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oblivion- death - deimos - 03-24-2020
He doesn't belong here. His body knows that, the metal twisted inside of his body starting to pierce his organs. But he wanted to survive. The screaming inside of his head, asked him why. Why did he want to stay, why did he breathe. What was the reason for it? Fear, of the unknown? No, this was no Hamlet moment. This wasn't poetic enough. It was just him, his body in the dark of a hut, alone. It was just.. saddening, really, to come across this child's body as he sat in his own sick.
Here, of course, was this planet. He wasn't from here, his soul stolen, his body breathing toxic air and his body rotting for it. Maybe, perhaps, when he returned, he'd be stronger. Return. His eyes cracked open, their deep blues starting to well with useless tears. No one was coming for him, were they? He had held onto hope, hoping that he'd recover, his lungs wheezing for air and body reeking with heat and the general stench of sickness. It hung heavy, ever-heavy, in the air.
And like a light, he fizzled out. Nothing grand, nothing beautiful. Barely a teenager, barely old enough to care for himself, and he was gone. With time, his body would grow cold, the metal withering and starting to soften- as if his life force had hardened the metal.
Here, of course, was this planet. He wasn't from here, his soul stolen, his body breathing toxic air and his body rotting for it. Maybe, perhaps, when he returned, he'd be stronger. Return. His eyes cracked open, their deep blues starting to well with useless tears. No one was coming for him, were they? He had held onto hope, hoping that he'd recover, his lungs wheezing for air and body reeking with heat and the general stench of sickness. It hung heavy, ever-heavy, in the air.
And like a light, he fizzled out. Nothing grand, nothing beautiful. Barely a teenager, barely old enough to care for himself, and he was gone. With time, his body would grow cold, the metal withering and starting to soften- as if his life force had hardened the metal.
template by orion
Re: oblivion- death - fulzanin - 03-24-2020
decisions to decisions are made and not bought
As simple as Astiar was, he could understand death. It was one of the few things that the cicada grasped without needing a simplistic explanation for how it worked and what it meant. The concept of death was scary. He had instincts to keep it from claiming him, even if his intincts were bare bones and barely did much more than keep him alive. It told him what to eat, how to eat, how to fly, walk, buzz, scratch, chew, and drink. Instinct said the smell of death was to be avoided. If there was something dead, chances were the cause of death was still lingering around. Instances of predators such as birds, usually. Other creatures that ate insects easily were considered in his mind. Spiders, more birds, or literally any omnivorous creature that walked or flew or burrowed. Death was scary, and its smell had to be avoided if he wanted to perform self preservation.
Something else told him that this was an instance where doing so was not the solution. The dragon smells the scent of death long before he sees it. His antennae curl and his mind stumbles through a dilemma. To investigate, or not? Astiar's feet carry him forward. Perhaps the feeling settling in his stomach is dread. It certainly is no pleasant emotion, and even the simple minded insect can recognize such a thing. Antennae curled, hearing wheezing. His approach is too slow, and he arrives too late to the scene. Red eyes recognize the body, even if it is devoid of life. The dragon's pace quickens, wings stilling in their near ever present buzzing. He lowers his head and nudges ever gently, seeking a response. Dead bodies usually do not reply to such things. Astiar understands death in that it means being gone. This is different. This was a person that he cared for. His jaws open, and he unleashes a sharp screeching noise. Panic, him using his talons to carefully nudge the lifeless body again. The part of him that has cracked the shell of instinct desperately wants to see a cough and the other rise up.
In the majority of cases, insects do not grieve. They have no sadness nor do they mourn over the lost members of their kind. They normally follow a 'better you than me' mentality, for the strength of the group meant the sacrifices of the few. Astiar, long ago, had been an insect. This current body had capability, and it was being exhibited. His antennae are lowered, chuff like sobs coming from his parted maw. Distressed noises sound as he continues to occasionally nudge. Astiar knows death. It does not mean that it is within his power to understand how to deal with how higher minded beings saw it. This was different and it did not match with his comprehension of death. The cicada bows his head and stills his movements, falling into mourning.
