freezing. "Go, mortal!" he whispers malevolently. "Run, run to your home, run to the stars, for all I care... You know your fate! You dare deny it?!" The wind beats down on Mtule, stripping away heat and leaving biting cold in its place. Gwandoya says no more, only letting his wrath and cruelty pour out on his terrified victim. Succumb... submit! Open your eyes, fool, and admit to your own frailty. Feel the ochre and invisible blood dribbling, run in terror and please your tormentor... or die a pitiful, pathetic wretch. Gwandoya smiles viciously under his cover of invisibility.
Mtule rises to her feet, trembling and gasping as the images recede and she can breathe once more. But when they leave, they take with them what little strength and warmth was left in her weary limbs. She takes a step forward, groans pitifully, and collapses. "Just... little more... time!"
Abruptly the freezing wind stops. Death releases its talons from the miserable lioness's spirit. Gwandoya feels called elsewhere... and this pathetic display of loyalty to no-one, not even their own life, disgusted him and would not please Talmaleki. "Enjoy your blink of a chance, fool," he mutters. "The Circle is not as charitable as I..." The voice floats away, and is soon lost to the chilly night breezes. The land is normal again... for now.
Mtule - Stubborn Old Mwenyezi Lioness
Gwandoya - Mean Nasty Ghost
The sun is blisteringly hot today- just the way Mtule likes it. It gives her an excuse not to move, and warms some feeling into her numb old bones. Her breath wheezes out her marred nostrils, her ribcage rising and falling against the smooth surface of the rock she's sprawled her skinny, sagging form over. It won't be long before sunset, and she's going to get as much out of this lovely weather as she can.
This blisteringly warm weather certainly isn't lasting long. The sun is turning to the brilliant orange hues and cheerful purples as the evening begins to close in. Enjoy the rest while you can, old one. It will be some time before the denizens of night make themselves known... but then, when did time ever mean anything to that which had spent so long free of its effects?
Mtule frowns, her expression outdoing the scorching glare of the sun. It's getting cold, and speaking of the sun, it's leaving much too quickly for her liking. When did the days become so short and lifeless and the nights become so long and lonely? The elderly creature gives a guttural sigh, rolling her head back against the rock. Soon, she begins to feel the chill creeping into her limbs, a furtive, menacing presence that reappears with more tenacity each night. Damn the effects of old age! She never wanted to be feeble, she never wanted to be useless, and she certainly never intended to live well past the time that her beloved King did. Damn it all! Squinting her eyes closed in an attempt to ward away reality, Mtule sinks into the depths of her own misery.
Misery loves company, does it not? The floating spirit dances up from the ground, free of that blasted sun's scorching rays. In life he had always preferred night. It meant lawbreakers and usurpers were out in greater numbers. And if there was one thing that he liked more before his condemnation, it was punishing those who defied his laws. They deserved it. *Everyone* deserved it. The sun sinks below the cloud line, and shadows lengthen, the air cools, the wind picks up... cold, harsh reality will not be ignored so easily. Age did not remove one from the path of wrath. Age? Pah! As ageless as he was timeless, Gwandoya begins to stalk the land, seeking more victims for Talmaleki's trials... and his own amusement, of course. The only evidence of his passing is a murderous chill, and a whisper of a long dead language, whispering malevolently in the wind.
Such a terrible cold! The old lioness clenches her teeth and her eyes snap open, a shudder wracking her body. She huffs, and it seems to her that the breath escaping her mouth forms a puff of crystal smog in the air. A second huff to test this apparition, and the illusion is gone. Well, isn't that simply wonderful? Not only does Mtule have only one good eye, it's begun to lie to her just as her ears have. And then- what was that sound? Much too used to hearing but a whimper when a creature is shouting, Mtule lifts her head with a degree of difficulty and turns it this way and that, trying to catch sight of the speaker. "Who'zere?" She grunts. Hugh. Hearing things too, no doubt. Damn, damn old age.
The wind shifts, the cold increases. Gwandoya is come. In response to the lioness's question, there's only a maleficent rumble, echoing all around, half formed words, a snarl... the shadows are deeper than they should be. The wind seems directed somehow. Things are not right, not right at all! But still the monstrosity refuses to reveal himself fully, choosing to poke and prod until he learns more as his chieftain directed.
