art of war / bubonicplague

[sephiroth]

SEPHIROTH

MALE — ROSEBLOODS — PHARAOH — HOVER FOR TAGS

[div style="background-color: #292727; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]The territory was obliterated.

Sephiroth would pad through the ashen landscape that was once a lush jungle, his nose to the ground for a minute before lifting his gaze.  The burnt trees, the charred ground, the smell that itched his sensitive nose and the roof of his jaws.  He managed to lower his enhanced senses to lessen the impact of the remaining smoke, but it still made mist and dust of the canyon.  Prey was no doubt driven from the land, and life just got a lot harder.

The lion gave a soft snarl as he looked at the ground, swiping a paw across the ground to reveal burnt earth beneath the layer of ashen remains.  Sephiroth refused to admit failure, he wouldn’t make his clan move until it was absolutely necessary.  Stubborn and bullish to a dangerous extent, and a god complex that ruled his entire being.  For the first time in a week or longer he let down his mental guard and called for Mother.  There was no response, and he felt frustrated and lost.  It did nothing to quell his temper.

Sephiroth still patrolled the suddenly empty land, his eyes going back and forth and once again.  He had to rely on himself, he knew that.  While he said that the Rosebloods were above, that the lowest member of his prized group was higher than even the leader of a lesser clan, the silvery lion considered himself even higher than that, a god among mortals.  And gods had to know how to stand on their own and prove their strength.

[member=1381]BUBONICPLAGUE[/member]

#psychosocial.

[BUBONICPLAGUE]

[align=center][div style="width: 600px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 550px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]While others viewed the territory as devastation, to Bubonicplague, it was something close to paradise. The humidity was gone, replaced with fire and brimstone; the feeling of still warm ash beneath his feet was ever so refreshing. The smell of smoke and charred remains filled his senses, breathed into his lungs. Bub curled his lip and heaved out a thick cloud of smoke to join the thickness of it in the air. He'd always thrived among devastation.

In his mind, the territory was near perfect now. Surrounded by heat and dangerous wastes, the resting place of a creature nearly as old as he, now blackened earth where a rainforest had once sat. Even the river that had cut through the canyon had all but dried up, the remains tainted with ash and toxic chemicals. Oh, it all did nothing but bring him joy; another deep inhale, exhale. The demon rumbled out smoothly and continued his wandering around the barren land.

God complexes, overconfidence—things he was well acquainted with. Both from experience with others, and within the chambers of his own mind. If he was being honest, it was somewhat hard to not develop such things when a majority of his life he had spent in power over others. Whole towns and villages of the most destructive creatures to live, bowing to his will, treating him nearly on the same level as his creator. A demon he was, but what a God he felt. It only irked him when those who didn't have good reason to think themselves such did. When they had not earned it the way he had. Held the life of thousands in their palm. Received offerings and sacrifices. Developed a following. Ah, he truly had the mark of one, and had it not been for the—albeit somewhat spiteful—respect he had for the one that gave him life, Bubonicplague would have taken his ascension. He was deserving, and damn, was he good in a position of power.

Power... was not something he saw within Sephiroth. He only saw a child grasping for straws; the schoolyard bully that thought himself untouchable and held the favor of all the teachers. A shame it was, truly, that there was not something that could swiftly be done. To remove the lion from power would take time. And Bubonicplague liked to think himself as a patient man. Wait for the right moment to strike. In a time like this, alone in the wasteland of a territory, the aspect seemed almost perfect. He could hear steps falling on the earth, feel the vibrations in the ground, and it was easy for him to figure who it was. It didn't seem any of the other members were foolish enough to come out to breath the toxic air. The god himself graced the demon with his presence.

Blind gaze rose from the ashen ground, settling on the place where Sephiroth trod. It took the beast several moments to decide whether to approach or not; return to enjoying the remains of the fire, or have a pride fight with the leader. A tough decision, truly. In the end, he decided to bother the little lion. Bring himself more joy than he already felt in the moment. The enormous wolf loped over, an ominous shadow moving among the smoke around them. He paused several steps away, lurked a brief moment, then announced his presence with a guttural growl. "Enjoying the view, Highness?" Bubonicplague's lip twitched upward ever so slightly. "I didn't take you for the type to enjoy fire and brimstone. What ever shall we do about this predicament?"

[sephiroth]

SEPHIROTH

MALE — ROSEBLOODS — PHARAOH — HOVER FOR TAGS

[div style="background-color: #292727; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]The Pharaoh’s experience with fire wasn’t exactly something that brought him joy.  Flames had consumed the last territory he had lived in during his time as a Roseblood, ravaging the mansion and the surrounding forest to nothing just as quickly as this had happened.  It brought destruction and death, and he would be in awe of such power if he was in control of it.  Mother had spoken to him sweet melodies of fire before, moons ago long after the mansion’s collapse and before the burning of the rainforest, so he knew it was perhaps destiny to tame the blazing beast.  Though apparently that wasn’t enough to stop Lucifer’s rage.

Had it been because he had shut her off and now found her impossible to reach?  He mused over that, unpleasant and alone as it made him feel.

Sephiroth’s thoughts were interrupted by foreign scent and a harsh voice, one that made him pause in his steps but not turn.  He recognized Bubonic’s voice, the same one that had mocked him when Solas had returned to the group, the one he didn’t even grace with his voice and instead gave a frosty look and an animal growl.  While many were below him, the platinum maned lion considered those who dared to confront and insult him to be nothing but dirt between his paw pads.  His contempt for most was obvious in his low voice and dismissive body language, double so for those who had crossed him.  At the moment he did not grant the massive canine beast with the privilege of being seen through Sephiroth’s intense gaze, and instead the Pharaoh spoke ahead of him with his back to Bubonic.

”I believe I’ve made myself clear when it comes to how we are going to deal with this.  We’re strong, we don’t retreat when the lower beasts make us their target.  We prove we’re better than that.”  Sephiroth’s deep and stubborn tones carried throughout the dead and dry breeze that wafted through the ashen remains of the land.  ”Though you in your no doubt infinite wisdom surely know better than I, hm?  Or am I to assume you’d rather flee this land with your tail between your legs when faced with the mildest of challenges?”  Sephiroth had quite the special talent for making mundane words come off as a request to drop dead, this situation being no different.  He didn’t know how to pick his fights, and being confronted directly like this was a perfect opportunity to make it clear how he thought better of himself, and assumed the worst of others.

#psychosocial.