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Exhalted
okay i?? assume i can write for dumah because he is technically a dragon in your lair and other people were doing it, but!! either way he sparked an idea so here it is:
Quote:
Dumah’s eyes are leaden and ringing and limitless.
The child looks up at them. The child, the child in tattering canvas and trembling gray, the child compact with hunger and fingernails-in-palms survival, the child raised in tomorrows and clothed in sacrifice—the child, prostrate in desperate clinging supplication, looks up into his eyes.
It’s so small, he thinks for a moment, the thought flicking through his mind like a hummingbird’s wings, like the flutter of a pulse. It’s so fast he barely notices. But through the golden chains churning and shifting in his mind, past the weight like a bronze idol shielding him from flitting fleeting thoughts like these—he realizes how long it’s been since he’s recognized anything in these forms.
That’s what they are. Forms. Smudges of gray and dirt with gaping fishlike mouths, flapping out dull petitions—
“Please— my daughter…”
“…wife and mother and two…”
“…son can’t see…”
“…we’re so hungry, we can’t…”
“…just grant us some place to be safe, some place we can…”
“…happy. I’m— I’m just not happy.”
The child hasn’t spoken yet. It wants to. Oh, it yearns to, it yearns to speak so badly, as badly as it wants to survive, its eyes burning fevered red—it wants to speak so badly it’s an itch, a burning raw itch that sends twitches and shudders down its wrists, an itch demanding to be scratched—
It itches to live.
But it’s scared.
It tremors from fear as much as craving. But the craving— the craving won’t stop. Its fingernails burn red crescents into shaking palms.
It will do whatever it takes to live.
“I… I want…” the child croaks, and then red hunger flares in its eyes and a burning hand grips its spine and thrusts it upright, and its voice swells— “I need… to be like you.”
The child’s eyes are burning and ringing and limitless.
It’s so small.
He is so… small.
And then the golden armor and weight and chains are gone and Dumah is a child again, compact with hunger and clothed in sacrifice, prostrate in supplication on this marble floor looking up at something much larger and wiser than he, his mouth like cotton, his ribs like mountains, his core running on fumes and desperation and the red hot burning of the desire, the need, the craving to live—
“…to be like you.”
And the something—the something much older and wiser than he—reached down, its sickly breath fanning over Dumah’s face—and hissed with poisoned glee:
“That can be arranged.”
Dumah looks at the child.
Its—his—eyes burn with fever and hunger—with survival and desperation—
They burn with life.
And Dumah pries open his leaden gold jaw. His tongue, rusted and groaning, creaks to life, and—with laborious, ancient effort—the thing much older and wiser than the shivering child at its feet utters a single word:
“No.”
@
Exhalted
okay i?? assume i can write for dumah because he is technically a dragon in your lair and other people were doing it, but!! either way he sparked an idea so here it is:
Quote:
Dumah’s eyes are leaden and ringing and limitless.
The child looks up at them. The child, the child in tattering canvas and trembling gray, the child compact with hunger and fingernails-in-palms survival, the child raised in tomorrows and clothed in sacrifice—the child, prostrate in desperate clinging supplication, looks up into his eyes.
It’s so small, he thinks for a moment, the thought flicking through his mind like a hummingbird’s wings, like the flutter of a pulse. It’s so fast he barely notices. But through the golden chains churning and shifting in his mind, past the weight like a bronze idol shielding him from flitting fleeting thoughts like these—he realizes how long it’s been since he’s recognized anything in these forms.
That’s what they are. Forms. Smudges of gray and dirt with gaping fishlike mouths, flapping out dull petitions—
“Please— my daughter…”
“…wife and mother and two…”
“…son can’t see…”
“…we’re so hungry, we can’t…”
“…just grant us some place to be safe, some place we can…”
“…happy. I’m— I’m just not happy.”
The child hasn’t spoken yet. It wants to. Oh, it yearns to, it yearns to speak so badly, as badly as it wants to survive, its eyes burning fevered red—it wants to speak so badly it’s an itch, a burning raw itch that sends twitches and shudders down its wrists, an itch demanding to be scratched—
It itches to live.
But it’s scared.
It tremors from fear as much as craving. But the craving— the craving won’t stop. Its fingernails burn red crescents into shaking palms.
It will do whatever it takes to live.
“I… I want…” the child croaks, and then red hunger flares in its eyes and a burning hand grips its spine and thrusts it upright, and its voice swells— “I need… to be like you.”
The child’s eyes are burning and ringing and limitless.
It’s so small.
He is so… small.
And then the golden armor and weight and chains are gone and Dumah is a child again, compact with hunger and clothed in sacrifice, prostrate in supplication on this marble floor looking up at something much larger and wiser than he, his mouth like cotton, his ribs like mountains, his core running on fumes and desperation and the red hot burning of the desire, the need, the craving to live—
“…to be like you.”
