i am god
and i need to be destroyed

There was a hunger in his stomach unlike anything he had ever known before. Life proved so difficult for those that had nobody to depend on, the ones like him, friendless and alone, each day appearing to be a continuous loop of the one just before, but who was he to make such a claim? His head wasn’t quite on straight; something extraordinary could take place, and if he was lucky enough to recall it with complete clarity in the morning, he’d probably still endlessly ramble to himself about the tediousness of a Rogue’s life. Something other than hunger coiled inside of him, tightening his chest, making his breaths contorted and insensible, and for a moment he couldn’t remember what he was doing. The air smelt distinctly of something, and surely what he heard in the not so far in the distance. His white ears twitched, lips pursed in concentration, but with little more than an exaggerated shake of his head to show for his momentary uncertainty, he pressed onward - whatever lurked in the shadows would present itself when and if it wanted. He had never been one to tempt the monsters that were far more monstrous than he, not intentionally anyway; he knew it was best to wander these lands of his with careful steps and analytic eyes, for it’d be a shame if someone had to lose their head - the gods knew his wasn’t screwed on tight.

Years of sullen waste had rotted his insentient creation to the core. For they wrote sins, not tragedies within their books of little white lies and deathly ink stains. He was but a mere smear unto the Fawkes of their threaded destinies. The ways of ones life could be questioned in a years dwell, and measured by the faults of another’s wastelands. As for he, well - he much rather would prefer to die a death of sentiment. Even for a man as mad as he, living wishes were nothing more than an empty promise. Even more so now in this land of unknown than in the in-between of their ice-aged memories. He is more sentient here, a being that breaths, thinks, feels, tastes the luxuries of life - and if there is nothing more than that to dine of. Then, he just might thing to tear his own flesh from their bones. For it is only a matter of time before the beasts grows hungry for more than what has filled his stomach in time, flesh, free, falling and alive of their own brood was a burning desire that would forever harbor their deafening screams within his conscious. God prayed to him in those moments that his disciples came before him, mercy they cried - and mercy would be given.

am i god?
i may destroy myself

@lory

she shadows death with a fervent desire for novelty, throwing caution to the wind as youthful exuberance settles into the confines of a naive mind – foolishly. through rose-colored glasses does she regard him, anticipating the gleeful jest and banter to be had as she gains his favor, his alliance. for olive is an opportunistic creature, self-preserving to her core and armed to the teeth with a (self-proclaimed) talent for diplomacy; whereas he is a goliath with an aptitude for battle – or so she presumes. his companionship would fill the lapse in her capabilities, and she is conscious of it. she need only forge or force their union. and so she hounds him, slithering along the crevices and ridges that comprise the labyrinth’s walls in their eerie version of hide-and-go-seek. she wears the blackness of shadows like a second skin, familiar with the layout of the cavern only mildly as she recalls her encounter with ghyslaine; but it is enough to assist her in her endeavor. her heart thuds wildly against her ribcage as the thrill of the chase invigorates her, heightening only when the brute pauses in suspicion to stare into the void of their surroundings. she questions the stability of her cover, but does not peel from the walls until he presses onwards – his detection of her presence simultaneously fruitful and fruitless. but olive grows weary of a game played with an oblivious participant, and begins to follow him more openly, attempting to lay waste to the distance between her meager and his gargantuan form with swift strides. carmine gaze scrutinizes what little she can pinpoint in the dim lighting of the cavern, and eventually, she discerns the pale quality of his mane against his contrasting dark hide. it is here that a wry grin warps her features, and here that she alerts @Vághan to her looming presence with playful vocals. “you must be ancient. i bet… a hundred years old,” she calls to him, referencing the greying of his mane. “minimum,” is the immature afterthought she offers. although he does not appear decrepit from behind, the babe has witnessed the terminal disease of age and how it seems to bleach the flesh of its victims. olive determines that only the unveiling of his face will relay this information to her, and so she waits.

art by yumpy!

i am god
and i need to be destroyed

As the mass crept through the shadows, he found the source of all uncertainty awaiting his arrival upon the gurgling little streams. It babbled its wondrous brooks and spout in unreasonable ways to an almost imperfect way, in which suited the roguish fellow as he entered with a grim smile. Tediously did he mind to his own sick creations as he wandered aimlessly within the darkness. For he'd watch as the pigments share along their way, moving passed rocks and stones on their way down to wherever in an odd and uncanny display of ultraviolet lights that danced within his soiled vision. The rogue didn't so much as think of where it'd end up or how long it would take before it would fade within the rest of his sickness. No.. because as the male would raise his head, and finish with his small courting session, his pupils would dilate to the slit of that of a serpent's. The rum magenta found in his irises seemed to consume a majority of his pupil, the demonic look in his eyes glossing over to a newfound interest across the way. Without noticing, his paws seemed to snake away from the courtesans of his sullen hallucinogenic episode.

