05-07-2009, 12:49 PM
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500+
It was the horse that noticed him first. The silent brute allowed a single, sharp exhale of mocking amusement, the sound of laughter that could not be completed for the empty soul that lay within. It seemed that the prey animal were all that were left within these lands. Save for Cwmfen, there was nothing that had brought him here. This place was like the breeding grounds for disease, and the disease was the wolves that resided upon these pointless lands. There was no point—the packs had no limit, it seemed. And the pack in which the lighter male resided, the same in which his daughter resided, was the largest of these diseases. The Korean sneered. The child of Nemain thought herself safe, thought herself secure within those large boundaries. But boundaries did not bind him, and he sought now to release himself from the necessity of Death, to free himself from that cycle. He had considered the possibility of destroy Life by doing so, for how could Life exist without Death? But what concern was it of his? He required nothing save for power and Darkness.
The thing rose, or at least sat up—it moved. And the male simply stood there, his black eyes watching with that impenetrable, tenebrous ferocity. It seemed as if this thing thought it was in control, thought that the horse was a lesser thing. But it was that thing that was beneath the horse, for the horse retained those instincts which had apparently been lost upon the keeper. And then the pied brute thought suddenly: It had not even sensed My presence, and My presence is of a likeness to a god. A flash of teeth shone in the dimness of the night as he gave a silent, snarling sneer, a soundless laughter that mocked her. The shadows that had gathered about his form tugged at his fur, wanting, desiring. And yet he thought nothing of them. He was above them. Not even the whining wind could move him now. The Darkness was both nothing and everything.
The thing spoke, its voice and words filled with a vulgarity. The emotionless façade did not display the disgust he had for this lower being. The emotionless façade was held in place, immovable against the efforts of the world about him. The silence he commanded held an eerie quality, as if the male were a wraith, a deliverer of Death arrived to extract his price. He did not respond to that ignorant greeting—it seemed as if this creature could identify nothing. She was a wolf no longer. "Your boarders do not bind me," the suave tenor soothed, and yet the gelidity of that voice was not soothing in the least. He knew the laws of the pack, but he believed that they did not apply to him. And there was no one here save for this insignificant thing. "And soon I will be able to leave from this place, virus." Then he laughed, but the sound was a mirthless, cold grating that clawed the air with its cruelty. And unfortunately for the thing, he did not recognize that which was not imminent within himself (save for fear, which is the opiate of life, it seemed) and so the thing received no name.
500+
It was the horse that noticed him first. The silent brute allowed a single, sharp exhale of mocking amusement, the sound of laughter that could not be completed for the empty soul that lay within. It seemed that the prey animal were all that were left within these lands. Save for Cwmfen, there was nothing that had brought him here. This place was like the breeding grounds for disease, and the disease was the wolves that resided upon these pointless lands. There was no point—the packs had no limit, it seemed. And the pack in which the lighter male resided, the same in which his daughter resided, was the largest of these diseases. The Korean sneered. The child of Nemain thought herself safe, thought herself secure within those large boundaries. But boundaries did not bind him, and he sought now to release himself from the necessity of Death, to free himself from that cycle. He had considered the possibility of destroy Life by doing so, for how could Life exist without Death? But what concern was it of his? He required nothing save for power and Darkness.
The thing rose, or at least sat up—it moved. And the male simply stood there, his black eyes watching with that impenetrable, tenebrous ferocity. It seemed as if this thing thought it was in control, thought that the horse was a lesser thing. But it was that thing that was beneath the horse, for the horse retained those instincts which had apparently been lost upon the keeper. And then the pied brute thought suddenly: It had not even sensed My presence, and My presence is of a likeness to a god. A flash of teeth shone in the dimness of the night as he gave a silent, snarling sneer, a soundless laughter that mocked her. The shadows that had gathered about his form tugged at his fur, wanting, desiring. And yet he thought nothing of them. He was above them. Not even the whining wind could move him now. The Darkness was both nothing and everything.
The thing spoke, its voice and words filled with a vulgarity. The emotionless façade did not display the disgust he had for this lower being. The emotionless façade was held in place, immovable against the efforts of the world about him. The silence he commanded held an eerie quality, as if the male were a wraith, a deliverer of Death arrived to extract his price. He did not respond to that ignorant greeting—it seemed as if this creature could identify nothing. She was a wolf no longer. "Your boarders do not bind me," the suave tenor soothed, and yet the gelidity of that voice was not soothing in the least. He knew the laws of the pack, but he believed that they did not apply to him. And there was no one here save for this insignificant thing. "And soon I will be able to leave from this place, virus." Then he laughed, but the sound was a mirthless, cold grating that clawed the air with its cruelty. And unfortunately for the thing, he did not recognize that which was not imminent within himself (save for fear, which is the opiate of life, it seemed) and so the thing received no name.