and dread the day when dreaming ends

Psyke D'Angelo · 03-28-2011, 01:21 AM

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Testing out a personality for Psyche, testing out Khalif, and getting a grip on what happened between her arrival in `Souls and the time she left Khalif. Hover any German words that you don't know; I've provided translation.

The scent of charring flesh was ripe in the air. The screams of the victim had died down long before as whatever internal spirit she had harbored was sent away. The burning had been a sacrifice. After the arguments she had encountered, the blue-eyed creature was determined to show the ignorant of her world. Her Gods. A living woman had been eaten by flames all for the purpose of displaying the power of religion. Tak had been shown favor in a charcoal corpse. The practice was not uncommon in the world she lived within. Khalif had sacrificed many to save their people the wrath of their nocturnal Lord. What she had done, what she was proud to look upon, would save her a visit of Death in the night. Billows of dark smoke warped the sky before fading on the air.

Silver Psyke took careful strides toward the pyre, examining the work she had done. What was left was unrecognizable, though she knew the wolf who had given her life for the ritual. Seris At'Lethe. Child of Echo, daughter of Merran At'Lethe. Sister to vile creatures who took pleasure in their attempts to destroy her faith. Where once nothing had lingered, a smile crossed dark lips. She felt vindicated. Nothing will sing for her now; not her Gods nor mine. When I'm finished, only the crows will mourn her loss. All cheer vanished with the final sounds of her internal musing, silver face returning to stone.

Death was not so unfamiliar to the woman who watched the fires lick charred muscles; she had witness sacrifice before, many times over many months that she had resided in the mountains. Her own father had been taken as victim in the place of another. The face was still familiar. A black wolf, bearing the strangest orange eyes. Her mother had swooped in and rescued the creature like some angel of mercy. What he offered that Anzu didn't was beyond the grasp of Psyke. She had paid it little heed in the end. She felt nothing for Anzu. She felt nothing for Misery. In fact, she rarely felt much in the way of anything. It made sacrifice easier. She couldn't empathize with their pain.

Something woke in the back of her head, a little buzz that grew into a chorus of unidentified lyrics; whatever they said, it was a language unknown to the waking mind of the female. Their song offered comfort and a surge of pride, a sense of religious devotion unseen since her departure from Khalif. Somewhere, she had pleased someone. She could feel it in her bones. Whatever she had done, it was right. It had sated a hunger. Cruel laughter filtered out from pale jaws. "Ihr Leiden war verdient." Without the presence of others, in the setting provided, she gave final words in the biting cold voice so rarely released to the world. Silent song increased in decibel. She had pleased...something.

Psyke D'Angelo · 03-31-2011, 04:31 PM

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He could smell the char of flesh from the den shared with both mother and stranger, and sickly green eyes opened into the shadows of the night. Something had been taken from the world. His mother had done such things before, and it was no surprise she had found another to sacrifice within the confines of the caves. At least it wasn't his own fur enveloped in the fire; she was not above the murder of her own blood, as proved by the burning of Phobos in the previous summer. Curious, as was natural in the young, he drew furred mass of muscle from the cold ground. He was ready to find the pyre.

Heavy steps carried tainted blood through the darkness in search of a manifested goddess; he saw what she had done, emulating the Silver Lady she was born for. In the eyes of Khalif, he had been one of the unlucky, condemned to unfulfilled life. Psyke did not save him that, for she agreed. He was of Tak. He was unholy. But she had not killed him yet. Instead, her anger was put forth onto the now-dead woman strapped to her funeral pyre; his mother simply stared at the remains without true feeling, giving final words in a tongue he was familiar with.

Silence preceded his approach, shattering into thousands of shards of noise once he made his place beside the woman. "Und die Sonne ging über dem Horizont," he started, following the blue-eyed gaze of his mother's face to the blackened remains of whatever sinner she had condemned to the Gods. "The departed was gone." He allowed the final phrase to leave his mouth without feeling, for the dead was a stranger to him.

She didn't recognize that Kafziel had found her, too wrapped up in the song within her skull and the deed she had committed in the name of Khalif. It wasn't until he echoed the tongue spoken during their ceremonies that she looked upon his dark form. Her children always seemed dirty, but she could do nothing apart from blame the mother and father who had birthed her and her siblings into the world. Anzu had been dark. Misery had once been the same. Her children were tied to Tak by lineage, and it was simply how it would be. All she could do was offer them back to the Night lord, as she had done with Tirisphone and Phobos. Kafziel and Chernobog might someday join the others, but so far he was lucky. She had no desire to rid herself a companion in her travels.

"Her brother sealed a fate for her; aren't you lucky that your own would never do such things," she explained, tilting her head upward; Kafziel had grown into a larger body, filled out and muscular, pleasing to the touch. If she had been more alive, she might have appreciated him more. As it was, she only noticed in the darkness, when her child was suffering his directed delusions. The D'Angelo boy only laughed at her words. "My brother is dead." The statement was simple, and she could only agree. She had been the one to tear his life away, after all. There was no way to pretend otherwise.

Charcoal toes turned on dusty ground, back to the remains of the female. Kafziel watched with his D'Angelo eyes, wondering what went through his mother's head, but unable to presume. She kept herself closed, speaking only when necessary; in the entirety of his life, he had only ever seen her interact with Rah'khir's Wicca without prompting from someone else. A dark hand rose to rub the side of her face, as if she were stressed upon a topic that was unspoken. He leaned, tangled hair brushing across dainty silver shoulders. "Is something wrong?" She gave a shake of her head.

"We need to leave."

The fact was simple, and the nomadic D'Angelos both knew why. A dead At'Lethe would cause trouble for the ones who came from the outside, who revered Gods that no other understood. With mutual understanding, they moved quickly into the dawn, ready to gather their scarce belongings; only one person might miss them, but Psyke felt no concern for that at the moment. She simply wanted to be gone. She had known Misery was not there. It was time to find her.

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