Miranda - Dead Hollow | [member=Bedrovelse Hevn]
Once upon a time, Miranda had been home to the most terrifying inhabitants. Cannibalistic beats who haunted an ancient carnival, preying on those who had been stupid enough to give in to curiosity. Now, since the Confederacy's intrusion, most of those living on Miranda were considered relatively normal. Some semblance of civilisation had returned to the planet surface, but there was one place still talked about in whispers. A place that still displayed the planet's tormented history, surrounded by rumours and tales of a terror that hunted in the night. A place that, save for those who had the unfortunate task of delivering the dead, nobody dared set foot...
Dead Hollow.
The forest had once been alive with vibrant colour and life aplenty, but just as Miranda's people had once been plagued, so to had it succumbed to an unseemly ending. Trees, grass, flora, fauna. All were now encased in grey stone, fossilised permanently in a state of decay. The fresh fragrant scents of flowers and nature had long since fled and been replaced by the stench of death. The people of Miranda feared it, but not because of the disease that had torn mother nature clean away, but because of what lived inside it. Those foolish enough to venture into the depths of Dead Hollow were considered fortunate if they made it out insane, for it was far better to be insane than to be trapped in the clutches of shadow itself.
Centred in a clearing, deep in the heart of Dead Hollow, a woman lithe in form stood silently. Clad in grey and black and statuesque in appearance, those who weren't looking close enough would have missed her entirely. Charred dust in the centre of her outstretched palm seeped through her fingers, catching the stale breeze and scattering wildly into the air. For a moment it seemed to be the only animated thing about her, until...
'WEAK!' The Mother of Nightmares cried out in disgust, angry tones filling the dead forest to bursting point. A deafening crunch followed as the corpse at her feet crumpled into shapes no human form should be able to make. Milk white hands flew through the air, so erratic and aggressive in their movements they seemed to blur into one. The corpse shifted with them, flopping limply one way, then the other. A puppet whose strings were pulled by the Queen of Shadows herself. 'Useless.' The marionettist hissed as her dancing doll came to a stop inches from her face. 'And you held such promise, my sweet.' She cooed, dragging a sharp talon down its pallid grey cheek and across its sunken jaw. 'So powerful in life-...'
Pausing mid-sentence, her eyes seemed to sparkle with the sudden realisation. 'THAT'S IT!' Her tone peaked, filling to the brim with a morbid delight. 'I'll need someone alive, yes, that's what it is. What's the point in ripping a heart out if it's already stopped beating?' The Mother of Nightmares rambled in her eerie tone to a man who had not been alive to listen for quite some time now. Laughing to herself as though the realisation should have come sooner, Zahra flicked her fingers casually to send her puppet skidding across the clearing. With the sound of bones crunching against fossilised wood, a plan was set in motion. The Dream Weaver twirled in place, a look of sheer glee on her snow white face.
The Mother of Nightmares danced to the distant tune of thudding hearts. Bare feet carrying her away from the clearing, skipping and bounding over the cracked stone floor with graceful ease. The first soul she came across would aid her in her task, willing or unwilling.