04-21-2021, 03:56 PM
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LAEGLIN NIAZAI LINGRÉ
[W]iskerLAEGLIN NIAZAI LINGRÉ
[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] TW: ROTTEN BODY
(Italics are the memories)
The sweet scent of rot was one he was familiar with. He'd lived with a body that had been sick and falling apart on him. He'd gotten used to the scent of rot at a much younger age, but those memories were present. He knew it from the way the injuries he had borne upon his hind legs, despite every treatment, he had known it from the time he was a hatchling, from whenever his father entered a rage. He knew the scent of rotting bodies, the disgusting scent it bore within itself a siren's lullaby to the carrion eaters.
His paws pressed through mud and muck, striped tail swinging faintly behind himself as he walked onward. The sounds surrounding him became a dull drone, filled by other sounds, supplied by his mind. His nose carried him towards the source of the rot, but the voices in his ears gave him a silent sense of longing and foreboding. The feeling of being pressed amongst other squirming wet bodies, tiny claws tapping and smacking against the bodies known as his siblings. Taste of milk upon lips, latching onto mother with a fierce growl, fighting bigger siblings that pushed at him, his ferocity made known in his angry squeaks and tiny growls. Soothing the tender and loving voice of mother, her tongue rasping over his head, his unease disappearing under her touch as he fed and fell into sleep, distant the rumble of father and numerous the other adult voices that filled the air.
Before his paws laid a body, a serval like himself, his mind supplying images of his old broken body as he shook his head side to side. He wasn't helpless anymore, he wasn't trapped in a crippled body. Armor was laid upon the corpse, armor that sparked something in him. The corpse was decayed and the soul had long left its host. Little was left of it that could be made out, the tawny fur causing an ache to spring in his heart. He wanted to see his mother suddenly- wherever she was if she was still alive. He was unaware of the tears that rolled down his face, that empty hole expanding itself in his heart - she'd disappeared without a word, and he'd been raised by his father. He had loved his mother, he knew that much. He'd taken after her the most out of his siblings, and he'd always been by her side.
Blinking as his paw touched the metal chest piece, he would inhale, new sounds filling his ears in that humming drone. Metal screeching and clashing, iron filling his nose with it's tangy scent, sweat rolling along his body, muscles screaming with exhaustion and being pushed to their limits. The pain of a sharp edge biting into him, his breathing heavily labored. The sounds of a voice beside him, the vision of his enemy across from him a metal golem of war. Hot the blood that dripped into his eyes, his jaw aching as much the rest of his body, cold and shaking his limbs. There was nobody but him and his enemies, the world rolling as his legs were knocked out and he was forced to his knees, defeated, as death came for him. Lifting his paw from the armor, he would run it along the leather that covered the spine, down to the metal that covered the forearms and the plates that formed part of the way down the tail. What was the point of that?
His paws would rest on the satchel next, his eyes sliding to half closed, another scene appearing in his mind. Gentle were the sounds around him, silence broken by the coughing and hacking, his own breath so loud within his ears. It was cold and bitter around him - the hand he was holding was fast losing heat. Trembles struck the victim whose hand he held, the face lost to the darkness of his mask. Meaningless words fell from his lips, praying for the body that had given up its soul, lost to illness. Soon the scent of smoke would filter past the herbs and flowers stuffed into the beak of his mask, fire visible to his eyes as he stood in solemn silence, watching a pit of bodies burning. The illness had taken them, and he was left to watch in his failure to cure it. Unbeknownst to him, his own body shivered and trembled in the real world, outside of his mosaic of memories, a strange sight to be sure. -
(Italics are the memories)
The sweet scent of rot was one he was familiar with. He'd lived with a body that had been sick and falling apart on him. He'd gotten used to the scent of rot at a much younger age, but those memories were present. He knew it from the way the injuries he had borne upon his hind legs, despite every treatment, he had known it from the time he was a hatchling, from whenever his father entered a rage. He knew the scent of rotting bodies, the disgusting scent it bore within itself a siren's lullaby to the carrion eaters.
His paws pressed through mud and muck, striped tail swinging faintly behind himself as he walked onward. The sounds surrounding him became a dull drone, filled by other sounds, supplied by his mind. His nose carried him towards the source of the rot, but the voices in his ears gave him a silent sense of longing and foreboding. The feeling of being pressed amongst other squirming wet bodies, tiny claws tapping and smacking against the bodies known as his siblings. Taste of milk upon lips, latching onto mother with a fierce growl, fighting bigger siblings that pushed at him, his ferocity made known in his angry squeaks and tiny growls. Soothing the tender and loving voice of mother, her tongue rasping over his head, his unease disappearing under her touch as he fed and fell into sleep, distant the rumble of father and numerous the other adult voices that filled the air.
Before his paws laid a body, a serval like himself, his mind supplying images of his old broken body as he shook his head side to side. He wasn't helpless anymore, he wasn't trapped in a crippled body. Armor was laid upon the corpse, armor that sparked something in him. The corpse was decayed and the soul had long left its host. Little was left of it that could be made out, the tawny fur causing an ache to spring in his heart. He wanted to see his mother suddenly- wherever she was if she was still alive. He was unaware of the tears that rolled down his face, that empty hole expanding itself in his heart - she'd disappeared without a word, and he'd been raised by his father. He had loved his mother, he knew that much. He'd taken after her the most out of his siblings, and he'd always been by her side.
Blinking as his paw touched the metal chest piece, he would inhale, new sounds filling his ears in that humming drone. Metal screeching and clashing, iron filling his nose with it's tangy scent, sweat rolling along his body, muscles screaming with exhaustion and being pushed to their limits. The pain of a sharp edge biting into him, his breathing heavily labored. The sounds of a voice beside him, the vision of his enemy across from him a metal golem of war. Hot the blood that dripped into his eyes, his jaw aching as much the rest of his body, cold and shaking his limbs. There was nobody but him and his enemies, the world rolling as his legs were knocked out and he was forced to his knees, defeated, as death came for him. Lifting his paw from the armor, he would run it along the leather that covered the spine, down to the metal that covered the forearms and the plates that formed part of the way down the tail. What was the point of that?
His paws would rest on the satchel next, his eyes sliding to half closed, another scene appearing in his mind. Gentle were the sounds around him, silence broken by the coughing and hacking, his own breath so loud within his ears. It was cold and bitter around him - the hand he was holding was fast losing heat. Trembles struck the victim whose hand he held, the face lost to the darkness of his mask. Meaningless words fell from his lips, praying for the body that had given up its soul, lost to illness. Soon the scent of smoke would filter past the herbs and flowers stuffed into the beak of his mask, fire visible to his eyes as he stood in solemn silence, watching a pit of bodies burning. The illness had taken them, and he was left to watch in his failure to cure it. Unbeknownst to him, his own body shivered and trembled in the real world, outside of his mosaic of memories, a strange sight to be sure. -