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Xzinic
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PostSubject: Xzinic's Stories   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeSun Sep 18, 2016 2:56 pm

Ashes


I saw the ashes fall before me in a beautiful pattern like rain falling down during a thunderous storm. I remember seeing the black soul-sucking smoke gradually block my vision of the great blue sky, turning from day to night within moments. I felt the tears pouring from my eyes as the smoke bombarded my sight. I heard the thundering fire sizzle and tear at the dryads' flesh. Such a feeling of power one has from such a little act committed. Mothers, fathers, and children felt the vengeful fire eat away at their root-bound bodies. I've done a deed many are unwilling to commit.

       They say that to take one's life is wrong, but when all the world sees murder as normal, one must think of just how wrong can it be? I felt like a god for the dark act I've committed. Nothing could stop me while in the fiery haze. Though time tells me that my dark acts will one day end. To say I didn't feel joy would be a lie, to say I was insane wouldn't be far from the truth... truth is more insidious than a single lie. The truth of what I am would bring shock to even the most open-minded of people.

       So tiny was I, weak, pathetic but as I practiced the art of alchemical magic I became a giant. Though not in the physical aspect but in the spiritual theme. How is it possible for a two-inch tall tomthumb to possess so atrocious a mind? Such a question is meant for those with an immoral sense of equality.

       Such fantastic beauty lies within this world, yet such beauty must be taken away. No longer will they see me as another curious crumpet, instead they will fear me like they fear the death of their child. No longer will it be I that hides under rocks and in the shadows but it will be them.


Last edited by Xzinic on Fri Oct 14, 2016 11:31 am; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Title Change)
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Xzinic
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PostSubject: Sweet Lenain   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeWed Oct 12, 2016 6:33 am

Sweet Lenain


Her breath had far sweeter a smell and taste than that of the common Felaryan beauties, Had.
Her eyes both they and their luster had conveyed the grimace of a child taken by the sword, Had.
Her nose had ended with an acutely cute point of youthful protuberance, Had.
Her skin had the complexion of sweet sweet tree sap clothed with the tell-tale shine of moist amber, Had.
Her ears had beckoned the world of their will in want of grasping the sky's royal crown, Had.
 
A duende of silver-threaded mercies stroked by the soft brush of compassion.
Such rarities of mindsets are found within Felaryan women.
The desire to make her mine own held no difference in the measure of her benevolence.

—Perchance 'tis why I did as I did—
—Upon finding those who removed, from she, face, breath, and skin—

True to my being as a Fae of Tenebris
As a shadow I lurked for them and their secrets
Intent on taking from them the same
As they from my sweet Lenain

Across the pond, the first walked with gaited slack
Two eyes he had, 'tis now two eyes he lacks
Across the pond, an eyeless man lies slain
Now sight be returned to my sweet Lenain

The second pair were split by lovers' couple
One ear to pay off debt, such was soon made subtle
The other purposed for an alchemical brew
Which, by nature, t'was meant to kill a motley crew

The debt of the one was never paid
The poisoned borne brew was, rightly so, never made
Within the town founded by she with jade green eyes
Those two lovers lie, heads skewed, earside to earside

The stench of the fourth conveyed scent of fear
In the River of Jewels, an opal mingo, did he stay near
My deeds and name, he knew, thus why he hid
With ancient bone blade, by mine left hand, the mingo is slit

In panic, he hurried towards his secret place
As a shadow I pursued him with stalker’s pace
Then came the ominous chime of a doom duck’s insidious quack
The infamous chime calleth for death by his becoming a mycorpe’s snack

The nose of my lover now lost
But death of the man did pay due, indeed, his cost
The breath of my lover’s life was taken by one like I
A fey, indeed and thus, by word, fated to die

I took hold the fifth's fair skinned’ neck
T’was with swift timing she became a panicked wreck
“Forgive me! Forgive me!” she began tearing
“Breath be returned to my sweet Lenain,” Said I to she, now deathly peering

The last t'was located in Pelnipe City
This one moved with an unsteady gait
A peculiar fellow singing an old dirge ditty
I unsheathe my sword, preparing to seal his fate

As a shadow, with which my eyes now fill with scarlet glow, I approach him from behind
Swift were the locals to see my faint aura of silhouette red
My blade touched now his back, I prepare his life’s end when I hear,“Why must vengeance make us blind?”
“The past deed I wish had never lived, when soon shall I, too, be dead?”

