Fireweed Rise sentient being

<blockquote><ul>takes place after Pray for You, but I don't really know the outcome yet, so... will be a bit vauge about his injuries.</li></ul>
Outrage and fear had driven him from the woods. He simply couldn't, for the time being, remain with those awful, evil infidels. With savage righteousness, they had torn him apart, and for nothing. He had <i>done</i> nothing. And yet, there was that ivory cult-leader, judgement written on her stoic, ugly face. Her voice haunted his wakefulness, echoing in the dark caverns of his mind. "<i>If you would please. Yes, please, if you could just eat his heart. Oh, the devil will be simply DELIGHTED. Oh, there's a good chap, if you would just sacrifice yourself. Splendid!</i>" So disgustingly polite, so ironic and openly mocking. His jaws flashed and snapped in a tantrum, "<b>To hell with you! To hell with you all!</b>"

For some inexplicable reason, Kiche's feet fell off the familiar trails. Blinded by passionate rage, he had wandered much farther south than he had ever dared before, and he plunged into wet, squelching ground. Mud. <i>Gross.</i> This wild, uncharted country disgusted him, and he longed to get away from it. If he could only just walk a little farther, maybe just beyond this muck there would be civilization. But beyond the eerie sibilance of the savage bog was still more forest, although the plants were a bit stranger. The branches did not seem to hold the weight of the leaves, which came cascading down like beaded green curtains. At the sight of these strange trees, something tiny and deep down inside of Kiche was struck with the simplistic beauty of it all. But that feeling was extinguished quickly, doused with anger, disgust, prejudice, anything he could find to put out the fire that was catching inside of him. Kiche was a delicate, refined creature of civilization. None of this could be beautiful. It was barbaric, and he would never, <i>never</i> love this place.

Such were the thoughts that plagued his mind as the sun began to fade, streaking the sky with a bloody, heathen red. Dusk would soon shroud the forest, and Kiche's injured body berated him, screeching with every movement, begging for sleep. Begrudgingly, he hunkered down against a willow trunk, slightly pleased with the protection and cover the veil of leaves provided him. His rest, however, was fitful, cursed and infected with nightmares. But the sun, which could not come soon enough, was unable to chase them away. No matter what, he was still here. He was still lost in this hellish landscape, surrounded with heathens and devil-worshipers. His life was a nightmare, and even if he took off running in the morning, hoping to escape, he knew he could not. There was no escape.

Dappled willow shade eventually faded into a grassland, an endless sea of green tendrils that lapped at him, whispering as he passed through them. After all this walking, most of his anger had been washed away. His trepidation and loathing, however, remained. Something felt very strange about this place. Peace and silence, after all, were fragile things. He quickened his pace, unwilling to be somewhere so quiet and primitive. In the distance, he noticed that the ground began to wrinkle and roll, where the carpet of grass began to slope upwards into the mountains. A splash of crimson caught his eye. To be honest, it looked to him like the hill was awash with blood. But as he approached, he realized it wasn't blood. The hill was bejeweled with bright scarlet buds that promised flowers to come, but Kiche was still reminded of blood. The whole thing made his skin crawl. Suddenly, he looked about, seeing that these buds stretched for quiet a ways, and it suddenly occurred to him that there were varying degrees of being lost. Frankly, he was in a state of perpetual disorientation, since he had no idea where he was in the grand-scheme of things, where his home was. But now he realized that he didn't even know where the familiar bits of this forest were. "<b>Where the hell am I,</b>" he breathed, acutely aware of every bloody shoot that pricked his eyes.

