07-23-2019, 12:31 PM
— Ament's world was divided in two from the very start: predator and prey. As a child, it was absolute, that he was a predator. His teeth, his wraith, his sisters. He was a pack animal and together they were unstoppable, unkillable - gods that could not be touched by the vile of the world. They bathed in blood and slept together in nests of soft down, with Mothers chilled form surrounding them: the night itself served as their protection as they rested. During the days of innocence Ament and his sister's were never truly innocent - as all predators: Instinct driving them to kill for each other. Ament's own wraith was easy as breathing then, a pick of who was threat - who was prey for his sisters, his mother - their home.
Now, things were different.
His sisters were gone, Their mother's own remembrance simply a shadow on the ground. Ament was Grown, truly and fully grown. He was alone and vulnerable. Without pack, without something to temper his wraith he was fraying - he could feel it - hear the soft static at the edges of his perception. It was there, madness waiting to take him from this place - this oblivion again.
Expelling mind control was trickier than simply killing the caster; Ninazu did something to him, slunk her way into aments skull and wrapped her control through his heart, his soul- his wraith. Carved pieces of himself up and away to fit herself in, even gone - even dead: those pieces had to go somewhere.
Something had to fill the void she left.
The Static called his name, and ament grounded himself with the sound of rattling chains. It was a clatter to his ear drums, filling himself with the noise- shaking loose the wraith that he no longer trusted within himself - hated about himself. All he had left to him was his failing logic - logic and static wraith.
The scent of a group of animals catches the raptors attention from the grounding mechanism, the crispness - thinness of the air here makes ament breathe slow. steady; Far from whatever plauge that he was left with by the Pittian's cruel hands. Ament breathed even deep - cocked his head and smelled again, bringing to the surface memories of things - things from before as well as during
A group of animals: A large pack settlement not too far head. Ament hesitated near the border of such a large clan, eyes like ice looking towards the snow capped mountains and chirping softly, reminding himself that he- could talk. It was a choice of wither he wanted to emerge himself with a group again - They were not his pack - but the law of his kind: he would surly die alone.
Now, things were different.
His sisters were gone, Their mother's own remembrance simply a shadow on the ground. Ament was Grown, truly and fully grown. He was alone and vulnerable. Without pack, without something to temper his wraith he was fraying - he could feel it - hear the soft static at the edges of his perception. It was there, madness waiting to take him from this place - this oblivion again.
Expelling mind control was trickier than simply killing the caster; Ninazu did something to him, slunk her way into aments skull and wrapped her control through his heart, his soul- his wraith. Carved pieces of himself up and away to fit herself in, even gone - even dead: those pieces had to go somewhere.
Something had to fill the void she left.
The Static called his name, and ament grounded himself with the sound of rattling chains. It was a clatter to his ear drums, filling himself with the noise- shaking loose the wraith that he no longer trusted within himself - hated about himself. All he had left to him was his failing logic - logic and static wraith.
The scent of a group of animals catches the raptors attention from the grounding mechanism, the crispness - thinness of the air here makes ament breathe slow. steady; Far from whatever plauge that he was left with by the Pittian's cruel hands. Ament breathed even deep - cocked his head and smelled again, bringing to the surface memories of things - things from before as well as during
A group of animals: A large pack settlement not too far head. Ament hesitated near the border of such a large clan, eyes like ice looking towards the snow capped mountains and chirping softly, reminding himself that he- could talk. It was a choice of wither he wanted to emerge himself with a group again - They were not his pack - but the law of his kind: he would surly die alone.
made by wisker
I LET THE ANGER GO—
AND MOTHER NATURE FOUND IT'S PLACE
AND MOTHER NATURE FOUND IT'S PLACE