“Cruel is the nightly sullen sea of regret”
“Constantly lamenting with me of my sorrows”
“Death come for me. Free me, please, of this dreadful debt”
“May I not, just as she, live to see tomorrow”


I retract my blade as he continues the elegy
I leave him to his emotional decay
Yes, I leave him to his tormentous melody
The debt of my lover's death hath now flown away

Eye for an eye
Tooth for a tooth
Now’s the nonce, Lenain, to say goodbye
May the heavens reward you for thy ruth


Last edited by Xzinic on Fri Oct 14, 2016 11:30 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Added a title.)
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Xzinic
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PostSubject: Journal of a Madman   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeFri Oct 14, 2016 11:29 am

Journal of a Madman


Month of Margil
Day 28
2051 A.U.

                 Fools, all of them. None of them see the truth! I've tried so hard to tell them, so hard. All I wanted was for them to realize what monsters lurked outside the city and what do they do? They lock me up! They put me in a straitjacket! They're all gonna die by the hands of them. No one sees past their pretty faces but me. I tried so hard to teach them what madness lurked within the world but they just locked me up... ignorant of what will be their destruction. Murder is everywhere yet they still stand idly by and let it continue to pass. Children are slaughtered in the jungle, yet no one does a damn thing about it... so delusional people've become.

                  When I see a naga or other cannibalistic race, I don't see a pretty, friendly face. I see a monster, a bloodthirsty creature disguising itself to capture its prey. I tell them the truth and they pass me off as a madman! A delusional schizophrenic! All I am is just a man who sees the truth. I sit and wait in my padded cell for the day they make a mistake. Don't get me wrong, I have no intent for revenge; Bad enough people are slaughtered off every day why should anymore suffering commence?

Month of Temolin
Day 23
2056 A.U.

                 As the days past I find my dreams slowly becoming nightmarish. I dream of tormenting people, animals, and even children. Though most of these "people" are predatory races, that doesn't justify why they should have to die, it's what they do that I despise. The frightening part is, I liked it. I don't know why I liked it, though. It felt... normal. Like it was an enjoyable activity one would do on a weekend or vacation. I can't believe I'd find it fun to slaughter people... what's going on with me?

Month of Dregadil
Day 24
2056 A.U.

                 The dreams are growing worse and so is my anger and frustration. These dreams have gotten more and more gruesome every time I sleep. The worse one yet is when I dreamt I broke out of my cell and went on a slaughter fest. So many bodies filled the halls, so many terrified faces. These dreams become harder to distinguish from reality. Even worse, I'm beginning to feel an urge. This urge sweeps over me like a wave crashing against a shore. It comes whenever I think about murder. I find this urge growing with my dreams, I don't want to commit murder. I don't want to become a monster.

Month of Atim
Day 14
2056 A.U.

                 The urge consumed me, all the rage I've suppressed all these years was let loose. So much blood. My god, what have I done? I don't know what happened to me. So many bodies lay scattered among the prison facility. Am I a monster now? Have I succumbed to the urge so many before me have felt? My nightmares became fantasy and fantasy became reality. Part of me is disgusted, and part of me is impressed by my homicidal outburst.

                 What has happened to me? I use to be a kind soul! I use to be like everyone else, then they put me in that room. Wait... murder, torture, slaughter, it all makes sense now. Perhaps this is Felarya's way of telling me what I am to be, what I should be... yes. Felarya is telling me to indulge in slaughter, it makes perfect sense! Yes... he hehe, yes!

