05-27-2018, 01:25 AM
DELVE // Obscuro
[sub]Written Oct.6.2017[/sub]
if you find this u are awesome
Where most would be innocent, Obscuro was not. She had grown in the midst of an anti-clan. Been molded by their ways, in all her life, she spent most of it honing her ability to kill, manipulate, and torture. It was an addiction, the purest form. She craved carnage, blood and the screams of her enemies. It was fulfilling to know that she was feared, to know that her clan was safe simply because her enemies knew better than to cross her. She would always default to this nature- to hurt rather than to be hurt. To kill rather than threaten, she was volatile and gruesome, she was a threat- a wolf covered in lambs wool around her clanmates and she knew it well. She wore it; with the scars- the bold predatory prowl she always set to, the near growl her voice took naturally and the quick witted way she could escalate from talking casual to spreading anyone's guts across a nearby tree in the same casual tone and mannerism.
She reveled in her monstrousness, in her ability to fool and manipulate those around her. Toying with her clanmates- friends and family the same way a sociopathic kit would their food. Gutting their emotions, peeling layer by layer their skin- sanity in slow torturous- but precise movements. No one ever seems to know what she is capable of until it is too late. The best part- the worst part of it all would always be the betrayal. There was nothing better than betraying someone, knowing the pain, the grief and the surprise one felt from thinking they could trust her shatter in a single instance she twisted that knife into their back. Metaphorically or otherwise.
But the life of an immortal very rarely would stay in the same place. Where she had gone from anti-clannerism had been much worse. From standing in the dark to embracing it with a broken mind. Taking every rule that was set to limit, and break each in every way. She went out of her way to be cruel and in kind built a reputation for herself. A cautionary tale to any kid and adult alike. Not only extending to weak-pro-clanners but even their much darker counterparts. Crippling control and ruthless addiction to kill and maim going hand in hand with madness- she had experienced insanity in it's purist form. She ate her own demons and became a part of them as they did of her. She was no longer that little not-so-innocent-pup.
She was no longer the frail little adolescent that denounced their family too late- that already abandoned them. No longer Whisper- no longer Obscuro. She had a new name then; the very same that burned with pride and she would always carry close to her heart, weather that burn turned on her or outwardly- She became Zactov, renamed and reclaimed in madness, the wolf’s heart fully committing to It’s spiral of chaos. From the darkness of the tunnels, she had ensured many into the same trope of villainous- Chaotic evils. Worked to mimic herself- even a sliver of the fraction inside of herself- into others. Breaking then the same way. Placing her hurt with them to equalize the burden she had carried.
Where darkness lay, light was sure to filter in. Chase in away the darkness around her, but never the impression, never the ash from her for nor the ink in her veins. It was a slow tedious process, where obscuro took years prowling the loner lands, taking back her names and hiding her blood name away. Searching listless for some sort of purpose, some drive to escape the caves- an excuse to not return to the madness of these tunnels and the spiral. Like most things, she had gotten her answer in a dream.
Waking up to realize the voices in her head couldn't be counted as illusions anymore, and the loudest was a small, timid and shy. Impressions of violet fur, of stuffing and rubber knives. A torrential river of rage swept through her, and she- like most other things, flung into the idea of vengeance. To which she traded her face for a mask, and her body for a puppet on strings. To which she pulled mercilessly. The name tasted fowl on her lips, coming from a time she had once casted it aside, but she had no other way. She was not willing to make a new one, less anybody but her take the credit. Convinced that it was obscuro’s loss, and she should have the chance to extract it under the same name.
In the game of masks and puppets, it was not her first. She had toyed with the idea of minions, deciding to rather split herself - divide and conquer. It had been simple at first. When one mask broke another took Its place. So the cycle continued, even as the spiral swirled behind the clouded expression of her eyes, it bore the intensity of insanity. It really was a wonder how no one noticed. Even in days of peace- as she reverted from her home and her insanity in trade for peace- she could still feel the creep of it under her fur. Feeling it's cool tendrils grip her tightly in moments mostly unconventional. She was never one for controlling her impulses, but she found herself being tested.
Obscuro seemed to have the sense to draw in the ones that always leave. It wasn't anything intentional, she guessed- but it was ironic in a sick, twisted way. The fact that she was sitting civil with the clan that killed her late cub. That as a shinigami- she had a demon's mark. That the time she stopped- refrained from killing- trying to better herself the people around her start to drop like flies, murdered, killed, missing. She couldn't simply blame the clan, it seemed anywhere she went- tragedy followed. A loyal dog hounding it's master. Rare and seldom in between she wanted to laugh, let the hysterics in her swirl out into the air- let out the briefest flickers of crazy that boiled and simmered in her heart.
