05-07-2018, 11:09 PM
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I GOT A BONE TO PICK
[W]iskerI GOT A BONE TO PICK
[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] Divinity was a fickle thing fragile like a candle lit on a windy night. It was so easily given- a small glimmer of a flame quickly turning into an inferno. Capable of so much distruction- of so much growth within a matter of days. Wrecking havoc- stealing power other divine once given a taste for it. Punishing the deserving- until the line of deserving- of justice and revenge and lust start to bleed together. Until everything that moved was an enemy and the divinity was just a means to exorcise will- inflicting that same wraith onto others.
It had everything and nothing to do with exorcising the power someone can hold. The ability to hold it over someone lower than yourself. Treating the weak- reminding them of their place. Proving to the world that the saying was true. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Maybe the root of the evil in divinity was the fault in their predecessors. Immortals passing the torch down to something once powerless. Mortals unable to handle the divine and ultimately selfish creatures- turning and twisting. Contorting into dark macabre images of the desperate pawing mortal they once where. Now with the power and an unsteady hold for a unknown throne. Quick to prove themselves by throwing their mortality away just for a taste of what it is like to be powerful.
Argus knew few things about gods and their immortal nature. As a god of death- that immortality was fickle- and it became a game of waiting for the clock to stop to waiting for the second ball to drop. There was no such thing as absolute power, no such thing as absolute divinity or immortality. Anyone can claim to be powerful, to be a god. That did not make them immortals. That did not even come close. Second that immortality was not a gift- so much as it was a curse.
The second was an absolute. Some gods punished each other with it. Casting them to some eternal blight and sending them on a useless task to teach them better. To force the rest of the forces into line by showing what happened when you messed with a god. Argus knew this personally. Her punishment to live eternally, to reap the souls and hunger for them all the same. For a moment of weakness. For dying too early on. She was granted the chance to walk with mortals and reap their mistakes with the swipe of a sword. Or punish them within her own tormented bowls and twisted psyche.
Argus was absolute in her thoughts of other gods. They were pricks. Some too powerful- throwing that power to the wind and quick to be dethroned. Apathetic and mighty and wrathful- Watching the world with distant cold hands and bloodied teeth as they smeared at the beings that walked it. Punishing the unworthy. Deeming the weak minded a taste of power just to watch them edge to brinks of insanity begging pleading for more. There were the weaker ones. Either already gone mad or still holding onto hope. Clutching their powers like a teddy in a cold winter night. And where did argus fall between them? She didn't.
Argus had a mixed feeling about most mortals. A bitter resentment for their ability to value things. To put values like love and hope into every walking step towards a goal that some would never live to see. She hates that she was born with these feelings with a human’s sense to feel and the curse of immortality did nothing to strip it off of her. She feared attachment, she loved few but deeply, she had raged at a loss and betrayal both. It would be better to be emotionless, it would be easier if she were a distant god watching some speck of a world and weave power through their veins, but it was hard to walk the earth forever and gain friendships like spare change. Interchangeable and never permanent. Hard to love and allow herself to love anyone when she knew they were but a day in her ever-expanding life. It was a fruitless endeavor, but she caught love like a disease on occasion, and she threw herself into each wholely and laughed when it was thrown all back into her face. It was Tireing and useless, a fickle struggle like a bug under a boot. Unable to move and frozen in fear, unable to move on and allow herself to move on.
It was easy to fake interest, easy to fake anything but hard to conceal. Hard to contain her emotions. She was interested in mortals, in their little lives and ability to prioritize others before themselves. But that interest concealed a green jealousy that could only be expressed by making them like her. She had, she had turned other’s into emotionless husks and made them feel as vividly at her and screamed- screamed with them at the injustice except at least they had someone to blame. They could point a finger at her and be saved from the hell she would give them. But she was forever stuck in the stasis. She was the atlas to her story and in her darkest moments, she struggled to remember how to cry for herself in pity. She would clutch at the living with a desperate keen and try to push away the vividly of her memories. Never able to forget what she had lived through, all the happy and all the insanity. It wasn’t so much the ghosts of the dead that haunted her as much as it was the living, and it was still the living that terrified her. The living that killed her without an ounce of pity and the living that she cried for. It was the living. It was the living.