Something else told him that this was an instance where doing so was not the solution. The dragon smells the scent of death long before he sees it. His antennae curl and his mind stumbles through a dilemma. To investigate, or not? Astiar's feet carry him forward. Perhaps the feeling settling in his stomach is dread. It certainly is no pleasant emotion, and even the simple minded insect can recognize such a thing. Antennae curled, hearing wheezing. His approach is too slow, and he arrives too late to the scene. Red eyes recognize the body, even if it is devoid of life. The dragon's pace quickens, wings stilling in their near ever present buzzing. He lowers his head and nudges ever gently, seeking a response. Dead bodies usually do not reply to such things. Astiar understands death in that it means being gone. This is different. This was a person that he cared for. His jaws open, and he unleashes a sharp screeching noise. Panic, him using his talons to carefully nudge the lifeless body again. The part of him that has cracked the shell of instinct desperately wants to see a cough and the other rise up.
In the majority of cases, insects do not grieve. They have no sadness nor do they mourn over the lost members of their kind. They normally follow a 'better you than me' mentality, for the strength of the group meant the sacrifices of the few. Astiar, long ago, had been an insect. This current body had capability, and it was being exhibited. His antennae are lowered, chuff like sobs coming from his parted maw. Distressed noises sound as he continues to occasionally nudge. Astiar knows death. It does not mean that it is within his power to understand how to deal with how higher minded beings saw it. This was different and it did not match with his comprehension of death. The cicada bows his head and stills his movements, falling into mourning.
control yourself and take only what you need from it
TAGS 9/4/19:
Re: oblivion- death - trojan g. - 03-24-2020
[div style="width: 425px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px; opacity: 0.70; font-family: verdana; font-size: 11px; padding-top: 10px;"]As much as she had wished it upon others, Sweeney had never wanted to see death again, at least not so soon. One of her first memories being that of her own father being killed before her, she would never do too well with death. Someone she knew, someone she didn't, it would never matter, it would always be bad.
So when she'd found the body of someone she barely knew lying there, the warmth trickling away degree by degree, she froze. "N-no." The child would murmur out, confusion wracking her brain for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. This wasn't something graphic, this had no blood or loud noises, it wasn't at the hand of another, it was all internal and willed by a force unknown to her.
Ears would pin to the top of her head and the four month old would shake her head, looking up to Astiar, a face she recognized though not well, trying to find out what to do. For once the Callahan-Fallout child had no words.
[align=center]text | "speech"
So when she'd found the body of someone she barely knew lying there, the warmth trickling away degree by degree, she froze. "N-no." The child would murmur out, confusion wracking her brain for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. This wasn't something graphic, this had no blood or loud noises, it wasn't at the hand of another, it was all internal and willed by a force unknown to her.
Ears would pin to the top of her head and the four month old would shake her head, looking up to Astiar, a face she recognized though not well, trying to find out what to do. For once the Callahan-Fallout child had no words.
[align=center]text | "speech"
Re: oblivion- death - Kydobi - 03-24-2020
[align=center]
IM JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD -
♕tags-powers♕
[OOC: ]
Something felt so wrong today. His eyes opened at the sound of a high pitch screech. Sounded like Astiar which was to be expected but there was this feeling of off. The feeling only amplified the moment he left the leader’s temple. Something was just wrong.
He was too familiar with death, he had had his dance with it. The cold embrace of it. He never wanted to go back, the darkness scared him. Too familiar to ever forget the stale and mildew scent that once hung from his own pelt. He would know from the moment he inhaled. It pricked his fur, like electricity coursing gently through his pelt. He felt uncomfortable. A Pittian had died and been dead for a little while. His body stiffened, he would have to see who.
Follow the smell, he guessed. With each step, his heart would lurch. Following his nose was taking him closer and closer to the hut his beloved son resided in. Surely not, he would tell himself. Surely not his own.
Because this thing seemed out of the question. Not even a possibility in his reality because he was so confident that he would see his children age and age and one day have families of their own. Yet with each step he felt impending doom. Like his life would change for worse. Because a parent knows. A parent just knows.
He would make his way in the hut and he would stop. A breath caught in his chest as his stomachs sank. The heart would skip a beat and sink through the floor, attempting to anchor whatever emotional storm about to occur. Meanwhile the mind was processing what was happening. Trying to understand what was before him, this situation that denied his reality. This isn’t real, this is a dream. This is a joke. This is a prank. This was everything but real and happening.
