? BOAR'S HEAD ?? - Printable Version

Melinoe breathed. "I won't. The voice clamored louder, still; it seemingly was not reassured by such a promise, or perhaps... it was simply repeating itself, over and over. The thirty-some seconds of silence following was all the more deafening, then.

A spark of life seeped from the lion's stone, offered as a gesture of kindness—to liberate the stone from its apparent half-broken and -withered prison. It showed no indication of having received it except its abruptly cutoff howling. Any of those in the alcove would hear (or... not hear) it fall still.

Gemstone crackled, but it was not to form the protective shell of a neonate. No, no... the epidote shifted as if it were some sort of parasite or errant limb attached to the crown of monster wielding His magic. It writhed in place, and suddenly it grasped for Melinoe's skull with a needle-pointed... almost root.

It was not a particularly long extension, but with the lion curled about the skull, it was enough. The susurrus clamored back into action. Melinoe would hear it loudest, clearest in its ear-shattering frequency and reaching for the gemstone upon his forehead.

DON'T LEAVE ME (REMOVE) ALONE. (THE FLESH.)

"I want to live." Purity's hiss came loud, angry, with bared teeth and pin-prick eyes.

His breath rattled as he twisted back to Aethereal, teeth gritted in a bare hiss. He studied her, for just a brief moment, before hissing out a quick "Fine. Fine, I have no control over how you decide to live. But do not tell me what is right or wrong for myself. I will decide that for myself." How could a dragon be- what, begging for him to not do this? Oh, that gave a spark of power to him, a delicious taste upon his mind, and he relished that.

He twisted his head, all interest dropped from Aethereal. There was nothing else she could do to him, and he turned aside, watching others follow him into the crevice.

What was there, Purity curled a lip up at- all this for some skull? "You're dead. You should stay dead," he muttered under his breath, his back beginning to faintly arch. Except- violence. His head twisted to Hecate, and his mouth dropped open as he pressed against the crevice's wall, staring wildly into Hecate's sightless eyes. Chaos was at work here, and Purity's head turned to the skull once more, licking his lips gently.

One ear flicked back, followed by minty eyes, turned to Diot. He would not address that. Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Purity shut them and drew his head up, letting out a long huff.

The lion was doing something. One eye peeked open to watch, then the other, as he stood and watched... Whatever they were doing.

What were they doing? He jerked back at the reach, faint surprise taking over his expression. How interesting. He only let out a soft, one-note laugh when the lion went back in, allowing it to- what? Potentially kill him?

Purity was prepared to enjoy this show.

"I wouldn't suggest trying. I won't be as tolerant next time." The reply was clipped, indifferent, but the owl-creature wasn't holding still. She'd studied the one shape moving--foolishly, she thought--for the stone, and wondered if she'd have to toss a second lion, but the first one moved to block it back. "You have it-?" she asked, and when it was clear that Mephisto did, added a "Good."

Melinoe was safe, then; that freed her up to do other things.

Perhaps... unwise things, but time would tell, on that.

A flutter of wings closed the last of the gap, half-blind eyes searching for the now-silent stone. That's an irritant. To Melinoe's brief argument--and to the conversation ongoing between all of them, as a whole--Hecate responded, but as she glanced toward Diot, she realized she couldn't really see what the primate was. "That one," is what she settled on, "is right. I don't recommend touching it." And then Hecate--approaching from the other side--immediately disregarded her own advice and did just that: reached out one black-taloned but creamy-feathered foot to lightly grasp the epidote.

Magicka flickered out--an attempt to look (without her physical eyes; and what an addiction that was, seeing in color and true, sharp shape) into this stone's past, and see just what it had been up to.

There was so much aggression going around it made her head--uh, brain (wherever it was) hurt. It was, appropriately, rather chaotic. And whether she liked it or not, Purity had a point. Wasn't that what she'd wanted too? To be able to decide her fate for herself?

He might be wrong. They might all be making a terrible mistake. Or it might not be that bad, at least for them. It wasn't her job to be an overbearing babysitter—that was the exact opposite of what she wanted to be and how she would want to be treated. She had neither the right nor ability to take the choice away and set them on another path. It was, after all, their own lives. Their own mistakes to make.

At least Diot would not go down the path of chaos. And she had not forced him to choose that—he'd decided it for himself. This was all she could do. Maybe she should have even done less. She shouldn't interfere.

Aethereal retreated from the crowd with a regretful rumble, continuing on her way.

"You're dead. You should stay dead." Purity muttered, and the skull gave no response but the continued wailings of desperation—as completely ordinary bones were wont to do.

Ah, but the epidote was reaching for Melinoe, seeking as it crawled along its singularly-focused path; it diverted itself only briefly as massive forepaws struck the lion's face away, and only for the proximity of another body, another piece of flesh to reach for. Melinoe stood over the skull, and the crackling tendril clambered upward, closer, CLOSER. The clamorings shrieked as they did.

But, it had all but slowed to a stop, inches shy of a foreleg; and yet, DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE rattled incessantly in the lion's skull. Begging, beckoning, yearning. Agony, horrific, desperation.

Hecate would find that the stone did not simply budge with her touch, rooted solidly in place.

And, at first she would find herself with a familiar sight: suffocating darkness. The sound of cracking and peeling earth and shifting of stone rumbled around her, and there was a sensation of moving, but it was never short of claustrophobic until—at last, there was light. But, still, she was confined, choking on an ever-intensifying agony that refused to release her. THE FLESH IS WEAK.

Something snuffled against her glassy-cool surface, and then something squealed with a muted pop! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE. Hecate got the sense of dragging something close, close, close until it was settled snug. DON'T LEAVE ME. DON'T LEAVE ME. DON'T LEAVE ME. DON'T LEAVE ME—

A deafening roar drowned out whatever other sight the owl-beast could have been afforded, bringing her to startlingly dark and vague reality once more. If she had even desired it, though, Hecate could not simply step away from the calamity; glossy green-black stone gripped at the feathery talons set upon it. It cracked and popped as it tried to envelop the appendage, tendrils oh-so-slowly following the curve of bone and muscle.