05-23-2020, 06:47 PM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]On that dreaded day not too long ago, a meteor cleaved open the landscape, bringing with it a great rumble that felled trees and split grounds in every corner of the Beyond. The tremors, along with all that death and disease, brought a fragment of life.
The earth heaves, at times, coughs up the unwanted things. Where it has been stricken often enough, where the wounds cleave deep into its skin, crawls out those parasites from its gaping mouth that afflict it with a shuddering and sickening disease. And that wound will heal, eventually, but until that point all the evil things locked away beneath the soil sprout their roots and twist up toward the new sun.
She crawls, yes. On hands and knees, paw and bone and tail. Mud draws her down, a thick grit between her teeth that bubbles with the raw screams in her throat. Like a mother giving birth the tremors raise this creature up from the pools of mud and debris in the crater's core, expel it from the depths and give life with the raising of the sky-star. Dawn's first hour brings this animal's wails, sidelong rays casting shadows across her face where jagged succession reached their new, gnarled branches up to the sky. Much like her, these trees would never feel the glory of fresh, new life, plagued by the same disease that gave birth to great mutations and early death from the moment their seeds sprouted. Much like her, they survived off of death and all the cruel things this crater represented.
She chokes, breathes. Mud sputters from her lips and her manages, with all the effort she can muster, to dig her claws into steady ground. If she can see there is no telling where, exactly, she is looking: wild chameleon eyes swirl this way and that, flitting of their own accord to take in the early morning light. Dragged down by the mud and debris she takes the crudest of forms, something like a dog or an oversized cat muddled by thick mats of algae and weeds that take the place of hair. She cries out again, yowls like the dying. Her maw crowds with teeth, small and sharp far too many for any living thing to possess - like an uncanny doll, lifelike with just enough flaws to remain adjacent to the real thing.
The real thing.
Is she real?
The buzzing in her skull tells her yes, this is birth and she is alive, but the mud under her paws sticks and pulls like running in a dream, and the fractals behind her eyes see too much, too far to believe that she is not making this up as she goes along. Like tendrils, her senses tease outwards, brushing the eroded walls of the crater and drawing sensory input from every grain of sand and fallen twig. She sees all of it. Feels all of it. The buzz becomes another scream between her two ears and she cannot help another scream from wrenching itself out of her throat. Claws drag her closer to the edge.
It is too much to live like this, but it is a weight she must bear.
tldr; plant lookin thing is crawling out of the crater and Yelling
The earth heaves, at times, coughs up the unwanted things. Where it has been stricken often enough, where the wounds cleave deep into its skin, crawls out those parasites from its gaping mouth that afflict it with a shuddering and sickening disease. And that wound will heal, eventually, but until that point all the evil things locked away beneath the soil sprout their roots and twist up toward the new sun.
She crawls, yes. On hands and knees, paw and bone and tail. Mud draws her down, a thick grit between her teeth that bubbles with the raw screams in her throat. Like a mother giving birth the tremors raise this creature up from the pools of mud and debris in the crater's core, expel it from the depths and give life with the raising of the sky-star. Dawn's first hour brings this animal's wails, sidelong rays casting shadows across her face where jagged succession reached their new, gnarled branches up to the sky. Much like her, these trees would never feel the glory of fresh, new life, plagued by the same disease that gave birth to great mutations and early death from the moment their seeds sprouted. Much like her, they survived off of death and all the cruel things this crater represented.
She chokes, breathes. Mud sputters from her lips and her manages, with all the effort she can muster, to dig her claws into steady ground. If she can see there is no telling where, exactly, she is looking: wild chameleon eyes swirl this way and that, flitting of their own accord to take in the early morning light. Dragged down by the mud and debris she takes the crudest of forms, something like a dog or an oversized cat muddled by thick mats of algae and weeds that take the place of hair. She cries out again, yowls like the dying. Her maw crowds with teeth, small and sharp far too many for any living thing to possess - like an uncanny doll, lifelike with just enough flaws to remain adjacent to the real thing.
The real thing.
Is she real?
The buzzing in her skull tells her yes, this is birth and she is alive, but the mud under her paws sticks and pulls like running in a dream, and the fractals behind her eyes see too much, too far to believe that she is not making this up as she goes along. Like tendrils, her senses tease outwards, brushing the eroded walls of the crater and drawing sensory input from every grain of sand and fallen twig. She sees all of it. Feels all of it. The buzz becomes another scream between her two ears and she cannot help another scream from wrenching itself out of her throat. Claws drag her closer to the edge.
It is too much to live like this, but it is a weight she must bear.
tldr; plant lookin thing is crawling out of the crater and Yelling
[align=center][div style="text-align:right;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"][font=verdana][size=12pt][color=transparent][url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=15075.msg82222#msg82222][color=black][b]. . . MAKE ME FEEL LIKE
I AM WHOLE AGAIN
I AM WHOLE AGAIN