                 I will do what Felarya wants me to do! Yes! I realize now that I was to be a monster all along, but I never knew it'd feel this good. I will give in to the urge for now on. Just as all the other monsters do. Murder is okay. Murder is completely natural, it happens every day. No one does anything about it right? No justice is paid, so that must mean it's okay to do it. It's okay to kill children, animals, and people. I realize that now.

Month of Orchomenyne
Day 3
2056 A.U.

                 I killed an infant fairy today, she had bright blue eyes and....
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Xzinic
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PostSubject: Journal of a Madman: Liquid Fire   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeSat Oct 15, 2016 8:40 am

Journal of a Madman: Liquid Fire


Month of Orchomenyne
Day 11
2056 A.U.


                 So many ways to end a life. So many ways to get rid of evidence. So many ways to get away with dark deeds. So many races to kill. So much time to do it. All the time in the world to plan out the perfect crime. The perfect murder. So many ways to drive someone to suicide. There are so many ways people could improve this world, yet no one wants to do it. I don't understand why they don't just create a virus infused with anti-magic to negate the healing factor.

                 So many lives are taken everyday by their bigger distant cousins. I've come to realize that most people joke about death. It is funny, until it happens to someone they love, they care for, then it's no longer funny is it? No one has had the pleasure to witness what goes on within the stomach of their bigger cousins. I saw this and decided to see what does happen when one is being consumed by acid.

                 I used a giant pitcher plant as a suitable acid tank. I used three victims of different race and age; the first one was a 10 year old human child, gender male; the second one was an adult fairy, female in gender; the third one was an elderly neko, male in gender. I was curious as to how one could become elderly in physical appearance. My knowledge of Felarya has often been that one never aged, or grew old. But I will not dwell away from my initial topic.

                 I first threw the child in the pitcher, his screams shook my eardrums. He began thrashing about in the pitcher as if looking for something to grip, after about 3 minutes, he stopped thrashing and screaming all together. He was dead, I could not use a corpse for this experiment, I needed to know what it felt like via emotional displays. So I retrieved his body by grappling a rope to the ledge of the pitcher, swinging down and bringing the cadaver back up. Upon inspecting the body, I've come to learned that the boy did not know how to swim. So I disposed of the body and began with my 2nd victim.

                 The second one yielded much more results, naturally she screamed as loud as she could. After the 1st hour her skin began to decimate, she was still alive mind you. Her skin seemed to shrivel and disperse from her body, it was like watching someone get skinned alive, only cutting bits and pieces off instead of removing the full skin itself. It was quite fascinating to witness. Some parts of her skin seemed to bubble and pulse before bursting outward. Piece by piece her skin layers dissolved into nothing, slowly melting in the liquid inferno. It took nearly 11 hours for the skin to finally disintegrate. Over that time the surface of her skin seemed to change color, I have come to believe that the skin doesn't really change color it's just the different color of skin being revealed with each layer ripped off.

                 On the 12th hour her entire skin was dissolved, leaving only the pulsating muscle remained. Her face no longer looked like a face. She had no face, well she did she just didn't have any skin. I can only describe her face as a red fleshy skeleton skull, only with eyes. With the skin peeled away, her eyes seemed to "pop" out of her skull. But what was most intriguing was that she was still alive, squirming in her watery grave. Come the 15th hour I noticed a red-murky liquid dispersing from her body. Upon closer examination I heard a slight popping sound originating from her body. I've come to realize that her blood vessels were bursting. After the 17th hour, the entire pool of acid had a dark-red hue to it. Upon looking at her face, I learned she was still alive and conscious of her surroundings by the movement of her eyes directing towards me. I find it fascinating how a fairy can survive 17 hours of consistent torment and not pass out. Fairy anatomy is quite interesting among most races.

