Full Version: without a fight [jagr] by Evike
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Mature and gross. Because blood. Don't read if you're easy to squick.


Did this place haunt her, or was she, instead, the ghost? It was a question that had come to mind as she passed through the gnarled trunks and over fallen logs, her steps prenaturally silent though she favored her left leg with a persistent limp caused by the torn muscles, on the mend but no less a complication for one who actively <i>sought</i> to be alone. Over the past day or so, her thoughts had consumed her - Evike wandered like a spirit as far as her injuries would allow. They gave her solace in the form of paltry distraction, allowing her to take inventory of, and revisit the past while ignoring the looming present. Perhaps ignoring the problem was an inexact and childish measure of dealing with it, so Eve preferred to refer to herself as preoccupied, mulling over every decision and event in her life in an effort to find just where she'd stumbled and fallen to the wayside of being someone's leg up, rather than using them to hoist herself to greatness.

Shouldering past the brush and branches, her left wing shielded her injuries carefully as she kept her posture low to the ground, slinking deeper into this mausoleum until she'd come upon a stagnant pond, decorated in a most forbidding fashion by the ribbons of some<I>one</I> freshly dead, guts and gore arranged and slathered festively about the shores in a fashion that struck her as artistic in a primitive sense. Her head tilted some as she stood of to the side in quiet contemplation, her expression soft and unreadable. Certainly coming across such a display might have sent any other reeling, or at the very least on alert for the madman behind such carnage, but instead Eve found herself oddly <I>enchanted</I>.

As the mage stepped forward, her wings lifted at her sides, revealing the ugly mess of her left shoulder as the pinions bent, only half furled as if emulating the open arms of a saint, welcoming the lost back into the fold. Wading into the ruin of a once living body, she hardly seemed to notice that her path took her past knots of disembodied organs and painted her delicate ankles in vibrant crimson, reaching out with finger of black magic to animate the ragged cadaver into tilting its head her way, blinking death-hazed eyes blindly in her direction. In silence, she studied the blood-flecked face of the deceased with that same soft stare, conveying neither pity nor scorn during her contemplation, only what appeared to be a gentle fascination with some poor cur's misfortune.
ooc; sorry, it's a little rusty lol

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Stained teeth clicked in angst, while hooves that still had flesh clinging to them danced about. The scene was one of gore and death. An artistic portrait of macabre art. He had been proud of himself, this one. And so the cervidae-wolf had given him a final show all to himself. Blood painted the gnarled roots and rotting bark; organs decorating the waters and brush. His head floated, a sign of his carefree life-to-come in valhalla. His body lay heavy on the sand below the waters surface. And his intestines? They were wrapped loosely around the body of the wicked artist; still ripe with blood and waste. Though the scene seemed well put together in a mockery of chaos, the benevolent man still felt something amiss. He couldn't quite put his head around it, until it hit him. He <i>could </i> put his head around it. Giggling with malicious intent, jägr pranced through the crimson waters to the barely floating head of his victim before he ripped his jagged teeth into the man's neck, tearing violently at the tendons until they separated. He then dipped his crown and speared it's trachea with an antler, wearing the skull as a medal.

It was perfect. So perfect that his body buzzed with excitement. He couldn't have been so brilliant and so proud, the gods must be noticing his masterpiece. He could only be so fortunate. Though as he thought that maybe Loki might visit, he realized someone <i>had </i> been watching - perhaps the entire time. A confused look plagued his mug as he contemplated on how this woman could have possibly been this close and he hadn't noticed, but only for a moment before that same mischievously malicious grin spread over blood stained lips. <b>"It's beautiful, ja?"</b> His voice rang with exaggeration and confidence, his eyes proudly beaming toward his guest.