08-19-2020, 01:45 PM
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XVIII - THE MOON
a monument dreams and fantasies come to life, the representation of instincts often left suppressed and a knock into our subconscious. Virgil of the pitt is a study in beauty: a perfect understanding of that which terrifies you, a perfect picturesque of horror and delight
tw for descriptions of a rotting body : i mean worm had maggots already infested in him, but still. don't read between the red & if you want to avoid it tldr pitt pup come's to collect the casualty of worm's body
There was something to be said, about the casualties of war. The war of life was constantly fought, and in the end most slipped quietly. Lost with a grace; there were few seldom that accepted their lost and fell to it gracefully. Some covered their heads in the sand in attempts to ignore it, and most fought against it, battled and raged and thrashed in the chokehold of death’s grip on their life. To most it was like that, all rage and wrath and a fight to live life fully. Virgil understood it, lived it, and cut it short for many, by fang or claw she caught and munched on the cooling forms of thoese who sustained her own battle. Cut into other’s battle just to end it: it was like that a lot for predators, and virgil wondered on the mortality of a clan who ignored the calling of battle.
The pitt, was a carnivore. The rest of the clans filed their claws and smiled without teeth. They spoke and discussed and yes- hunted for food. But the refused the violence in their blood. It called to everyone. Called to her with a voice dripping red and a hush silence that only death could mimicry. It was instinct, and some reveled into it. Fell prey and turned belly up in cowerdance to the predators: but the reufused the pitt and virgil wanted to know why.
It was either submission or death. Virgil wondered which would win out, in the end she didn’t need to wonder.
Death was inescapable.
It was acceptance, as virgil followed the scent of the red god’s followers. The pitt left a wake of such wonderous destruction and virgil felt dazed on the heady rush of power the land shook with. Death hung on the branches, fires still stung the earth and even in the rolling swamp there was the tinge of rotting bodies, of such wonderous ruin that virigl knew her father would have loved. Even in the short time she had knew him: he would have reveled in this carnage, this aftermath. The rot.
- & This mission was one virgil saw fit to deign herself the courier. Instinct, impulse nor intuition told her it was necessary, so virgil considered it a mercy, for her own peace of mind. Since the pitt wouldn’t care for the weak. She wanted to ponder her own weakness, her own sympathy – sorrow that tinged her as she discovered the body. Maggots had transcended to bot-flies the cooling body loose with the creature’s feasting off of him. Her father was odd, found love in the things that sought him ruin and ruin he were. She mulled the ideas of how to extract the corpse of her father. Bones and sinew already pealing away flesh. & -
She could just take the bones of him but it seemed… unwise. Worm was a creature of rot and created rot. His body was the crown of his den and where she saw perfection in laying him to ease. So she needed him in his entirely.
After a while, she found big enough leaves, and wove a stretcher. With loose ivy she made a rope, and together: the two of them departed, back towards home. a welp and her father. There was no mourning, no straying inside the territory of a perceived enemy. Virgil had come for what she had came for, and that was all. All that was really needed.
There was something to be said, about the casualties of war. The war of life was constantly fought, and in the end most slipped quietly. Lost with a grace; there were few seldom that accepted their lost and fell to it gracefully. Some covered their heads in the sand in attempts to ignore it, and most fought against it, battled and raged and thrashed in the chokehold of death’s grip on their life. To most it was like that, all rage and wrath and a fight to live life fully. Virgil understood it, lived it, and cut it short for many, by fang or claw she caught and munched on the cooling forms of thoese who sustained her own battle. Cut into other’s battle just to end it: it was like that a lot for predators, and virgil wondered on the mortality of a clan who ignored the calling of battle.
The pitt, was a carnivore. The rest of the clans filed their claws and smiled without teeth. They spoke and discussed and yes- hunted for food. But the refused the violence in their blood. It called to everyone. Called to her with a voice dripping red and a hush silence that only death could mimicry. It was instinct, and some reveled into it. Fell prey and turned belly up in cowerdance to the predators: but the reufused the pitt and virgil wanted to know why.
It was either submission or death. Virgil wondered which would win out, in the end she didn’t need to wonder.
Death was inescapable.
It was acceptance, as virgil followed the scent of the red god’s followers. The pitt left a wake of such wonderous destruction and virgil felt dazed on the heady rush of power the land shook with. Death hung on the branches, fires still stung the earth and even in the rolling swamp there was the tinge of rotting bodies, of such wonderous ruin that virigl knew her father would have loved. Even in the short time she had knew him: he would have reveled in this carnage, this aftermath. The rot.
- & This mission was one virgil saw fit to deign herself the courier. Instinct, impulse nor intuition told her it was necessary, so virgil considered it a mercy, for her own peace of mind. Since the pitt wouldn’t care for the weak. She wanted to ponder her own weakness, her own sympathy – sorrow that tinged her as she discovered the body. Maggots had transcended to bot-flies the cooling body loose with the creature’s feasting off of him. Her father was odd, found love in the things that sought him ruin and ruin he were. She mulled the ideas of how to extract the corpse of her father. Bones and sinew already pealing away flesh. & -
She could just take the bones of him but it seemed… unwise. Worm was a creature of rot and created rot. His body was the crown of his den and where she saw perfection in laying him to ease. So she needed him in his entirely.
After a while, she found big enough leaves, and wove a stretcher. With loose ivy she made a rope, and together: the two of them departed, back towards home. a welp and her father. There was no mourning, no straying inside the territory of a perceived enemy. Virgil had come for what she had came for, and that was all. All that was really needed.
![[Image: VIR.png]](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/737677757525262357/737796325369839656/VIR.png)
[glow=#212121,2,300] Yeah i got some fuckin' problems[/glow]
[glow=white,2,20] were always fucked in the end [b]—[/glow]
[glow=white,2,20] were always fucked in the end [b]—[/glow]
hyena & wolf mix . bio . dm for plotting