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<ul>Italic is her dream</li></ul>

She had been stolen, this time really stolen – stolen back to the place where she was first taken from – it was confusing. Her neck was sore from the female’s fangs jittery as she had carried Hope here and the fact that Hope was getting to big to be carried around like a little child, yet with all her pleading towards the female she was not put down until she was brought to the mountains. Those eyes so prideful seemed like a glass of nothing but the color they held. Why must she be stolen from a place that she enjoyed, stolen from a man she had come to love and considered her father. With a low sigh Hope Conan-Heart glared at the black and white women who paced back and forth outside of the den she had placed Hope in, waiting for someone to appear. Who that someone was Hope had no idea, though she had a feeling that it would not be a pleasant feeling, granted that like a thief of the night running off with his jewel bag she was gone. Shivering only slightly she moved around to face away from the pacing female, a small sniffle rising in the silence of the den, if she was able to cry tears would be streaming down her face, but no just sniffles and soft whimpers where given. As she laid there whimpering in the back of her den the cream colored girl heard the oncoming foot falls of a man, his smell was all too familiar closing her eyes as if she could not believe that he was actually here, she quickly turned her head to find her fears were placed in full form. Before her outside of the cave blocked by the female who coward in the presence of the man, the man that had stolen a bit of her the first night they met, the man who claimed her as his own before she was old enough to be claimed, the man who swore he would be back. Watching she flinched as the hot eyes of the devil fell upon her, memories flashing back of his fangs the blood he shed and dripped on her, her blood that had gone into his mouth. Giving a soft almost silent whimper as he entered the cave moving towards her with the crooked sinister smile that sent an unpleasant chill down her spine. Since continued to radiate from the male but his eyes said everything, lowering herself to the ground stomach pressed against the den floor. She peaked around to look at the black and white female who took to nervous pacing again. Cyril spoke not a word to Hope, his tongue roughly licked the length of her body before he turned, whispering something to the female before both of them vanished, just when she thought perhaps this could be her chance to escape, Cyril appeared once more, standing outside of the cave where he marked his territory before whispering words that slowly found her ears. ‘Don’t leave my precious; more blood will be shed than needed.’ With that he was gone. The urine stank only causing Hope to wrinkle her nose, moments pasted and she found that nobody came back, ears pressed against the side of her head as she slinked forward cream stomach inches from the den floor. As she got to the entrance she went out only a little before she scuttled back in. half expecting to see someone outside waiting to punish her for trying to escape but yet she was alone, as alone as someone can be while feeling as if they were being watched by some invisible force. Swallowing the little lump in her throat that had been placed in fear well more actuality that Cyril had kept to his word, Hope was his and now she was not in the safety of Renatio. Necrosis could not come in like her hero in a black cape. Her disappearance would be unnoticed for a little and then the scent would be gone. Slipping out if only a little the young female sat inches away from the den, ready to dart back in if Cyril happened to show up or that nervous female that followed him, looking towards the bright noon sky as a group of birds flew overhead, she kissed her freedom goodbye. She was given a little time to enjoy her freedom before Cyril returned war torn and seemingly furious with the fact that she was outside of the den. Grabbing her by the scruff he slung in her side the hard rock ripping fur from her body knocking her leg out of its socket. Yelping in sheer shock and surprise she tried to stand up but the leg being out of its socket gave her no advantage and Cyril was on her once again jaws wrapped around her neck pressing down his tongue pressed against her air way getting a sick thrill out of feeling her grasp for air. Being slung again be it by chance or on purpose the way she landed knocked the leg back into place but oh did it hurt, she would not be escaping or running anytime soon. Standing up unstable she quickly rolled under her belly figuring that he was seeking submission. As her attempt at being submissive paid no avail his nose roughly pressing her up whole he tossed her around several more times, before leaving to find Nova to do harm to her for allowing Hope so much freedom though it was by his mistake of leaving Hope did she grasp the opportunity to leave at that very moment. While weak and barely able to stumble around she knew if she got far enough away someone would see her, someone might be willing to offer some assistance but her track down the mountain came to no avail she was left in the open with her bloody scent leaving a trail for Cyril to follow he would know where she was. Hope would not be safe no matter where she went and yet home seemed to call to her. She wanted to be in the warm paws of Necrosis for his large pink tongue to flick across the top of her head. For him to whisper that everything would be alright even though Hope had a feeling it wouldn’t. The comforting thought of it being so was enough to ease the mind of the young female. Each step was agony pain thriving through her body but she had to keep moving. There was no doubt in her mind that Cyril would not eventually find her and drag her back to that hell hole cave where abuse beyond what she had received would be given. Pressing forward she finally reached the bottom of the mountain only looking back briefly expecting to see those eerie eyes peering down from an opening. The thought along sent her heart racing not a good thing for it only caused the wound on her body to leak out more blood rather than stopping. Despite the pain surging through her body the cream covered female lurched forward into a sloppy run each time her left front leg captured her weight she nearly crumbled. To someone watching the young child run it was clear that while she darted about the tall grass the panic struck in her eyes something horrible had happened. Even if someone offered to help Hope knew she would not stop running. For now she only trusted Necrosis she had to get back to Necrosis. It is what she kept telling herself. As the familiar cave walls came into sight she crumbled near the border her tiny sides heaving in and out. Closing her eye she saw a black mass. ‘Come reaper save me from this pain.’ And yet while she gasped no bright light came to lead her home. She stirred in her slumber her heart raced in her chest. ‘Necrosis.’ She heard the demon whisper as she fully awakened those light eyes narrowed in response to the words being whispered into her mind “Hush Naïve he isn’t here we need not to worry.” She cooed towards the restless demon bouncing against the cage walls roaring with fury though with the calm words of her beloved creator she silenced if only for a little bit. Hope was aware that Naïve would not be able to keep to herself for long she had months of solitude to prepare herself to learn the control that was needed, ears flicked along her head while she remained laying in her poorly constructed den. Those light eyes scanned around the dimly light home she called for the night surprise herself that it had not collapsed on her in the middle of the night burying the female several feet underground, where her demise would come quickly with hast like no other as she gasped for air only sucking in the floating dust and dirt. Oh if only it had happened. Shifting her weight as she heaved herself out her back brushed against the thin walls adding pressure it could not hold. As she exited the den collapsed on itself leaving her scent in a poorly complied dirt bed, with a snort as the dust settled her eyes if barely widened more in sadness that she had not been captured and drug back down to the depths of the bed herself. With a casual shrug of her shoulders she knew the reaper would capture up to her sooner or later. Silence swirled around her like that of a comforting blanket her eyes dazed in boredom as the cream colored female strolled around the territory inhaling the scent looking for something looking for someone and then like running into a brick wall it hit her nose, a brief wage of her tail was given. Now this would be some fun peering around a tree her gaze feel on the man standing there oh this was all too easy. Snickering to herself as she flicked her ears half back flicked her tail until it hung in a curve over her back she moved in like a slippery snake those liquid yellow eyes falling on the massive male as the corner of her lips peeled back the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end as excitement rushed through her bulky frame. There she stood in silence just eyeing the man, with a crooked smirl on those tight little lips.

