Re: The Relentless Slaughter [Round 1: Untitled-1]
02-24-2011, 02:26 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.
Ke floated. An expanse of white cocooned her and among it, she imagined, she was little more than shifting splatters and streaks of black and grey. In a place such as this she was nearly invisible: the perfect spectator. Clicking her mandibles with pure contentment she hovered, completely at ease. The only thing that would make this place complete would be a story, an epic to play out before her eight eyes as she watched, so perfectly unseen.
As if in answer, a streak of vermilion clumsily smeared the white ahead. The artist paused, considering the colour, then dashed a few experimental shades alongside it. All red-orange, a dusty, rock colour that elicited a thousand memories for Ke. Memories of little arranged piles of wood, crowned with blazing flames that flickered and danced, pouring smoke into a dark sky, where little bright lights blazed and danced in return. And then, surrounded by that dusty red and surrounding that crackling fire humans would exchange words, the threads and tatters of those glorious tangled tales…
Ke’s attention flicked back to the present where the artist had picked his shade and was working in earnest. Red rock, almost torn from those treasured memories, was etched in ridges and valleys. Nothing anywhere near as large and inviting as the white, but Ke darted forward eagerly all the same. Her hooks sank into the dusty earth and she was scuttling across the new ground rapidly before Ke suddenly ceased to do so.
She paused, utterly tensed and rigid. By all rights, by the undeniable truths of her memories, there would probably be humans. And humans meant stories, no matter how old and chewed over.
Except something failed to fit, or even make sense. There was some untruth lurking, something undeniably terrible about this. And yet – didn’t that just hit the nail on the head?
She was denying it.
Ke sank to the floor, drawing in her legs.
don’t remember don’t remember don’t remember REMEMBER no no don’t you need to forget just this once NEVER FORGET no REMEMBER
Everything lurched out of wack and then the memories and the darkness flooded back, filling her like she’d been ripped straight open and then there was only terror left to fill her back up again. And there, through the haze of the remembered pain and that which this Tormentor had done was the everlasting tattoo that would keep on beating:
You are trapped.
She was trapped. By something insane, something smart, something that could build a better and more inescapable cage than all the humans she had ever encountered.
And so, pinned down like some smaller bug by the pincered knowledge that she could never, should never forget and of her situation, Ke curled up and trembled.
Eventually the fog inside of her being shifted a little, and she surfaced from the prison of fear gasping for reason and safety. But all she had was one goal, one hope to get out – she had to find the weakness in the cage. Ke rose on shaky legs, and staggered forward over the fake rock. She could only ignore the unanswerable questions that squirreled at the weaknesses of her shaken sanity (If this was just a drawing, how could she walk on it? Where was it coming from? Where exactly was this place?) and approach the edge of the ridge she was standing on. Wearily, she crawled yet closer and peered into the valley below.
What she saw was not a campfire, not a book or any form of written word, but it was a magnificent story all the same. With a booming voice and swinging ax, the hero of her next spun tale carved through demons with a bloodstained grin in a valley of death.
Ke was in love.
Swept away by the thrill of the battle Ke twitched herself into the air, her blood pounding with excitement and the artist’s infatuation for their new muse. Noiselessly she swooped towards the back of the monstrous creature, alighting gently on his armour, light enough that he wouldn’t notice, just as he turned and squinted at something at the top of the valley (the demons long gone due to the whims of the Tormentor). His weapons clattered and he moved swiftly through well practiced moves and meanings.
Ke did not care what was up there. She only cared that she had this warrior here.
“Tell me,” Ke whispered in a voice that filled the cleric’s mind. “Tell me the tales of your feats, O Warrior.”
Ke floated. An expanse of white cocooned her and among it, she imagined, she was little more than shifting splatters and streaks of black and grey. In a place such as this she was nearly invisible: the perfect spectator. Clicking her mandibles with pure contentment she hovered, completely at ease. The only thing that would make this place complete would be a story, an epic to play out before her eight eyes as she watched, so perfectly unseen.
As if in answer, a streak of vermilion clumsily smeared the white ahead. The artist paused, considering the colour, then dashed a few experimental shades alongside it. All red-orange, a dusty, rock colour that elicited a thousand memories for Ke. Memories of little arranged piles of wood, crowned with blazing flames that flickered and danced, pouring smoke into a dark sky, where little bright lights blazed and danced in return. And then, surrounded by that dusty red and surrounding that crackling fire humans would exchange words, the threads and tatters of those glorious tangled tales…
Ke’s attention flicked back to the present where the artist had picked his shade and was working in earnest. Red rock, almost torn from those treasured memories, was etched in ridges and valleys. Nothing anywhere near as large and inviting as the white, but Ke darted forward eagerly all the same. Her hooks sank into the dusty earth and she was scuttling across the new ground rapidly before Ke suddenly ceased to do so.
She paused, utterly tensed and rigid. By all rights, by the undeniable truths of her memories, there would probably be humans. And humans meant stories, no matter how old and chewed over.
Except something failed to fit, or even make sense. There was some untruth lurking, something undeniably terrible about this. And yet – didn’t that just hit the nail on the head?
She was denying it.
Ke sank to the floor, drawing in her legs.
don’t remember don’t remember don’t remember REMEMBER no no don’t you need to forget just this once NEVER FORGET no REMEMBER
Everything lurched out of wack and then the memories and the darkness flooded back, filling her like she’d been ripped straight open and then there was only terror left to fill her back up again. And there, through the haze of the remembered pain and that which this Tormentor had done was the everlasting tattoo that would keep on beating:
You are trapped.
She was trapped. By something insane, something smart, something that could build a better and more inescapable cage than all the humans she had ever encountered.
And so, pinned down like some smaller bug by the pincered knowledge that she could never, should never forget and of her situation, Ke curled up and trembled.
Eventually the fog inside of her being shifted a little, and she surfaced from the prison of fear gasping for reason and safety. But all she had was one goal, one hope to get out – she had to find the weakness in the cage. Ke rose on shaky legs, and staggered forward over the fake rock. She could only ignore the unanswerable questions that squirreled at the weaknesses of her shaken sanity (If this was just a drawing, how could she walk on it? Where was it coming from? Where exactly was this place?) and approach the edge of the ridge she was standing on. Wearily, she crawled yet closer and peered into the valley below.
What she saw was not a campfire, not a book or any form of written word, but it was a magnificent story all the same. With a booming voice and swinging ax, the hero of her next spun tale carved through demons with a bloodstained grin in a valley of death.
Ke was in love.
Swept away by the thrill of the battle Ke twitched herself into the air, her blood pounding with excitement and the artist’s infatuation for their new muse. Noiselessly she swooped towards the back of the monstrous creature, alighting gently on his armour, light enough that he wouldn’t notice, just as he turned and squinted at something at the top of the valley (the demons long gone due to the whims of the Tormentor). His weapons clattered and he moved swiftly through well practiced moves and meanings.
Ke did not care what was up there. She only cared that she had this warrior here.
“Tell me,” Ke whispered in a voice that filled the cleric’s mind. “Tell me the tales of your feats, O Warrior.”