It takes time, for the way he combs through her figure with brazen eyes and sickened minds. Peeling apart each muscle and dipping within her figure to piece together whether or not this was real - or if it was just another mere divine punishment unto his sins. He...He does not understand. At least - not fully, for her words are courted in a tongue rarely familiar to his psyche, yet, enough is given to dissecting each taunt and wave of brash hands and clicking tongues. The hunger returns, ten-fold and surging as the realization of a dead man settles in. For their faces flash in whips of waves of mourning and sanctification, distorting @Olive's features in a ghoulish manner. Vághan's lips tip backward, tongue forking as he struggles innately to pronounce words that have meaning to her tongue. Ah-Ahchent? No...That's not right. A gruff huff flushes his veins with a bone-shattering shudder as the man breaches deathly urges, feeling your way through a dark room has never been easy when death is a greeting that taunts mildly from the sides. Lamb There. It is something, a start to breaching their barrier, lips turning upwards unto a hauntingly charming smile. Ez small, pre-pretty lamb Yeah - he'd definitely have to work on his english.

am i god?
i may destroy myself

@lory

he is her antithesis; she, a creature of blissful naivety, and he, a monstrosity plagued by psychosis. but this is unbeknownst to the babe, and as she gazes upon @Vághan, she finds his facade to be immaculate – his inner demons well-caged, or her perception tainted by youthful optimism. one in her vulnerable position may be overcome by trepidation as they stand to face the ghoul, but olive retains her dignified poise as an incarnation of self-assuredness; it is intrinsic to her. she presents him with an inviting smile, mischief setting the ember of her gaze ablaze as she scours his form. how rare for olive to be wrong. despite the bleached quality of his mane, the man appears to flourish in his prime, a beacon of physical health and prowess. but it is the broken, guttural tones he emits that truly grasps her intrigue, and she questions his comprehension of her words alongside the capacity of his mind. “yeah, ancient. like, big old,” she explains, eyes widening to emphasize her meaning in an attempt to better relay the information. she is attentive to him as he dubs her ‘lamb,’ receiving his peculiar compliment with a cant of her head; the lion and the lamb, how quaint. “olive,” she states patiently, a forepaw lifting to her chest to convey the intent of an introduction. she extends the paw towards the man, digits flexing towards him to point, inviting him to share his name in turn. but he is interesting, and soon she is prying. “do you not talk much? that’s okay if not. i’ve been told i talk a lot, so maybe it could work out like that,” she muses, absorbed in the thought of their prospective companionship. she is oblivious to the language barrier that exists between them, believing the goliath to have merely lost use of his vocals from an extended period of silence.

art by yumpy!

i am god
and i need to be destroyed

She is an elaborate creature. Exquisite in the ways that she parades within his dark fantasies, weaving within the psyche of his madness without knowing just quite what forces of evil that coil upon his throat. He becomes a wolf in sheep's clothing, conforming to her standards with bended backs and arched brows. Vághan understands, but does not know how to vocalize within her language. The demon frowns. Eyes flickering throughout the wreckage of dawn as fire swarms within the corners of his sickened mind, they come back. Combing throughout whatever pieces of sanity he has left. She does nothing to provoke such actions from him, and so, he does not seek blood. Even as delectable as it would be to satisfy the urges, he wills the voices to be silent for once. They do not listen.

Olive.

A name. It is the first that is placed upon faces in this palace of nothing. One that will become a point of sanctification for his resurrection unto light, she is innocent. A preacher standing upon the pulpit, and he is the murderer that takes her innocence with little thought behind his eyes. For once. He chooses his own fate. For once, he does not act in foolish desire as sooten nostrils flare. Inhaling heavily as the devil bargains with her fate, mimicking the actions of her own with a small nod. Szellem a pause breaks in between the thickened air as the creature lifts his arms in a motion as to point unto himself. Vághan Her youth is exuberant. Radiating from her form with childlike wonder as the lamb dabbles in the arts of darkness. He is careful not to let her tread too far over the fence, lest she become a meal for the wolf.

