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Forcing its way through the grounds and the hills side of the mountains ground the forms of hell spill out like the magma filled rivers. Burning and destroying all in their path, letting the stench of the masters flow form their breath like their blood was still fresh on their tongue. Keeping in right with their kings and leaders of old the blood billowing form the pores and sores on their skin they walk. Cursing god, and looking to the sky as if to be smitten for their words towards him. Yet the sky looks calm and the clouds hold back their furry. Like pagans and heathens they spread their lies of immortality and power their followers begin to number in the millions. And just as the serpents of the sea and land they twist and wind their way down the mountain slopes. Devouring and leaving their mark. Staining the ground with more than the blood of their enemy's and cursing the crop with the diseases sealed away in their blood; with the famines and floods that encroach in the lowly places and the raging sea threatens to swallow all that they have fought to keep and obtained the strong of body leave, letting the minds rot and the children be slaughtered in the night with the cold and piercing blades of sea water. But alas the ones that succumb and are soothed a last by the seas cress smile as their bodies drift off to sea. And they become no more a part of the history books aside form a number in the millions of lost. The ones that woke, and fought for their lives are the ones that live through the hells. For a new and strange land graces their shaky sea legs, as the look from the end of the beaches to the strange new jungle in front of them. With out the howls of the monkeys and the calls of the exotic birds calming their souls they step forwards. Slow at first daring no to move further than the water that carried them her for the fear that the have no where to run if trouble arises. But the serpents scar still makes its mark even in the freshest born of them and the newest creation billowing in the womb of the "mother" of them all. For the creation of that one child has ushered in a whole new era of fear filling the hearts of women all round the world as they are out numbered and used like cattle on low supply. Breeding day and night no matter what their vary flesh holds for the master taking what he wants. And just as the unfruitful of the flocks are beaten and scared for their transgressions they to be tormented and branded almost thrown to the slaughter if it were not for their beauty and unique abilities. The kings would have most certainly cast them out like an impure babe of the breed, unfit and no where near the standard of strength for the calling of war. For the mighty thirst for the blood of others and the hunts in witch they eat the raw beasts do little to stave their hungers. For their wives begin to number higher and higher. The jealousy builds and binds the towns into hatred and little squabbles are conducted over the gems of the times. for their beauty is their curse, and some time the most powerful of men see the beauty in the barren women, letting them once again taste of joy, rapture, and pure happiness. As their needs are taken care of and the feelings of trust and love leek into the deepest pores of the frozen hearts their bodies begin to warm and the heat attracts the more evil of men. Of in their lives they are cold, and they hunger for a breath of sun light. For their haughty and mighty castles though graced by light are denied the power of heat. And the ever sweeping snows being driven over the mountain peaks by glacier winds only shows them the truth of their heart. large and cold it may be but even the coldest thing must melt and with the melt a path is carved through their bodies to the reservoir that they hide all their fears and pain inside so that they may forget their humanity. For a cold man is heart less. And the heartless know nothing of pain, nor of true pleasure... so you see my friend my head may become severed from my vary shoulders. and my tong cursed by the mystics to ever spill my blood and continue the trampling tails of these men, for the times are changing and soon we will burry ourselves up in the earth for fear of the sun light, and its overwhelming heat. for our hearts still sink, but the mark as been moving ever deeper and faster than the hunter and soon the trail will be lost for the world to follow until the last one to hide his face takes that glance to the growing twilight and for once in his short life feel the warmth of sun, and in that light see the one face that is new to him. And the strange passions that arise in him drive him to stupidity in the mines. The workers begin to push and shove him to the surface where the heat is like touchier for their eyes, and the vary skin they rely on falls for it is far too frail to hold up to the cooking degrees that arise in those shallow holes. For their transgressions they are eternally marked for their skin never grows back once it has been skinned off their mussels. Their bodies taint the outer sides and scale up like a dragon still smooth but they offer protection from the heat, and better the defenses to piercing weapons and the blunt do nothing but shatter. But in this world silk, is gold and shimmering skin as the mark of a wealthy man. So they hide in their shame and keep to their tunnels digging effortlessly. Spreading farther than the high arks and their magic’s of fire and sound; shattering the ground into powder and the rocks into pieces. But their progress is slow and their work sloth full. Too many times their caves collapse and their friends are lost. Their fine and deli kit skin is torn and shredded by the finite grains of dirt they violently shove out of the way hoping to save their friend who has lost all signs of honor and stability. And the one who was lucky is left with a mark of hell on his hand. For a chunk was taken from him and like his compatriots above him his body reacts by growing a hardened and rougher patch of flesh, but like the people above him he is ashamed of his mark and he hides it from all he can. Even the woman he loves he dares not let her see him buffed lest she sight the patch and call him a unworthy mate, and the next day he sights her flirting like he never existed. So he hides his face, and burry’s his hands in all manner of treatments to soften the scar but nothing works. It lasts for a little while but treatments are nothing for cures. And like all secrets, his scare is soon reviled to the world, and his body is also banished for being a dirty and unworthy thing. Though with all of the faces that he sees around him, his friends and some of his family he never sees hers. Not