Philomel
08-21-14, 07:09 AM
The blood fields of Eiskalt seemed like only yesterday. Those flames that licked high into the sky, devouring everything within their path as they created destruction and chaos. The many bodies, charred skeletons and frozen forms, scattered in the streets like some orchastrated culling. And the men chasing the few female survivors that were left, begging for a chance to ease their starving bodies.
The memories lived on in her mind and came every night. Like deep grey clouds constantly overhead they cast a shadow, a darkness of the past that could not be forgotten. Every time she closed her eyes to rest the carrion crows would swoop down to peck the last remains of flesh from the corpses and the ash in the air would sting her eyes, causing her to cry out and rub them, transported into dream land.
Softly she stepped into the Citadel room, and she opened her eyes. Expanse, grey, storm - her nightmares became reality and the ruined landscape of Tyranta, the capital city of Eiskalt, that Philomel had helped to destroy, sprawled before her. No buildings stood above a floor as they were all decimated. No living things were left to scurry among the debris. They were non-existent here. All there was, was the faint caw of a few dozen circling corvids and the snuffling of the faun-whore's beloved Earth Spirit fox nearby.
Her white blade was stark naked in the dusklight, a snowy rage of purity in the terror. She held it unsteady, confused, as her hooves took her slowly through the stenchy wasteland. Church, house and pub, each eas unrecognisable to the next, and she had helped bring about this hell.
Philomel stopped in what she recognised to be a crossroads and let out an empathatic sigh. Of course this is what her oddball mind would create as she was asked to simply place her dreams into a battlefield, this was her paradise. Ash and stones and dead man's bones. Emptiness. Silence. Stench of decay.
She stood in the crossroads and waited, leaning against a half-burnt post.
Her opponent would certainly be shocked.
The memories lived on in her mind and came every night. Like deep grey clouds constantly overhead they cast a shadow, a darkness of the past that could not be forgotten. Every time she closed her eyes to rest the carrion crows would swoop down to peck the last remains of flesh from the corpses and the ash in the air would sting her eyes, causing her to cry out and rub them, transported into dream land.
Softly she stepped into the Citadel room, and she opened her eyes. Expanse, grey, storm - her nightmares became reality and the ruined landscape of Tyranta, the capital city of Eiskalt, that Philomel had helped to destroy, sprawled before her. No buildings stood above a floor as they were all decimated. No living things were left to scurry among the debris. They were non-existent here. All there was, was the faint caw of a few dozen circling corvids and the snuffling of the faun-whore's beloved Earth Spirit fox nearby.
Her white blade was stark naked in the dusklight, a snowy rage of purity in the terror. She held it unsteady, confused, as her hooves took her slowly through the stenchy wasteland. Church, house and pub, each eas unrecognisable to the next, and she had helped bring about this hell.
Philomel stopped in what she recognised to be a crossroads and let out an empathatic sigh. Of course this is what her oddball mind would create as she was asked to simply place her dreams into a battlefield, this was her paradise. Ash and stones and dead man's bones. Emptiness. Silence. Stench of decay.
She stood in the crossroads and waited, leaning against a half-burnt post.
Her opponent would certainly be shocked.