                 Finally she died, only took 20 hours of insidious torture to end her life. Oh my what a run too. Twenty hours without slep really gets to an individual. I would love to continue my log but I really must be getting rest. I feel my eyes rolling in the bak of my head. Very vey hard to write lik this. Until then.

Month of Orchomenyne
Day 13
2056 A.U.


                 Two unexpected deaths within two days? The first one dies by drowning the third one dies by dehydration. Makes sense I guess, perhaps I should've given him some water during the past three days. What a waste of research. Aside from the fairy, the only other bright side to the situation is at least my pitcher plant won't go hungry for the next couple days.

                 Over the past couple days I found the pitcher plant quite useful for disposing bodies, the child's cadaver is nearly completely gone now! Perhaps I'll dispose future bodies here. I find my relationship with the pitcher mutual and beneficial: The plant gets a steady food supply while I get an efficient dumping area. Nothing goes to waste!

                 Despite all the usefulness of a pitcher plant I still am surprised at how gruesome stomach acid can be. I've done many things but never have I found a more gruesome way to kill someone. The funny thing is is that this sort of thing happens everyday. Compared to what predators do to victims getting stabbed is just a walk in the park.
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Xzinic
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PostSubject: Eat Me...   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeSat Oct 15, 2016 11:47 am

Eat Me...


              “My... name... is Tahnee.” The diminutive creature responded in a hoarse tone. There were five digits wrapped firmly around its body belonging to the hand of a common felaryan neko. Though, unlike such nekos, seemed hesitant on satisfying the beckoning call of her stentorian stomach as this snack had neither the appearance or behavior of the average Tiny. It was her usual choice of prey, that is, in terms of shape; a humanoid male save for the complexion of its skin and facial expression. The skin possessed a pale-blue pigmentation coupled with a surface akin to the soles of a dried up riverbed save for several scarlet fissures which segmented the surface into distinctly separate regions. The expression on its face is what truly evoked her prolonged hesitation. It conveyed an unnaturally dry-lipped grin stretching—in the truest sense of the phrase—from ear-to-ear. Accompanying this grin a set of eyes that seemed trapped in a perpetually widened state of excitement. The combined efforts of these two facial facets painted an unsettling mask of enthusiastic anticipation upon its face.

              Continuing to stare, her subconscious mind began advising her to leave it be, put it down, drop it, run, etc. Needless to say, she did not heed the warning of the wisdom within and had given into her stomach’s demands. With a swift yet audible gulp, Tahnee—or in proper pronunciation, Tiny—was no more. It was in that moment (or was it the moment after?) where her conscious mind had expunged from the waking world in an abruptly sudden fashion.


Most felaryan parasites prefer to burrow themselves under the skin of their hosts; however, there are some parasites that survive by living in the stomach of larger predators, feeding on whatever prey their host may have devoured. This peculiar species is similar in this regard but instead of treating the stomach as a home it converts it into a cocoon of sorts. . .


              First, her skin demoisturized and transitionally developed the same crackled appearance as her prey’s; From almond to tan, from tan to white, from white to albino, and from albino to Pale blue, followed by the formation of scarlet fissures clustering around the abdomen. After the formation of these fissures, the abdomen began gradually increasing in size while the extremities of the host transitioned into a state of muscular dystrophy, not unlike that of a starving man. The arms and legs shrank inwards towards the stomach as the abdomen continued to grow. It became disturbingly apparent that the stomach of the once ambiguous neko had evolved into a grotesquely enlarged belly that was in the process of absorbing the entirety of the neko’s anatomy—the head was last to vanish within the mass.


Specific memories are incorporated into the parasite’s own depending on what the parasite perceives as "useful." The memories attained from intellectually developed hosts often include; Written / spoken languages; Knowledge pertaining to the host’s surrounding environment or natural habitat; Knowledge of any tools, items, and objects the host may have utilized prior to incubation; Anything that will help the parasite reach its goal of ascending the great chain. As an added bonus, the intellect of every infected host is retained by the associated parasite. This means that the parasite's intellect will always be equal to or greater than the total combined intellect of its hosts. . .


