Post by Sayvahn on May 5, 2016 20:38:29 GMT
Open to Medivha
The forest trembled— a storm, looming over the horizons. Cracks of blue lined the sky, white omnibus clouds filling the openings ever so steadily. Wind tugged against Sayvahn’s jacket, yet he pressed through. He had to. It had been a month since he had seen the Raven, and since then, too much had occurred. Yet, he had gotten used to, had come to accept the darkness that nibbled, that had come to consume him. After all. Damien still lingered, still taunted him, and the scratches that lined Sayvahn’s inner thigh, that curled around his hips had turned from scabs to scars. Yet, Damien was still hungry, still waiting, yearning for flesh.
Give it to me. Give it back to me, he seemed to call. And no matter how many cuts, how many times Sayvahn pulled at his skin, it wasn’t enough.
The feline didn’t know what to do. This wasn't healthy. The older man knew it. But he couldn't stop. This wasn't like him, but these days, nothing was. He needed help, but from who? The barber didn't know. He could go to Lasair, but the fox had already done so much for him— and the older man would not tell him about this. Not this evil, this demon that lay inside. And aside from redhead, there was no one else— except maybe, Edelweiss, but she was too new— too uncertain, and Syd— Syd had been gone for far too long, and then, Mala. She had disappeared, to where, not even Sayvahn knew, and the pain, the torture of Corey’s goodbye still lingered in Sayvahn’s mind. Limbs had grown heavy, and the older man— he felt empty.
No. There was no where else to go. Except— except maybe one.
Breaking away from the forest, he saw the church, how it sat amidst the field, succumbed to the elements. The last time he had been there— no, the only time he had been there, he had left Vieka in curses and screams. It had not been his intention— he had left, scared, unsure, confused, the darkest parts of his life, locked away for so many years, unleashed and filling him. Even now, they threatened to devour the blonde, but maybe… maybe the Raven could help.
Approaching the church, Sayvahn slowed down, his spine, tingling. Nerves? It had to be, but, no, there was something else. Something sinister, something dark. A force, an energy that Sayvahn couldn’t place. It terrified him, in fact— worry, lacing with the fear. Perhaps that is why he didn’t bother to knock. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bother waiting before he approached that wooden door. Figners curled around the wood and he pulled at it ever so quietly, because from the cracks that lined the wood pushed a black miasma, tendrils thin as smoke. Whatever was inside, was meant to be approached with caution. Perhaps not even appraoched at all. But Sayvahn opened the door. Opened, and peered inside.
His breath caught.
A black purple ocean of fog lined the floor, licking at every eave and pew, some, broken, others, mismatched. And from the floor, lumps rose. Remnants, skeletons, fur and feathers of birds too large to be natural, their skulls, bleached white. Their hollow eyes stared at the door, as if pleading, save us. But something had caught them, something, had killed them before their prayers could be answered— their bodies, disappearing into the shadows but their remains, their only mementos of their struggle left to rot on earth. Fire flickered green and purple, illuminating the scene, making shadows and fog creep across the floor in an undulating mass, an ocean of purple green and black that threatened to devour all that approached. The area, it must have been toxic— looked toxic— and Sayvahn found himself holding his breath, mouth cupping his mouth as eyes traced the grounds for movement.
“Vieka?” He called, his body, his senses begging him to stop, to turn away. But Damien, he stood in the center, his red flesh, melting with the black mist, finger stretched out and curled as if beckoning “Come in.” It seemed like there was no other option, the feline, too timid, to cautious to raise his voice any louder than it already was, for who knew what else could lie in the midst, aside from remains.
Glancing around the space, Sayvahn reached into his bag for his knife, a healing spell, on his lips. If he was going to go in blind, he was going to go in, prepared. Once the protection spell surrounded him, he stepped in, knife, drawn and readied.
"Vieka, are you here?"
Stepping deeper into the church, emerald orbs scanned the area, the mist, concealing the ground as he walked. Where was it all coming from? Looking forward, he traced the undulating rivets, how tehy seemed to drop, like a drapery, from the ceiling, from the rafters.