And the something—the something much older and wiser than he—reached down, its sickly breath fanning over Dumah’s face—and hissed with poisoned glee:
“That can be arranged.”
Dumah looks at the child.
Its—his—eyes burn with fever and hunger—with survival and desperation—
They burn with life.
And Dumah pries open his leaden gold jaw. His tongue, rusted and groaning, creaks to life, and—with laborious, ancient effort—the thing much older and wiser than the shivering child at its feet utters a single word:
“No.”
[font=century gothic][size=4]@Exhalted Wrote something for BIGBEAN ;> I don't write lore myself but thought I'd give it a shot anyways. Edit: It's more of a backstory/origin story, hope that's okay.
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[img]https://flightrising.com/rendern/350/539363/53936280_350.png[/img]
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[font=century gothic][size=4]The silence was what he noticed first. It was tangible, palpable, and thick layer of it choked the air, oozing into his ears. There had been a shift in the atmosphere, but he wasn't able to reassemble the shards of his memory well enough to understand what had happened. The passing of time was imperceptible, and an inky darkness hovered quietly around him. He could have believed that he was floating in the infinite vacuum of space if it wasn't for the faint awareness of his physical body resting upon a smooth, cold surface. His consciousness slowly traveled throughout his body, exploring every bone and tendon, settling on the mass of pulsing muscle in his chest. It was grotesque in its constant throbbing, and strangely beautiful in a sense. He was surprised to find marbled webs branching out of the mass, an intricate network of veins that were interconnected in ways he couldn't understand.
He let his mind wander, his thoughts slipping out of his fingers if he tried to catch them. He was adrift in a fog, sure of his existence, but scattered and dissipated over what seemed like miles. The feel of his body was still there, but it hung just on the edge of his mind, almost out of sight...
Light shattered his vision. It bounced off of every surface, millions of fractals piercing his irises, bringing with them a sharp and insistent pain in his head. The scattered mist of his consciousness came together in an instant, and the bits and pieces of his memory were picked up, gently polished, and placed back together. All he could see was a pure, dazzling white, but as the light lessened and details entered his vision, a voice filled his ears.
[i]"Hello, B-3A1-1. Welcome to Institution F-42, located on planet X-81A in the region Fiscur."[/i]
He blinked as the incoherent sound sharpened into discernible words, noticing the smooth white walls that surrounded him on all sides.
[i]"This is likely a very disorienting time for you right now, but don't worry. We'll help you get your bearings in no time."[/i]
He stood up on uncoordinated legs, nearly falling, and tried to look for the source of the voice. It was a polished and crisp female voice, but he found no comfort in the sound.
[i]"B-3A1-1, your vitals are looking good, with a heart rate of about 82 BPM. All major organs are functioning as predicted."[/i]
He managed to squeeze out a trace of a voice, gasping, "Where am I?" The voice didn't seem to hear him, and continued on with its presumably automated monologue.
[i]"The Crown is always happy to see new Creations, and you're lucky enough to be one of them! If you'll just step through the exit, you'll be welcomed into your new life alongside your fellow Creations."[/i]
His eyes flashed around the room, gaze sliding from bone white wall to another. A faint hissing sound was followed by a panel in front of him sliding down and disappearing into a slit below it, revealing a landscape that his eyes could scarcely take in.
The sky was stained purple, a deep, striking shade of violet. Two pearlescent moons were suspended on the horizon, lingering on the edge, and stars were flecked across the skies like droplets of paint spattered on a canvas. He shifted his gaze downwards, and his eyes fell upon a barren, desolate landscape. Gaping craters were carved into the dusty, cracked ground, and the few tangles of shrubbery he saw were blackened and dried. An immaculate, white tower in the distance stood out starkly from its dismal surroundings, and as he stared at the building, he noticed movement at its base. Upon closer inspection, thousands of dragons were streaming out of it and onto the windswept terrain. He took a step forward, his senses flooded beyond belief. He was at the base of an identical tower, and then saw the wave of dragons-- no, Creations-- sweeping past him. He glanced back at the white room he had been in. There was nowhere else to go.
The high-pitched whistling noise grated against his ears before he looked up, barely registering the smokey dark object streaking across the plum-colored sky before it shook the ground on its impact. His legs gave way under him, and he was stricken with a burst of panic as he scrambled to his feet and threw himself into the surging crowd of Creations. Another screech of sound tore through the atmosphere, and tendrils of smoke and dust clawed their way into the skies.
@Exhalted Wrote something for BIGBEAN ;> I don't write lore myself but thought I'd give it a shot anyways. Edit: It's more of a backstory/origin story, hope that's okay.