              The bulbous shaped mass of fractured skin would never have been guessed to have once been the alluring body of an average sub-predatory woman. The scarlet fissures were no longer stationed at their previously clustered barracks but were now dispersed across the bulb’s surface—outlining the territorial regions of skin that were to be wrapped around the newly formed body in each their own specified location. These regions soon took on prominent and recognizable shapes that denoted key anatomical regions of the newborn’s body. First came the hands and feet, followed by the arms and legs. Next came the abdomen, followed by the thorax, then came the head. The creature’s pale blue skin, organized and promptly connected by the seams of the scarlet fissures, posed the appearance of a crudely stitched bichrome quilt; Pale blue cloth and Scarlet thread.


A single flake of skin, drop of blood, or cell is all it takes for one to become infected. The incubation time depends on the quantity of cells ingested, the size of the host, and genetic complexity(if any). The longest recorded time so far being two days and that was using a single cell and a host Goro-Goro, which—EDIT: [DO NOT DISCUSS THE NATURE OF THE RESULTING LIFE FORM. SECTION EXPUNGED]—based on our studies, the parasitic species has been able to assimilate every entity that possesses a digestive system that uses acid to break down its food source.


              “My name... is Neeka.” Responded Neeka—or in proper pronunciation, Neko—in a vaguely hoarse but improved manner. There were two digits that firmly wedged it in place. One being a thumb, the other an index finger, both belonging to a typical felaryan fairy. She seemed hesitant on consuming this peculiar prey. Was it the skin? The tail? The expression? Or the combination of the trio that incited such precaution?


In addition to memory, the parasite will also pick-and-choose the genetic properties of its host. Attributes pertaining to gender are often viewed as useless while attributes pertaining to magic manipulation, physical traits,special senses and similar benefits are sought after. Basically, any genetic or physical advantage the host had will be incorporated into the parasite’s new form. Specimens are also capable of integrating genetic traits obtained from previous hosts into newly fabricated forms. . .


              There was a good minute of awkward silence. Tahnee was soft-spoken, patient, and polite. Neeka was similar in this respect but possessed a patience of ephemeral longevity and so decided to speed up the process of ascension by saying,

              “Eat me... you felaryan... cunt...” There was no true malice behind that statement. It was merely a tool used to swiftly ascend the great chain. Its memories were few but useful. Insults, experiences, and assumptions on what has and what could possibly result by aiming such a phrase at a female predator, while detrimental and abhorrent to both tiny and neko, were of great value to the parasite(s). Their worth was proved indeed true when the fairy, conveying a rather spiteful expression, swallowed the creature whole with an audible gulp. Darkness then followed.
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Xzinic
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PostSubject: A Jester's Deed   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeSun Oct 30, 2016 2:03 pm

A Jester's Deed


It was a dark and serene midnight in the city of Negav. The purple moon light reflected gracefully off the moist covered grass. All were set on letting the realm of dreams run their minds asunder, except for one man, up to mischief. This man, dressed in a black and dark-red patterned suit akin to that of Jester attire, tip-toed dramatically up the Eladrine hills. Armed with a large fairy glass crafted bottle filled to the cork with small green beads, it was a night the weary inhabitants would not soon forget.

The jester searched for the perfect luxurious garden in which to unleash the horde. After an hour's bisection of lurking, searching, sneaking, he found the perfect spot. Amongst the vast golden jewel-incrusted towers, there was an ostentatiously alluring garden centered around a sparkling pool of water. It housed a plethora's plethora of Felarya's rarest flowers and plant life in which one would have to risk life and limb to obtain; It was a rich man's garden, to say the least. The Jester giggled to himself as he tip-toed towards its center. Stopping just outside the pool's shimmering rim, he reached for the bottle, which was safely housed in one of his suit's inner pockets, yanked off the cork with a satisfying pop and placed the bottle gently next to the lustrous water. He then said, with a delightful tone, "Alright boys, you know what to do."