(This post was last modified: May 16, 2011, 07:51 PM by Hope.)

<blockquote><ul><span style='font-size:7pt;line-height:100%'>baw bad post
<b>edit</b>: monster went inactive, so I edited it with him walking away. monster, if you come back, we can always have another thread<3 i just hate letting things die xD</li></ul></span>So wrapped up in his confusion and bitterness, Kiche had not noticed the appearance of the heathen at first. His nose, so dull and useless, did not betray her as she prowled towards him, her body drifting through the grasses as effortless as a cloud. All at once she manifested before him, and he jumped back suddenly with a flash of his teeth. Did savages just appear out of thin air these days? As usual, he was torn between fight and flight, between anger and fear. But no matter what, he knew that under no circumstances did he want to be around any damned infidel. His ragged and bloody tail, his shredded left ear, his muzzle, they all stung violently, like angry smoldering echoes of the den fight. A furious thunder rumbled deep from his throat, bubbling up and creasing his face into an ugly, brutal picture.

He did not like the way she looked at him, simply looked at him. The heathen merely stood before him with some sort of smile on her lips, and a strange, soulless look in her demon-eyes. The world was hushed. It was the face of a sinner, the face of a temptress, a serpent, a devil-worshiper. His snarl deepened and crescendoed as he took a step back and veered away from her, "<b>Fuck off heathen, I've had it up to here with your kind.</b>" It was enough just to be lost. He did not need company. The kind of company one kept here was always the satanic kind, the violent kind. But he did not linger to listen to her reply, because to do so would be to welcome her into a conversation, invite her to torture him. While Kiche surely was a lot of things, he was not a masochist.
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(This post was last modified: May 25, 2011, 06:31 PM by Kiche.)

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