ʜᴄ sᴠɴᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏɴᴇs
"Tell me, sister, can you see me now? If I looked into the nether and peered into the swirling depths, would you be there for me? Would you whisper sweet nothings in my ear and tell me that peace was coming for me?" The voice was like glass breaking, disharmonious.
Light a candle for Sargon, who is not but from all, cometh that which is, we see what you hath wrought.
The man who now called himself 'Vesper' threw back his head, letting out a wry laugh as he sat at the table, lounging at it. His chosen clothes -- a sleeveless, shimmersilk tunic with long, white gloves -- exposed skin that was knotted with surgical incisions and scar tissue. Most eerie of all was its greyish pallor, however, like he was rotting. In a way, he was. His blonde hair was cut somewhat shorter than usual.
He was sitting in a cafe. All the other patrons were dead. The horror of their final moments was reflected in pooling blood.
"Today is a beautiful day, sister. If you had been strong, like I was, you would be around to see it. This is the first step towards... no, 'revenge' isn't the right word. I'd say... fulfillment?"
Light a candle for Nogras, shatterer of the fabric of space, she who shines, we hear your cry.
"I don't believe in gods. I believe in myself."
Light a candle for Balagoth, entropy made flesh made spirit, consumer of matter and energy, we feel your fangs.
"He saw it too. He called them 'The Great Enemy' and named them evil but they are a promise that we must keep."
Light a candle for Halrormalenth, who made me, who shaped me and witnessed my flaws. We deny your regret.
"I will understand."
He did not understand. But he hoped. And his eyes were darting back and forth, waiting for the mocking phantom to return. The one he had seen when death was near. Perhaps she was death, his death, as he had always feared. No, that was a fear for Antherion. He was Vesper, Darth Vesper, or perhaps simply the whisper. He would be freed from the prison. Glory to the new flesh.
He took a flower, a pale and fleshy thing, and tossed it dismissively over his shoulder. It began to take root with unnatural swiftness, and cast vines and roots out. It began to grow and propagate.
"I can sense you. I call to you. Come to me, maggots in the corpse of God."
| [member="Lethia Morow"] | [member="The Slave"] |
Light a candle for Sargon, who is not but from all, cometh that which is, we see what you hath wrought.
The man who now called himself 'Vesper' threw back his head, letting out a wry laugh as he sat at the table, lounging at it. His chosen clothes -- a sleeveless, shimmersilk tunic with long, white gloves -- exposed skin that was knotted with surgical incisions and scar tissue. Most eerie of all was its greyish pallor, however, like he was rotting. In a way, he was. His blonde hair was cut somewhat shorter than usual.
He was sitting in a cafe. All the other patrons were dead. The horror of their final moments was reflected in pooling blood.
"Today is a beautiful day, sister. If you had been strong, like I was, you would be around to see it. This is the first step towards... no, 'revenge' isn't the right word. I'd say... fulfillment?"
Light a candle for Nogras, shatterer of the fabric of space, she who shines, we hear your cry.
"I don't believe in gods. I believe in myself."
Light a candle for Balagoth, entropy made flesh made spirit, consumer of matter and energy, we feel your fangs.
"He saw it too. He called them 'The Great Enemy' and named them evil but they are a promise that we must keep."
Light a candle for Halrormalenth, who made me, who shaped me and witnessed my flaws. We deny your regret.
"I will understand."
He did not understand. But he hoped. And his eyes were darting back and forth, waiting for the mocking phantom to return. The one he had seen when death was near. Perhaps she was death, his death, as he had always feared. No, that was a fear for Antherion. He was Vesper, Darth Vesper, or perhaps simply the whisper. He would be freed from the prison. Glory to the new flesh.
He took a flower, a pale and fleshy thing, and tossed it dismissively over his shoulder. It began to take root with unnatural swiftness, and cast vines and roots out. It began to grow and propagate.
"I can sense you. I call to you. Come to me, maggots in the corpse of God."
| [member="Lethia Morow"] | [member="The Slave"] |