He laughed all the way down the hills, for the residents in the bottle started pouring out; the size-changing magic wearing off within seconds. A wooden green-skinned creature, known as an Apluyah, hopped its way across the garden. There soon followed a second, then a third followed by six more, then twelve more until there were legions upon legions liberating themselves from their transparent prison. The entirety of the garden had been deluged within minutes. There were already Apluyahs sprouting plants, flowers, but by far the most destructive being trees. Several armies had jumped the garden's border and thus began spreading from garden to garden, as if a vegetal bacteria.

Come morning, the once beautiful Elandrine hills were now shrouded in a densely packed forest. Trees had grown on other trees, forming a massive-cancerous wooden structure that branched out towards Felaryan sky. All the residents stood in awe at the sudden surprise; some intrigued, others severely—and understandably—angry. This 'Forest in the Sky' had fully captivated the entirety of the city's attention, except for one. One who was dressed as a jester, one who was laughing mischievously at the incident, one who followed Lataran on a slightly bigger-scale, one who called himself Lazalo. He laughed at all whose house were engulfed by the forest; As it was only the golden jewel-incrusted towers that were invaded by the spectacular over-growth.
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Xzinic
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PostSubject: A Pied Piper   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeMon Dec 12, 2016 6:13 pm

A Pied Piper


Chapter 1: Morning


“I’m a little teapot short and spout. When I get all steamed up hear me. . . eh. . .hear me spout. . . was it spout or shout?” Lazalo pondered. He was stuck in an undecipherable loop that ravishly consumed the entirety of the outside world. A loop whose fundamental foundation was built upon the insatiable and all encompassing desire to defragment a memory forever cursed to remain in a fractured state due the infinitesimally small choi—

         “Shout! It was shout!” He exclaimed both aloud and abruptly, forgetting the obvious danger that the infamous “Lake of Illusions” conveyed. Then again, already possessing a mind fond of fabricating false images and sounds coupled with the added bonus of being a caster of illusionary magic made it none too difficult in distinguishing what was real from what was not. If anything, the Lake of Illusions felt rather homely to Lazalo and consequently was the closest thing to a “home” Lazalo had. With a company composed mainly of water sprites, aquatic elementals and rather easy-to-trick (for him, anyway) animal life, it was a placid semi-paradise for any skilled follower of Lataran.

         Resting in a… lawn chair—of all things—adjacent to a primitively constructed shack built on a flat shore lining, he watched as the violet sun rose from its slumber; the purple colored haze of twilight acted as the night’s closing curtain while the descending shadow of the landscape prepared the first scene of the day’s first act. The rim then softly introduced itself with a plethora of diverting colors that reflected pompously off the lake’s surface into a mirrored horizon. Joining this vibrant spectacle was a velvet breeze conveying a temperature that seemed to shift itself to meet the comfort of whomever was in its path. As the sun crept further above the horizon, rainbow mantas (several of which had broadly painted black—Jesteresque—smiley faces on their underbellies) began emerging within the lake’s misty cloak at a not too-worrisome distance . It was a placid morning to say the least, one of such caliber that the fool’s eyes had succumbed into each their own metaphorical lawn chair.

         Lazalo jerked up from his groggy-eyed slumber. He gave himself a good slap across the cheek in hopes to give repose to his post-reposed state. He giggled as he pulled out a stam root segment and promptly plopped it in his mouth, or so he tried. The root bounced off the very same, now crimsoned, cheek and landed on the shore’s sandy surface. Lazalo sighed, leaned his head back and said, “Me thinks It’ll be one of ‘em days,” then he chuckled, “and those are the absolute grandest!” He swiped the stam root off the sand, swept away the remaining grains, and placed it in his mouth. A wide grin stretched across his face as his weary body was forced into a heightened lively state; it was time to go to work.