She was so tired of trying to be something she wasn't. Tired of palpitating some foolish hope her clan mates held and show them the errors of their ways. Show them what the world did to people- to it's undeserving and the wrongness of her still being alive. She had killed many-she had tortured thousands, send that loyal dog- tragedy to almost every clan, every family with her name on their lips in scorn. Zactov, her blood-name was meant to be feared, Obscuro was a broken thing, one that many thought irreparable, used only a cloak of sheep's wool, to hide in- to shed and do away with when the night hung and the hopeful settled for blissful sleep. She missed the thrill of the hunt and she was so hungry--
She reveled in her monstrousness, in her ability to fool and manipulate those around her. Toying with her clanmates- friends and family the same way a sociopathic kit would their food. Gutting their emotions, peeling layer by layer their skin- sanity in slow torturous- but precise movements. No one ever seems to know what she is capable of until it is too late. The best part- the worst part of it all would always be the betrayal. There was nothing better than betraying someone, knowing the pain, the grief and the surprise one felt from thinking they could trust her shatter in a single instance she twisted that knife into their back. Metaphorically or otherwise.
But the life of an immortal very rarely would stay in the same place. Where she had gone from anti-clannerism had been much worse. From standing in the dark to embracing it with a broken mind. Taking every rule that was set to limit, and break each in every way. She went out of her way to be cruel and in kind built a reputation for herself. A cautionary tale to any kid and adult alike. Not only extending to weak-pro-clanners but even their much darker counterparts. Crippling control and ruthless addiction to kill and maim going hand in hand with madness- she had experienced insanity in it's purist form. She ate her own demons and became a part of them as they did of her. She was no longer that little not-so-innocent-pup.
She was no longer the frail little adolescent that denounced their family too late- that already abandoned them. No longer Whisper- no longer Obscuro. She had a new name then; the very same that burned with pride and she would always carry close to her heart, weather that burn turned on her or outwardly- She became Zactov, renamed and reclaimed in madness, the wolf’s heart fully committing to It’s spiral of chaos. From the darkness of the tunnels, she had ensured many into the same trope of villainous- Chaotic evils. Worked to mimic herself- even a sliver of the fraction inside of herself- into others. Breaking then the same way. Placing her hurt with them to equalize the burden she had carried.
Where darkness lay, light was sure to filter in. Chase in away the darkness around her, but never the impression, never the ash from her for nor the ink in her veins. It was a slow tedious process, where obscuro took years prowling the loner lands, taking back her names and hiding her blood name away. Searching listless for some sort of purpose, some drive to escape the caves- an excuse to not return to the madness of these tunnels and the spiral. Like most things, she had gotten her answer in a dream.
Waking up to realize the voices in her head couldn't be counted as illusions anymore, and the loudest was a small, timid and shy. Impressions of violet fur, of stuffing and rubber knives. A torrential river of rage swept through her, and she- like most other things, flung into the idea of vengeance. To which she traded her face for a mask, and her body for a puppet on strings. To which she pulled mercilessly. The name tasted fowl on her lips, coming from a time she had once casted it aside, but she had no other way. She was not willing to make a new one, less anybody but her take the credit. Convinced that it was obscuro’s loss, and she should have the chance to extract it under the same name.
In the game of masks and puppets, it was not her first. She had toyed with the idea of minions, deciding to rather split herself - divide and conquer. It had been simple at first. When one mask broke another took Its place. So the cycle continued, even as the spiral swirled behind the clouded expression of her eyes, it bore the intensity of insanity. It really was a wonder how no one noticed. Even in days of peace- as she reverted from her home and her insanity in trade for peace- she could still feel the creep of it under her fur. Feeling it's cool tendrils grip her tightly in moments mostly unconventional. She was never one for controlling her impulses, but she found herself being tested.
Obscuro seemed to have the sense to draw in the ones that always leave. It wasn't anything intentional, she guessed- but it was ironic in a sick, twisted way. The fact that she was sitting civil with the clan that killed her late cub. That as a shinigami- she had a demon's mark. That the time she stopped- refrained from killing- trying to better herself the people around her start to drop like flies, murdered, killed, missing. She couldn't simply blame the clan, it seemed anywhere she went- tragedy followed. A loyal dog hounding it's master. Rare and seldom in between she wanted to laugh, let the hysterics in her swirl out into the air- let out the briefest flickers of crazy that boiled and simmered in her heart.
She was so tired of trying to be something she wasn't. Tired of palpitating some foolish hope her clan mates held and show them the errors of their ways. Show them what the world did to people- to it's undeserving and the wrongness of her still being alive. She had killed many-she had tortured thousands, send that loyal dog- tragedy to almost every clan, every family with her name on their lips in scorn. Zactov, her blood-name was meant to be feared, Obscuro was a broken thing, one that many thought irreparable, used only a cloak of sheep's wool, to hide in- to shed and do away with when the night hung and the hopeful settled for blissful sleep. She missed the thrill of the hunt and she was so hungry--
if you find this u are awesome
I'LL BREAK THIS IF I H A V E TO —
TELL ME THE GOOD THAT WOULD DO
TELL ME THE GOOD THAT WOULD DO