once dose his heart get to feel the last since of joy. If for nothing ells to explain why he repetitively ran form her bed, and shunned himself away from the dark ally ways that she would work so hard to seduce him into at least venturing into. He knowing full well what she ached for, what her mind and heart died to profess to him and he kept pulling her into the light. The gentle and silvery glow of their moon gems. Oh how his hands hunger to feel her once again. To since the slight warmth in her face as she smiled and kissed his skin. Her letting him venture how ever he wanted about her skin. Smiling lightly his dream is disturbed by the lashings that strip his back of all manner of feeling and sever deep into his mussels. Once his skin hangs off his hips like a shirt two of the strong men of the deep walks up to him. Appraising for their actions and begging for forgiveness as he feels their hands grip his flesh even though the nerves are all but severed his mind flashes with the dreams of the ones that "shifted" before him and like them his back is torn from him. A distinctive mark is embedded into his heart and back as the fiery embers swing and swarm his body. Feeling more like an acid than the insects they really were he seals his lips into a fortress, and locks his voice box into oblivion never to return the same. Not once did he scream, and never did the kings get their satisfaction in his tourcher. With their questions and cursing his mind revised the truths of his kind and the faith he was so devoted to. And in the lies of healing if only he had presented the curse when it first started to show, and professed his connections even though their were none, he might have been saved the pain. And perhaps be given that witch he thirst for most of all. But even he sees that those words are filled with the same worthless cause of the request of forgiveness form the strippers as they skinned him alive. Being loused form his binds he stammers, feeling for the first time the fires that tormented his feet when he was a child. That caused him to wake in the night in a sold sweat and his eyes laced over with the blacked of nights gloom. His parents feared his dreams, for time after time they listened as he prophesied of the fall of the hive, and the re-culminating of the grounds above him. And the kings knew of the weakness of the earth, and still they dug deeper. piercing into the chasms and pits of hell letting louse the beasts of the ancient world so they may curse the bodies of the ones above them as to weaken their numbers as they began to grow and consume the vary recourses that the needed deep in the bowls of the earth for life. But still the proud act like heroes and the beasts that are too weak to concur their way out are slain and eaten to promote the power of them. Those mystics that promise a longer time of peace so long as the followers never test the mighty ones above; Look to the spoils that are forgotten in histories for their satisfaction. the glimmering gold’s, and silvers do little but shimmer in the lights in the darkest regions of the world but their presentation are the best forms of seduction to a women that is still seduced by fine things, and their lines are progressed by the vary things they preach against. With these truths finally burned into his mind and imprinted on his heart his tourcher ends as his eyes bleed blood like tears. And the wretches of old smile in his pain. Them knowing what it was like to feel this pain as they forced them selves above the dirt as their final test. But for him it was no test. It was his punishment for being tainted by the earth. Unclean and scared for his days he still walks with pride, and dignity and his friends split like the sea upon the rocks. And with their eyes diverted to the ground in fear of his infecting them he keeps a slow and strong stride. Looking at the doors leading to the tunnels that will draw him up and towards the ones that; if he is able to prove himself as one, he might call his kind, his own people. Looking about the faces of his town he sees many that he knew before the ones that used to bring smiles and laughter to his heart and face, only bring anger, and grief. Looking into their soulless bodies with his own two eyes he now sees the intent of the mystics. For his eyes are now bright, reflecting and glowing with the graces of the moon, and fire. Theirs only glimmer like the silver blood of the foundries that molt the ore for their support structures. Weak and brittle are their bones and his as well. But one face catches his eye, for a moment he stops and looks towards hers, as she lightly smiles at him. Accidentally exposing her neck as he sees the scares. The with of itch are for his fingers and before he knew it she vanishes from his sight. Within the deepest recesses of his mind he rivals in the horrors of what could have happened and what he truly was. With the large steal doors closing behind him and the arm bands shattering like year old clay he feels the burn of heat once again. The sensation sending pain ripping through his entire body. Screaming like a wild beast he slams his body against the soil surrounding him sending himself further and further into the tunnels. The collisions doing little to stave the pain as the infectious grains embed themselves into his flesh. Cutting more and more of his soul to pieces. drenched in a shower of his own blood and his voice box horse from the velocity of his screams escaping his lungs his stride weakens and the breath in his body grows short. Heat and steam grace his senses and he raises higher keeping pace with a worm beneath his feet. But soon the worm out dose even he. And the last bit of power he holds fails and his body slams with the ground sending him sprawling down a long cascade of stairs and holes. Till at last a pool of water catches him like a slab of concrete. With out strength to move he floats for a little while. Feeling the currents push him for the shores as his shoulders rest on the soft soil. And almost like a servant of heaven he hears a many voices some deep but still soft, but most sound like girls. With his vision slipping from him he looks from where he fell and sees the only face he never expected to see. Wanting to scream a torch is dropped down to him and the fires of hell erupt all around him till his eyes are sealed up in pain and his breath gives out.
As his mind re-awakens to the sensation of breath, and the shrieking sting of pain coursing over the entirety of his body. He opens his eyes only to see that his vision has gone as black as the charcoaled flesh that must surly coat his body in ruin.
 morti_cacciatore · Thu Dec 06, 2007 @ 09:41pm · 0 Comments |
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