Talk. A deep breath. Tongue different. The beast falters, magenta hues swirling in ultra-violet creation as he nods. I learn tho. It is dangerous, the movements are uncanny as the beast slinks closer to @Olive's frame. Towering and devil like before her, he extends a seldom paw to bump unto her side. You teach Vághan tongue How charming...It is a near death sentence if she were to accept his acquisitions. An eye for an eye, and a tongue for a tongue. It doesn't seem too much to ask. Vághan teach you his tongue. He prays to whatever hellish god that would hear him that she understands. For one will get nowhere with such pillars in the way of their journey in a land where none knew of what you would say. Igen?

am i god?
i may destroy myself

@lory

how unwise she is to dwell in this incarnation of a nightmare, but it is a testament of her propensity to see through the eyes of a child. the world is a beautiful place which seeks not to scathe her; and how could it? her mind is untainted by pure evil and its potential, so that when it seeks to stare her in the face, she merely beams unto its countenance, blind. she truly is the lamb and oblivious to it – it remains to her as a petname he thrusts upon her in homage of her delicate form. she finds amusement in its doting sentiment, unaware of the threat of slaughter that lingers within its honey tones. he mimics her introduction, providing a name and accompanying surname that she perceives backwards – as it had been offered. mild envy prickles beneath her flesh for a name loaded with regalia like the man before her, but she is forced to stifle any rambling comments as his broken speech shears the momentarily silence that had settled between them. he offers an explanation, and with it, her attention is fully ensnared. her head bobs slowly in acknowledgement of their apparent language barrier, and her mind begins to churn with ideas of overcoming this obstacle. the behemoth embodies a challenge, and olive is too stubborn and too determined a creature to deny the opportunity he presents. @Vághan lays waste to her only crutch, her only lifeline in their encounter: distance. but she is stagnant as he approaches, and only her neck cranes as he looms above her. she does nothing to avoid his prodding, and even emits a soft chuckle as the paw presses against her flesh. but it stunts as he demands she play the role of a mentor, and he in turn, and slowly, a smirk creeps upon her facial features – roguish. “yeah, that could be fun,” she solidifies her deal with the devil with a nod of her head, binding them as a unit. his tongue is much more captivating than her own; surely she is getting the lion’s share of their agreement. for now. abruptly, emotion vacates her features in favor of solemnity, and her chest swells with a deep breath. “‘hello, my name is szellem vághan,’” she instructs, disguising her feminine tones with his gruff accent in an attempt to parrot his manner of speech. but the babe is incabale of maintaining her sobriety for very long, and soon, she is grinning in response to her own vocals, looking up at the beast expectantly – childlike wonder swimming within carmine lenses.

art by yumpy!

i am god
and i need to be destroyed

The robotic movements of a creature damned from hell are nearly haunting. For the way that he blinks is within an unsteady rhythm as ears tip upon to tops of his head with every word that spills from her satin lips. Wafting amongst the rocky outcrop of their cavernous haunting, they become poltergeists to the world, she is the lamb unto the shepherds holding staff. Ensnared within his games, a pliant puppet to his desires as she manifests the world upon her tongue. He studies her. Carefully, articulate within a roguish glance. Each dip and pop with her lips taken heavily unto account as she puffs and boasts within mock gruffness. He does not know whether to be offended or flattered as the corners of voided lips tip upwards into an amused grin. Vághan nods. Head bobbing in the waters of their distant conversations as he purses his lips. The crinkling cuts of toothy grins poking unto his gumlines as the creature puffs outwards, chest heavy and broad as the inarticulateness of uncertainty dripping from his shoulders despite the confidence that he speaks with.

H-Hello, its a start, my name ez Szellem, Vághan even as they fall slightly broken and butchered from his lips. The beast beams, brows raising in a content question. Ez good? He seeks her approval as if she is more than just a simple morsel to him, a meal that prepares herself before their dining table and yet, he does not seek to taste the delectability of her flesh. He pardons her sins for the exchange of knowledge, You - try?. He doesn't give her a choice, instead he parrots her movements. Hello, a nevem Olive. It is hypnotic, the way that they move in an synchronized plaintiff. For the way she dances with the devil should be wary, uncertain and ruinous in the eyes of the one who knew just how dangerous he could be. It was like taunting a bear, and hoping it would not awaken from hibernation. The game played s all too dangerous, and yet, all too exciting to indulge upon.