But it was.
A parent should never have to bury their own. Especially there first born. It was something that shattered your reality, it was against the laws of nature. The youth were supposed to surpass and be stronger than the elder, to carry a legacy and further enhance the name.
It hurt to lose anyone. But his children were his everything even if he wasn’t in contact with them. He always held a love for all of them. Especially for his first litter, they were so close to reaching adulthood. To reaching their primes, where he could witness them blossom and grow. To live lives of their own accord. Yet here laid his son. Cold. His blossom was snipped before it finished blooming.
His little son.
Finally he would breathe, not because he needed to. His lungs were screaming but his mind was. The earth would rumble as he began to move again. Perhaps if he woke his son, then he would see this was not happening. He would move to nudge the boy. His eyes swelling with boiling black tears because even if his mind didn’t accept it, his heart knew.
“Piers.”, he would softly say as he poked the young man’s cold shoulder with his nose, “get up son.” the shoulder fell back once he moved.
He would straighten up. Not turning to look at the people he knew were coming. His tail fell limp, for once resting on the floor as he closed his eyes and cried. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. He needed a moment to just breathe and yet he couldn’t catch his breath despite the air flowing in and out his lungs.
“Piers. Piers please get up. You’re scaring me. Get up.”, the world began to rumble around them. God this pain was worse than anything Aurum had done to him. This pain was worse than him lying there choking on his own blood. This was not temporary this was something deep and permanent.
He would nudge the body a little roughly with his paw, “Piers! Piers get up! Piers get up!” but he wasn’t moving because he was dead. But surely he wasn’t. Piers couldn’t die, he was only a boy. Young children died all the time but Kydobi’s were an exception.
Piers. Piers. Piers. His mind was screaming as tears began to fall. His face sleeked with black. There was a twisted grimace as he blinked through his tears. His baby. His sweet son. Instead of calling louder, he would pull them close. Sitting down to hold them. Hold them like he should’ve when they were here to feel it.
All he could smell was sickness and death. Once again efforts were wasted to a pitiful end. Digging his face in the fur of the boy, the rosettes mixing with his own chocolate. Kydobi was typically a silent type when crying. He was a veteran to emotional trauma and often held things in till he was alone. But this was a torture worse than anything he had endured.
A loud deep son intertwined with a roar would come from the jaguar as he cried over the limp body. He should’ve been there, why wasn’t he sleeping next to him? His son died alone?
Was Piers alone in the darkness too?
Like Kydobi had been?
He snarled, his mind nearly snapping at such an idea.
“My boy! My baby! My son! Piers! Piers come back don’t stay there. It’s a bad place it’s a cold nothing piers piers I’m sorry come back piers please.” his words would jumble together. As he softly rocked hoping that maybe if he warmed the body it would allow life to return.
Everything was violently shaking now, it was only a matter of time before the brute ignite. Smoke had begun to curl out his nose as blue flames gently dance in his eyes. In his current state he would most definitely forget to control the heat. Everyone around him was in danger.
“Piers! PIERS MY BABY COME BACK PIERS THERE IS MORE FOR YOU HERE COME BACK COME BACK I NEED YOU HERE COME BACK THERE IS A BETTER LIFE PLEASE MY LITTLE WARRIOR COME BACK YOU HAVENT EVEN BEGUN TO LIVE MY BOY MY SWEET BOY PLEASE!”, another sob as he begun to dig his curled hooks deep into the ground.
Why wasn’t he listening. Piers wasn’t dead he couldn’t be.
[sub][W]isker[/sub]
♕tags-powers♕
[OOC: ]
Something felt so wrong today. His eyes opened at the sound of a high pitch screech. Sounded like Astiar which was to be expected but there was this feeling of off. The feeling only amplified the moment he left the leader’s temple. Something was just wrong.
He was too familiar with death, he had had his dance with it. The cold embrace of it. He never wanted to go back, the darkness scared him. Too familiar to ever forget the stale and mildew scent that once hung from his own pelt. He would know from the moment he inhaled. It pricked his fur, like electricity coursing gently through his pelt. He felt uncomfortable. A Pittian had died and been dead for a little while. His body stiffened, he would have to see who.