The silence was what he noticed first. It was tangible, palpable, and thick layer of it choked the air, oozing into his ears. There had been a shift in the atmosphere, but he wasn't able to reassemble the shards of his memory well enough to understand what had happened. The passing of time was imperceptible, and an inky darkness hovered quietly around him. He could have believed that he was floating in the infinite vacuum of space if it wasn't for the faint awareness of his physical body resting upon a smooth, cold surface. His consciousness slowly traveled throughout his body, exploring every bone and tendon, settling on the mass of pulsing muscle in his chest. It was grotesque in its constant throbbing, and strangely beautiful in a sense. He was surprised to find marbled webs branching out of the mass, an intricate network of veins that were interconnected in ways he couldn't understand.
He let his mind wander, his thoughts slipping out of his fingers if he tried to catch them. He was adrift in a fog, sure of his existence, but scattered and dissipated over what seemed like miles. The feel of his body was still there, but it hung just on the edge of his mind, almost out of sight...
Light shattered his vision. It bounced off of every surface, millions of fractals piercing his irises, bringing with them a sharp and insistent pain in his head. The scattered mist of his consciousness came together in an instant, and the bits and pieces of his memory were picked up, gently polished, and placed back together. All he could see was a pure, dazzling white, but as the light lessened and details entered his vision, a voice filled his ears.
"Hello, B-3A1-1. Welcome to Institution F-42, located on planet X-81A in the region Fiscur."
He blinked as the incoherent sound sharpened into discernible words, noticing the smooth white walls that surrounded him on all sides.
"This is likely a very disorienting time for you right now, but don't worry. We'll help you get your bearings in no time."
He stood up on uncoordinated legs, nearly falling, and tried to look for the source of the voice. It was a polished and crisp female voice, but he found no comfort in the sound.
"B-3A1-1, your vitals are looking good, with a heart rate of about 82 BPM. All major organs are functioning as predicted."
He managed to squeeze out a trace of a voice, gasping, "Where am I?" The voice didn't seem to hear him, and continued on with its presumably automated monologue.
"The Crown is always happy to see new Creations, and you're lucky enough to be one of them! If you'll just step through the exit, you'll be welcomed into your new life alongside your fellow Creations."
His eyes flashed around the room, gaze sliding from bone white wall to another. A faint hissing sound was followed by a panel in front of him sliding down and disappearing into a slit below it, revealing a landscape that his eyes could scarcely take in.
The sky was stained purple, a deep, striking shade of violet. Two pearlescent moons were suspended on the horizon, lingering on the edge, and stars were flecked across the skies like droplets of paint spattered on a canvas. He shifted his gaze downwards, and his eyes fell upon a barren, desolate landscape. Gaping craters were carved into the dusty, cracked ground, and the few tangles of shrubbery he saw were blackened and dried. An immaculate, white tower in the distance stood out starkly from its dismal surroundings, and as he stared at the building, he noticed movement at its base. Upon closer inspection, thousands of dragons were streaming out of it and onto the windswept terrain. He took a step forward, his senses flooded beyond belief. He was at the base of an identical tower, and then saw the wave of dragons-- no, Creations-- sweeping past him. He glanced back at the white room he had been in. There was nowhere else to go.
The high-pitched whistling noise grated against his ears before he looked up, barely registering the smokey dark object streaking across the plum-colored sky before it shook the ground on its impact. His legs gave way under him, and he was stricken with a burst of panic as he scrambled to his feet and threw himself into the surging crowd of Creations. Another screech of sound tore through the atmosphere, and tendrils of smoke and dust clawed their way into the skies.
hi, i was wondering if the judging process is still underway? or did i miss some announcement?
hi, i was wondering if the judging process is still underway? or did i miss some announcement?
I was wondering this, too. I hope everything's okay! [emoji=coatl tongue size=1]
I was wondering this, too. I hope everything's okay!
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Exhalted yep, wondering same as above ^ Not sure if you're still active, but here's a ping in case this slipped your mind!
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Exhalted yep, wondering same as above ^ Not sure if you're still active, but here's a ping in case this slipped your mind!
@Exhalted Still waiting for an update yo. [emoji=sunglasses size=1]
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Exhalted Still waiting for an update yo.
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Tharn
Got excited b/c i saw the title but realized that wasnt the case xd
they seem inactive/dead
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Tharn
Got excited b/c i saw the title but realized that wasnt the case xd
they seem inactive/dead
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theboywholived Yeah sorry about that, host's bio says they don't feed their dragons even when active but it looks like they're probably inactive/hiding out. Just figured I'd follow up on the note I left to myself months ago. Oh well. :p
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theboywholived Yeah sorry about that, host's bio says they don't feed their dragons even when active but it looks like they're probably inactive/hiding out. Just figured I'd follow up on the note I left to myself months ago. Oh well. :p