@Olive

am i god?
i may destroy myself

@lory

in the limelight of his rosy gaze does she thrive, enraptured by the attention he supplies as he covets her every motion. but olive is not greedy, and what he provides, she reflects – her attention fixated entirely upon their encounter, this lesson. a grin she had not anticipated morphs his ghoulish features, and it is at this moment that @Vághan gains her favor (though notably not a rare feat); it appears he is not a creature bound to eternal apathy after all. the confidence that leaks from his very pores – even as he butchers her tongue – earns her amusement, but she stifles her laughter beneath a polite and patient guise. and as he searches for her approval like a boy looking to his mother, she grants it to him in the form of a slow nod. “yes, good,” she reaffirms, mentally noting the necessity of practice. “that makes me happy,” she informs him, exaggerating a grin upon delivery of the final word to better communicate its meaning. the ghoul invites her participation, exuberant now as he blurts his foreign vocals with little room for her refusal. she contrasts him with her hesitance, careful to enunciate each syllable in order to better replicate his speech. “hello, a nev-em a olive,” she tests the tones on her tongue, incorrectly and with a lack of appropriate accent. she looks to him expectantly, awaiting feedback with a cant of her head. but olive is enthusiastic, and soon a lilted hum greets velvet lips as she racks her brain for further information to relay to her newest counterpart. “is this your home?” she manages, carmine gaze traversing the contours of the rocks that comprise the cavern walls before finding him again. “and then you’d say: yes, i live here. though, i sure hope you don’t,” she frowns at this, incapable of imagining the dank chasms to be homely – not even for the ghoul. “or you’d say: no, this isn’t my home. i live… blah, blah, blah.”

art by yumpy!

i am god
and i need to be destroyed

The praise of a narrow God is enough to bring an unturned smile to the beast's lips/ Inky black quirking upwards in a seal that seems almost foreign...inhumane unto his usually dark figure. But where she praises him is where he seems to need the most reassurance. For in his world, one would not learn to thrive in the seams of their adversaries without learning to walk amongst the sheep in wolves clothing. He needs more practice, and he will. Studying each syllable of her dialect the beast combs through her words with careful and attentive need, pressing those that are unfamiliar unto him back in the corners of his dying mind - all the while clinging tightly to those words he does know. Soon, one day - he will be just as fluent as he within the tongue of their mother. For now, they share their dark ballads with one another. Waltzing through a ballroom of shared secrets and deathly thoughts.

He rewards @Olive with his own praise, and perhaps even a slight wag of his tail that accompanies the tip of his brow. Yes. Ez, very good. She catches his words quicker than he can speak, and it all suddenly becomes too overwhelming as Vághan clings to the security of what he already knows. No. One doesn't know whether he is stopping her within her word tramps or simply acknowledging her question. For now, the beast will take the latter to avoid further infraction. I live, a deep breath severs the head of his sentence as he furrows his brows Lived Once, upon a midnight dreary. I lived..with Ghosts It doesn't come out the way a normal man would say, and yet - the point is there. If one were to tread further unto his dark crevices they would come to find that they still haunt the house that is a mortal body. Ghosts do not exist more. He is careful. Succient within the way his accent twists his words in funny double-meanings as Vághan desperately clings to home. Vághan only - alone.

am i god?
i may destroy myself

@lory

his praise is met with a beam, and a mantra of his tongue plays in the chasms of her learning mind: a nevem a olive, a nevem a olive. her ego feeds off his encouragement like a parasite, stirring the belief that she will grasp the ability to mimick his articulations in no time. the imagery of a secret world only they create is one that exhilerates the youth, and fanciful ideas of the union to be had seem feasible in that moment. but @Vághan is stern now as he cuts across her with a firmness she had not anticipated, and velvet lips anchor down into a frown as she struggles to tread the fine line of understanding that threads them to one another. he speaks of ghosts and aloneness, and olive can only presume the meaning behind his words. “dead?” she seeks reaffirmation, disregarding her lack of sensitivity to such a delicate topic. and while the babe has not experienced true loss herself, she has witnessed the grievous aftermath–the havoc it wreaks upon its victims’ families. she is quiet for a moment, wallowing in uncertainty. and finally: “we can be friends,” is the offer she extends; though it is less of an invite and more of an assurance to the ghoulish man. a single forepaw lifts to chest level – digits flexed and parted – as she presents him with her pawpads. “together,” she clarifies, allowing her digits to bond once more in demonstration of her meaning.

art by yumpy!