Follow the smell, he guessed. With each step, his heart would lurch. Following his nose was taking him closer and closer to the hut his beloved son resided in. Surely not, he would tell himself. Surely not his own.
Because this thing seemed out of the question. Not even a possibility in his reality because he was so confident that he would see his children age and age and one day have families of their own. Yet with each step he felt impending doom. Like his life would change for worse. Because a parent knows. A parent just knows.
He would make his way in the hut and he would stop. A breath caught in his chest as his stomachs sank. The heart would skip a beat and sink through the floor, attempting to anchor whatever emotional storm about to occur. Meanwhile the mind was processing what was happening. Trying to understand what was before him, this situation that denied his reality. This isn’t real, this is a dream. This is a joke. This is a prank. This was everything but real and happening.
But it was.
A parent should never have to bury their own. Especially there first born. It was something that shattered your reality, it was against the laws of nature. The youth were supposed to surpass and be stronger than the elder, to carry a legacy and further enhance the name.
It hurt to lose anyone. But his children were his everything even if he wasn’t in contact with them. He always held a love for all of them. Especially for his first litter, they were so close to reaching adulthood. To reaching their primes, where he could witness them blossom and grow. To live lives of their own accord. Yet here laid his son. Cold. His blossom was snipped before it finished blooming.
His little son.
Finally he would breathe, not because he needed to. His lungs were screaming but his mind was. The earth would rumble as he began to move again. Perhaps if he woke his son, then he would see this was not happening. He would move to nudge the boy. His eyes swelling with boiling black tears because even if his mind didn’t accept it, his heart knew.
“Piers.”, he would softly say as he poked the young man’s cold shoulder with his nose, “get up son.” the shoulder fell back once he moved.
He would straighten up. Not turning to look at the people he knew were coming. His tail fell limp, for once resting on the floor as he closed his eyes and cried. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. He needed a moment to just breathe and yet he couldn’t catch his breath despite the air flowing in and out his lungs.
“Piers. Piers please get up. You’re scaring me. Get up.”, the world began to rumble around them. God this pain was worse than anything Aurum had done to him. This pain was worse than him lying there choking on his own blood. This was not temporary this was something deep and permanent.
He would nudge the body a little roughly with his paw, “Piers! Piers get up! Piers get up!” but he wasn’t moving because he was dead. But surely he wasn’t. Piers couldn’t die, he was only a boy. Young children died all the time but Kydobi’s were an exception.
Piers. Piers. Piers. His mind was screaming as tears began to fall. His face sleeked with black. There was a twisted grimace as he blinked through his tears. His baby. His sweet son. Instead of calling louder, he would pull them close. Sitting down to hold them. Hold them like he should’ve when they were here to feel it.
All he could smell was sickness and death. Once again efforts were wasted to a pitiful end. Digging his face in the fur of the boy, the rosettes mixing with his own chocolate. Kydobi was typically a silent type when crying. He was a veteran to emotional trauma and often held things in till he was alone. But this was a torture worse than anything he had endured.
A loud deep son intertwined with a roar would come from the jaguar as he cried over the limp body. He should’ve been there, why wasn’t he sleeping next to him? His son died alone?
Was Piers alone in the darkness too?
Like Kydobi had been?
He snarled, his mind nearly snapping at such an idea.
“My boy! My baby! My son! Piers! Piers come back don’t stay there. It’s a bad place it’s a cold nothing piers piers I’m sorry come back piers please.” his words would jumble together. As he softly rocked hoping that maybe if he warmed the body it would allow life to return.
Everything was violently shaking now, it was only a matter of time before the brute ignite. Smoke had begun to curl out his nose as blue flames gently dance in his eyes. In his current state he would most definitely forget to control the heat. Everyone around him was in danger.
“Piers! PIERS MY BABY COME BACK PIERS THERE IS MORE FOR YOU HERE COME BACK COME BACK I NEED YOU HERE COME BACK THERE IS A BETTER LIFE PLEASE MY LITTLE WARRIOR COME BACK YOU HAVENT EVEN BEGUN TO LIVE MY BOY MY SWEET BOY PLEASE!”, another sob as he begun to dig his curled hooks deep into the ground.
Why wasn’t he listening. Piers wasn’t dead he couldn’t be.