It was in the coldness of the typhoon that the watcher trenched. thinking about Divinity and Mortality and wondering how someone went about breaking it to a person she valued- a person she didn't want to loose that she was a god. She was the harbinger of death, but she had never stopped being mortal. How silly, and bizarre a conversation would be. To try and explain it- put into words. How she felt.
What an odd conversation it would be.
// [member=580]Kratos[/member]
It had everything and nothing to do with exorcising the power someone can hold. The ability to hold it over someone lower than yourself. Treating the weak- reminding them of their place. Proving to the world that the saying was true. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Maybe the root of the evil in divinity was the fault in their predecessors. Immortals passing the torch down to something once powerless. Mortals unable to handle the divine and ultimately selfish creatures- turning and twisting. Contorting into dark macabre images of the desperate pawing mortal they once where. Now with the power and an unsteady hold for a unknown throne. Quick to prove themselves by throwing their mortality away just for a taste of what it is like to be powerful.
Argus knew few things about gods and their immortal nature. As a god of death- that immortality was fickle- and it became a game of waiting for the clock to stop to waiting for the second ball to drop. There was no such thing as absolute power, no such thing as absolute divinity or immortality. Anyone can claim to be powerful, to be a god. That did not make them immortals. That did not even come close. Second that immortality was not a gift- so much as it was a curse.
The second was an absolute. Some gods punished each other with it. Casting them to some eternal blight and sending them on a useless task to teach them better. To force the rest of the forces into line by showing what happened when you messed with a god. Argus knew this personally. Her punishment to live eternally, to reap the souls and hunger for them all the same. For a moment of weakness. For dying too early on. She was granted the chance to walk with mortals and reap their mistakes with the swipe of a sword. Or punish them within her own tormented bowls and twisted psyche.
Argus was absolute in her thoughts of other gods. They were pricks. Some too powerful- throwing that power to the wind and quick to be dethroned. Apathetic and mighty and wrathful- Watching the world with distant cold hands and bloodied teeth as they smeared at the beings that walked it. Punishing the unworthy. Deeming the weak minded a taste of power just to watch them edge to brinks of insanity begging pleading for more. There were the weaker ones. Either already gone mad or still holding onto hope. Clutching their powers like a teddy in a cold winter night. And where did argus fall between them? She didn't.
Argus had a mixed feeling about most mortals. A bitter resentment for their ability to value things. To put values like love and hope into every walking step towards a goal that some would never live to see. She hates that she was born with these feelings with a human’s sense to feel and the curse of immortality did nothing to strip it off of her. She feared attachment, she loved few but deeply, she had raged at a loss and betrayal both. It would be better to be emotionless, it would be easier if she were a distant god watching some speck of a world and weave power through their veins, but it was hard to walk the earth forever and gain friendships like spare change. Interchangeable and never permanent. Hard to love and allow herself to love anyone when she knew they were but a day in her ever-expanding life. It was a fruitless endeavor, but she caught love like a disease on occasion, and she threw herself into each wholely and laughed when it was thrown all back into her face. It was Tireing and useless, a fickle struggle like a bug under a boot. Unable to move and frozen in fear, unable to move on and allow herself to move on.
It was easy to fake interest, easy to fake anything but hard to conceal. Hard to contain her emotions. She was interested in mortals, in their little lives and ability to prioritize others before themselves. But that interest concealed a green jealousy that could only be expressed by making them like her. She had, she had turned other’s into emotionless husks and made them feel as vividly at her and screamed- screamed with them at the injustice except at least they had someone to blame. They could point a finger at her and be saved from the hell she would give them. But she was forever stuck in the stasis. She was the atlas to her story and in her darkest moments, she struggled to remember how to cry for herself in pity. She would clutch at the living with a desperate keen and try to push away the vividly of her memories. Never able to forget what she had lived through, all the happy and all the insanity. It wasn’t so much the ghosts of the dead that haunted her as much as it was the living, and it was still the living that terrified her. The living that killed her without an ounce of pity and the living that she cried for. It was the living. It was the living.
It was in the coldness of the typhoon that the watcher trenched. thinking about Divinity and Mortality and wondering how someone went about breaking it to a person she valued- a person she didn't want to loose that she was a god. She was the harbinger of death, but she had never stopped being mortal. How silly, and bizarre a conversation would be. To try and explain it- put into words. How she felt.
What an odd conversation it would be.
// [member=580]Kratos[/member]