The forest trembled— a storm, looming over the horizons. Cracks of blue lined the sky, white omnibus clouds filling the openings ever so steadily. Wind tugged against Sayvahn’s jacket, yet he pressed through. He had to. It had been a month since he had seen the Raven, and since then, too much had occurred. Yet, he had gotten used to, had come to accept the darkness that nibbled, that had come to consume him. After all. Damien still lingered, still taunted him, and the scratches that lined Sayvahn’s inner thigh, that curled around his hips had turned from scabs to scars. Yet, Damien was still hungry, still waiting, yearning for flesh.
Give it to me. Give it back to me, he seemed to call. And no matter how many cuts, how many times Sayvahn pulled at his skin, it wasn’t enough.
The feline didn’t know what to do. This wasn't healthy. The older man knew it. But he couldn't stop. This wasn't like him, but these days, nothing was. He needed help, but from who? The barber didn't know. He could go to Lasair, but the fox had already done so much for him— and the older man would not tell him about this. Not this evil, this demon that lay inside. And aside from redhead, there was no one else— except maybe, Edelweiss, but she was too new— too uncertain, and Syd— Syd had been gone for far too long, and then, Mala. She had disappeared, to where, not even Sayvahn knew, and the pain, the torture of Corey’s goodbye still lingered in Sayvahn’s mind. Limbs had grown heavy, and the older man— he felt empty.
No. There was no where else to go. Except— except maybe one.
Breaking away from the forest, he saw the church, how it sat amidst the field, succumbed to the elements. The last time he had been there— no, the only time he had been there, he had left Vieka in curses and screams. It had not been his intention— he had left, scared, unsure, confused, the darkest parts of his life, locked away for so many years, unleashed and filling him. Even now, they threatened to devour the blonde, but maybe… maybe the Raven could help.
Approaching the church, Sayvahn slowed down, his spine, tingling. Nerves? It had to be, but, no, there was something else. Something sinister, something dark. A force, an energy that Sayvahn couldn’t place. It terrified him, in fact— worry, lacing with the fear. Perhaps that is why he didn’t bother to knock. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bother waiting before he approached that wooden door. Figners curled around the wood and he pulled at it ever so quietly, because from the cracks that lined the wood pushed a black miasma, tendrils thin as smoke. Whatever was inside, was meant to be approached with caution. Perhaps not even appraoched at all. But Sayvahn opened the door. Opened, and peered inside.
His breath caught.
A black purple ocean of fog lined the floor, licking at every eave and pew, some, broken, others, mismatched. And from the floor, lumps rose. Remnants, skeletons, fur and feathers of birds too large to be natural, their skulls, bleached white. Their hollow eyes stared at the door, as if pleading, save us. But something had caught them, something, had killed them before their prayers could be answered— their bodies, disappearing into the shadows but their remains, their only mementos of their struggle left to rot on earth. Fire flickered green and purple, illuminating the scene, making shadows and fog creep across the floor in an undulating mass, an ocean of purple green and black that threatened to devour all that approached. The area, it must have been toxic— looked toxic— and Sayvahn found himself holding his breath, mouth cupping his mouth as eyes traced the grounds for movement.
“Vieka?” He called, his body, his senses begging him to stop, to turn away. But Damien, he stood in the center, his red flesh, melting with the black mist, finger stretched out and curled as if beckoning “Come in.” It seemed like there was no other option, the feline, too timid, to cautious to raise his voice any louder than it already was, for who knew what else could lie in the midst, aside from remains.
Glancing around the space, Sayvahn reached into his bag for his knife, a healing spell, on his lips. If he was going to go in blind, he was going to go in, prepared. Once the protection spell surrounded him, he stepped in, knife, drawn and readied.
"Vieka, are you here?"
Stepping deeper into the church, emerald orbs scanned the area, the mist, concealing the ground as he walked. Where was it all coming from? Looking forward, he traced the undulating rivets, how tehy seemed to drop, like a drapery, from the ceiling, from the rafters.