⛧ Entropy ⛧

[Zarsies 6795]

“It’s the way of the world, isn’t it, father? It’s the flow of lifeforce… we age, we deteriorate, and feed the worms and trees. Man or monster we rot inside out.”  

 

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Strimoza hvan vu rikult nhit e’dakir-uhd’karth.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

 

Deep in the forest stood an elderly manor, a home having traded caretakers to its own detriment for now this once grand house was little more than a derelict ruin et by disrepair and negligence. Trees spiraled up and out through the walls, the many floors had long become rotten and soggy, having collapsed into the lower levels to create a mess of fallen wood and displaced furniture. The stink of mold and mildew drifted through the manor as the breeze welcomed itself through broken windows and holes in the walls yet this forgotten place was too thick with life; arachnids of all sorts crawled along the walls and hid amongst the leaves of the trees, nests of spun web and great streaks of silvery gossamers decorated the walls and towers and outcroppings. Thick, complex webs wreathed the rooms and blocked some of the upper levels with dense walls of white, cocooned corpses and petrified prey scattered about. There, centered in the entry hall of this collapsing ruin of a home beside some carved text on the wall, a firm, greyed-cyan hand caressed the scruffy whiskers of an aged and gaunt man beneath the shaded canopy above.

 

It had been mere hours since she devised her plan yet the blue lady was still seething. Her trimmed, blood-black nails gently scratched at the limp, pale man’s beard as she pondered her rage; what burned within her was mere anger or simple hate, it was not petty or minor or halfhearted. No, she bore fury. Eternal, immortal, thought-immolating fury known only by the discordant souls of demonkind. She sat with the corpse laid in her lap whilst four large, hulking arachnid legs sprouted from her back and enclosed her and the body in a strange, black and jointed cage of sorts. Beside the two laid shattered, abyssal black shards of some gem. The vaguely beautiful woman rose her head as she cast her eyes up to the wet floorboards of the floor above her, the woman’s mantle of four thorny, spiraling horns supporting small, floating motes of idle blue-white flame which burn without smoke or heat off her body. Her eyes, glossy and blued, roamed as she reveled in her ire. She glanced down to her dull sapphire skin and looked over her whitened, gleaming tattoos. Her every thought focused on her appearance, her hellish features and monstrous form. 

 

You’re truly hideous, Morrigan. You know that?

 

The words resonated in her body and gave her shivers of sickening, burning ire yet she kept herself tempered and still, brushing her fingers through the man’s blonde hair. She opened her mouth to edge out a whisper yet her voice was absent and she merely exhaled, a soft vapor of grey smoke parting from her lips. She then accepted her silence and pressed her hand onto the elderly elf’s face, onyx mist bleeding out from her nails as she took hold of him. She began to press into him and wipe at his face as his skin became malleable and slippery like wet clay, his flesh sloughing off to fall flat on the ground. She took her hands and wove her fingers together, combing over the man’s forehead wherein his scalp peeled off and his blood-layered, ivory skull was revealed. Over the course of twenty minutes or so she worked with her black mists, a haze permeating her hands as she flayed the corpse and slowly but surely dredged his every bone from his meat jacket of a corpse, pulling his skull out from his head as his dead brain drained out from its holes, liquified by lifeforce. Gruesome and carnal yet stiff with silence, the woman gathered the bones of the man and bagged them into her satchel before she collected the dark crystal shards from the ground, sure to not leave a single flake or bit.

 

Taking her fingers into the squishy, gorey heap of the old elf man’s flesh, she wet her digits and began to write on the walls. She wrote in the script of chaos, of fiery rage and violence and sin. As she finished every character a dry, crackling heat became to take the wood as though it were warmed by its touch. After dumping her thoughts into language through the man’s blood, embers began to glow where she wrote. Smoke drifted off the blood as it dried and flaked, the script burning into the wood. Once she was halfway through the manor, having marked every wall along the way with her demonic script, flames appeared. Orange and red licked up the walls as the boards crackled and ached, embers and insect-burrow sawdust spilled from the ruinous spruce as the fire split and bore through the walls. The demoness danged in the air as her four spider limbs sprouting from her back carried her in a scuttle out of the manor, her bag clinking softly as the bones and crystal shards within slapped together. It was not long before the great house of old was consumed in flame, an inferno having taken to the kindling of soft wood, numerous webs, and all sorts of dry furniture stuffing. She watched from outside in the dark as the housefire spread from the manor to the barren tree and bushes outside, windows bursting and floors collapsing. She stood silent and deadened as the blaze glistened against her glossy eyes. She did not weep for her tears had dried from the eternal fire within her and she did not falter at her acts of sin. Could regret breech her diabolical and devilish mind? Could the weight of her deeds weigh her? What did she stand for, what was her reason?

 

She did not know; instead, she walked. She crawled off into the night as the manor burned and fell behind her, guided only be instinct and fury. Perhaps it would pass, perhaps it would fade, but the hearts of demons cannot be trusted or divined.

RIP Malineer, thank you Tentoa for rolling with things.

 

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.