Blood Is Thicker Than Water

[Rethai 163]

As I write this I am growing hungrier.. by the minute. Every time I look into the eyes of my fellow rat companions, my saliva runs. I think about the loud screams such a little creature can make.. How long such a weak body can survive. I miss the women and children who screamed for me. The songs that were created through the horrible screeches in their voices. The snip sound as I break through their skin and the crack that each individual bone made filled me with joy but all that is over.

 

It is all gone. My life, my victims, everything. I don't regret my actions but I didn't choose them knowing this would be my fate.. The saliva which dropped from my mouth dots my arm, creating a puddle. I imagine blood in the form of water. Blood is all I know. Blood is all I want.

 

One rat. Two rats. Three rats. Four. They are all gone.. My food source is extinct. I look to my black feathered hawk which looks to me in disgust, or so it seems but I don't care. I have thought about eating him as well, but how could I send this message to you otherwise?

 

I forget my brother Poe.. The brother who tried to protect me but failed. The one whom everybody precieved as a cannibal. But twas not. He was just a protector of one, which may make him just as guilty but shouldn't. He should be praised for his protection, but isn't. His face rarely enter my dreams, which always end in my death or his.

 

Poe.. I am truly sorry for the death of your brother. Me. The one who protected you when we were boys from our father. The one who used to grab knives and slit the back of our calves. The one who broke our fingers for pure enjoyment. The one who ripped your teeth out, one by one. That is evil.. not I.

 

I send this entry to all main nations with gifts attached. Oren, my hand. Urguan, my foot. Cerulin, my ears. San'vitar my teeth. I also send a letter to my brother Poe containing my eyes.. Envision me Poe. May the bond of brotherhood last forever.

 

Echo Grace.

[Wrynn 1349]

Poe sits atop the swaying grass located beneath the shade of a tree, looking out into the far distance, slandering below, as he carves a wooden sculpture, blistering his hands through the effort, however content with his work.

 

He looks down at his work, watching the knife slowly chip away splinters of wood, forming the block into something.

 

A wet scroll lands into his lap, dropped from a high-flying hawk above, secreting oils and waters into the cloth lining his body as it lays there pristine in condition, yet damp to the touch.

 

Poe looks down to the scroll with a narrowed gaze as he sets his tools aside, placing them gently upon the swaying grass blades that accompany his thighs.

 

He slowly moves his arms down to the damp rolled parchment, raveling his digits across it's bound, slowly loosing the latch that holds it together. The grip of the burlap-like string comes loosened, letting the parchment roll forth, loosening the weighted damp feeling from within.

 

Poe watches the two beady green and wet eyes roll to his crotch, as the paper unravels, letting loose the scrambling of words that are combined within it's length.

 

He starts to roll his own gaze down the length of the paper, reading it carefully, as his eyes scan each word with content, watching the ink that blotted and dotted around the page due to the wet viscous liquid that succumbed to it's pleasure.

 

His gaze stops... suddenly... as he watches the final words come into vision.

 

His chests puffs as his eyes redden, looking down the the orbs sitting above his crotch as his fingers grasp the parchment tighter with vigorous ownership.

 

For Poe knows what is lost, cannot be brought back.

 

As his eyes seamlessly dart across the span of the crystalline orbs sitting atop him, his lips quiver, and his jaw shakes. His chest puffs and his legs shiver. His eyes drip but with not happiness, the sad withdrawal from what he was.

 

His crystalline beads peak down to the spheres, laying waste to his clothes, with stems still attacked, vigorous and rough cuts laid upon the unseam'd edge of which was torn.

 

His fingers slowly curl as his waters join with that of the humour connected within his lap, grasping the one to his right. And his other fingers grasping the knife sitting upon the blades.

 

Whelps of pain, heard softly within his own ears as his face trembles beneath his own fears.

 

"I will always love you." He states softly, looking to the knife brought with one hand, and the viscous covered eye laying in the other. The drips from his eyes covering the two.

 

He wafts his knife up to his eye, as he slowly carves out the remnants of his sanity that are shone within. Edging out the pieces of bead-like and hollow material that are fighting for a way out.

 

For the tears that ran from his eyes are met with blood, ripe from cut.

 

The eye scars as it pops from place, letting a gap within Poe's face.

The cord cut, from seam, birth to anew, birth to another.

 

It falls, from height, laying down to join his lap, bringing blood with it as scars lay bare.

For Poe grasps the eye, laying within his other palm, and pushes it within his socket.

 

Pop.

 

A little is heard, as the streams of droplets, both blood and tear stop.

 

Held back by Poe's remark. Upon his own silence.

 

For with the trembling comes, anew, and another brought. The old eye is chucked from half-vision.

 

"always..." Is what is last said.

[hellfiazz 879]

Buubztik picks up the package, a frown on his face. He opens it up, and reads the letter, noting the teeth as he finishes.

 

"Diz dumskah blah'd mi uzg San'Vitar, skah im."

 

Buubztik drafts his own letter, sending it to an "Echo Grace":

 

"Dear Mister Grayz,

 

It am with bub'hozh dissatisfaction agh extreme disgust that mi write this letter. This disgust am directed at lat'z perverse ignorance. San'Vitar am the name of the former capital of the Uruks, which has since been destroyed. The nation under which Uruks thrive am called the War Nation of Krugmar, nub San'vitar. Mi am glad mi was able to set lat straight on the path of cultural enlightenment.

 

Lat'z faithfully,

Buubztik'Lur"

[Pureimp10 5691]

Ronald would pick up the package at the gates of Petrus, and open it, revealing the hand. Startled, he throws the box into the moat, wondering what kind of prankster would send a hand to the capital.

 

He shrugs it off and keeps guarding the city.

[Jonificus 2763]

"Mmm, what was that, my dear Cassius?" The fat elf asks, passing by Ronald when the incident happened together with his merchants

[Pureimp10 5691]

"Mmm, what was that, my dear Cassius?" The fat elf asks, passing by Ronald when the incident happened together with his merchants

"Some sort of hand, don't know what exactly." He would look over the edge of the bridge to where he threw it.

 

"Can't get it now. It's probably sunken to the bottom anyway."

[Rethai 163]

"Some sort of hand, don't know what exactly." He would look over the edge of the bridge to where he threw it.

 

"Can't get it now. It's probably sunken to the bottom anyway."

[!] As you further examine it, you see a small slip of paper floating on the surface of the water.

[Pureimp10 5691]

-snip- 

[Jonificus 2763]

"Important you say? My oh my." 

[Pureimp10 5691]

"What a pity. Aww, look.. a piece of paper. Hope it wasn't important, the ink seems to be faded away from the water." Mithius shakes his head, sighing.

"Hrm, you're right." He would shrug. "Meh, probably just a halflin' joke."

[Gunner 775]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.