Her expression shifts as fluidly as the wind, dropping into one of terror and superstition. "Stars above," Mtule croaks under her breath, staggering to her feet and ignoring the pain in her hip in favour of the biting, malicious cold. So, so cold. "Am I dead?" She asks, begging the question of herself, of this strange presence, of the world that seemed so bent on making her life unbearable. First this comes as a happy revelation- finally time to stop caring. But then a fear grips her, and the instinct that gives her the strength to go on and on shoots through her veins. No, no! She doesn't want to go! "Circle, grant me more time!" Mtule groans, cringing against the buffeting breeze, the invisible threat.
There's a bare hint of a chuckle on the freezing wind. "Time..." it whispers, raspy and desolate. The sound of death, if you will, if death itself were ever given a voice. "Time is nothing... like yourself..." The cold rises with the spirit, a fell voice now chanting mindlessly at the deaf stars above. "What fool to fear the inevitable," he admonishes with a noisy, clanking grumble, the sound of stones crackling and grinding against one another.
Mtule shudders, but tries to face the dread that wells up deep inside of her. She brings her neck back up again, searching for some sight, some indication of what is to come. "I do not fear death!" The old lioness snarls stubbornly, "But I resent it with all my heart!"
"You resent the *truth*? The arrogance!" Well, he's not much one to talk, being in denial for the past... millennia, or two or three or so. The wind flows back down, enveloping the lioness. The rumbling noises grow to a crescendo as the ancient, terrible speech rumbles in discontent. Gwandoya, unseen, opens his ghastly maw wide, wide, wide! Before clamping down heavily on the lioness's frail skull, assaulting it with a deluge of images of death, death he has wrought in his foul life. His own brother, blinded and castrated by hhis very paws, countless rivals torn to shreds, innocents guilty of fairly small infractions torn to pieces in his draconian judgments. All of it is shoved cruelly onto the brain of Mtule... but in an incomprehensible manner that she never truly know what she's seeing. Gwandoya had orders not to wreak simply to wreak... but he was in a foul mood tonight, and had been looking for a mouthy victim to vent himself on.
The lioness might rebel against her imminent death, but how does one fight something that goes not only to the mind but also like a poison directly to the heart. Her shudders become vague convulsions, and she tosses her head like a zebra leaping in vain away from the maw of oblivion, its blood already soaking the grass below its feet. Mtule makes a noise- a whimper, a snarl, a pained groan. No. This cannot be all there is to life. This cannot be the world she's clinging to so desperately. And for /what/ purpose does she cling to breath and heartbeat with such avarice? To watch the pride she loved become corrupt, to watch pain and misery akin to what so unexpectedly rages through her head this very second?? No! "NO!" She shrieks!
Oh, yes. Very yes. Gwandoya tears his jaws from the skull of the unfortunate lioness, upping the wind and setting the temperate to nigh freezing. "Go, mortal!" he whispers malevolently. "Run, run to your home, run to the stars, for all I care... You know your fate! You dare deny it?!" The wind beats down on Mtule, stripping away heat and leaving biting cold in its place. Gwandoya says no more, only letting his wrath and cruelty pour out on his terrified victim. Succumb... submit! Open your eyes, fool, and admit to your own frailty. Feel the ochre and invisible blood dribbling, run in terror and please your tormentor... or die a pitiful, pathetic wretch. Gwandoya smiles viciously under his cover of invisibility.
Mtule rises to her feet, trembling and gasping as the images recede and she can breathe once more. But when they leave, they take with them what little strength and warmth was left in her weary limbs. She takes a step forward, groans pitifully, and collapses. "Just... little more... time!"
Abruptly the freezing wind stops. Death releases its talons from the miserable lioness's spirit. Gwandoya feels called elsewhere... and this pathetic display of loyalty to no-one, not even their own life, disgusted him and would not please Talmaleki. "Enjoy your blink of a chance, fool," he mutters. "The Circle is not as charitable as I..." The voice floats away, and is soon lost to the chilly night breezes. The land is normal again... for now.