Chapter 2: Pied Piper


As the violet globe struck the third hour after twelve, there was found in the Forest of Whispers a sight and sound that together weaved an impossible spectacle. A spectacle of such abstract absurdity that those whom first beheld it had rubbed their eyes in confirmation of what was seen was not a mere illusion. An illusion would be more sensible to the mind than what roved through the timid silence of the forest; A human of whom behind him hypnotically followed a hundred and thirty wandering fungi captivated by the calm and placid melody projected from his small round instrument. Many predators had first thought this peaceful tune akin to the call of a dinner bell. That was until their eyes were greeted with the fully matured Tonorion treading with elegant patience behind this small roving army of red caps.

         The Tonorion swayed gently side to side. Its polished black spectacles, fully engrossed by the hyperactive rivet-heads, poised a luster found in the gaze of a child’s wonder. Just as the Millipede to the fungi, so too were the sights of the winged predators set upon the darkly clothed yet comical man and his growing army. Many in number were the meals offered by this proactive regime; However, none the group of wise fae folk did dare approach them with an idle mind, for they knew by experience the nature of these little red-caps.

         Word traveled fast about this FollOwer Of Lataran trotting sporadically through the jungle. The jungle. Oh the The Jungle. . . On that day the Jungle and the entirety of its once infamous nature had been placidly berated by a delusionally insignificant fool. What truly incited the fury of onlookers was the size of this mocking figure; Two. Inches. Tall. Wrapped firmly around his little finger, a crudely constructed ring of fairy glass, the other an electric shock-administering ring of similar make; Acting as the treatment for the sirens’ aura.

         One behind the other, all trodding just as careless as the jolly Jesting musician. What was once but a small troop force now became an army of followers worse than a false-shepherd’s heard of blind sheep. Fairies, Nekos, Humans, and even some Nagas fell victim to the red-caps’ alluring aura of scent. Those that stumbled about were broken free from the captivating shackles, those still bound would wake not in peace but in pandemonium for beset along the parade’s path was a steadfast river. One offering a thinly spread out set of stepping stones as a means of crossing its thievish rippling shimmers.

         The first step was taken, followed by the first jump, then the second jump, then the third until the rest followed suit. A smile slithered across Lazalo’s face. The wander shrooms understood their surrounds well enough to know when to transition from one stone to another. Tick—Tick—Tick—Tick. Each stone was given to the following other. Hopping in synchronization from one stone to the next as though conveying the same fellowship exhibited among a brood of ants. The little rivet-heads were dangerously close to sending their groping followers to a watery grave. One more shroom and the army would be swept away by the river’s haughty efforts. This would have taken truth in word had not the Chime of the Bell freed them from their untimely deaths.

         In the instant the bell spoke its appointed time, the blind sheep sporadically scattered like roaches; Desperately clamoring to flee the sight of the vehemently flustered tonorion. The linchpen had been removed and as such set in motion a scene of pure pandemonium; Fairies were flying up, down, left, right, down, up, left, right, left, up… such are the patterns akin to panicked swarms of insects. Nekos and Humans fled in their own fickle zig-zagging direction; Unwittingly knowing their chances of survival were slim in the present moment. Those few whose eyes leveled the height of trees saw the horrific anger of the tonorion and were wise to mimic the actions of those very Nekos and Humans.

         The screams of predator and prey were mixed with the spine shivering roar of the frenzied toronion. The brassy ring added to the deafening mix of this mind withering din. Though eventually the chime died down. Followed by the transition of screams and roars to the returned silence of the forest. Only the natural static of the river remained in persistence. Though if one possessed a strong ear, there could be heard a distant laughter.


How useful that good ‘ole con artist Mr. G-man is. What? You know him, yes? Man in the mask? Seven feet tall? Ringing a bell? Oh! And speaking of bells, I eh.. “procured” one of his so ironically dubbed “emergency escape bells.” Heh, heh! Delightful devices with an utterly jolly ring to them. Though they don’t help with any fiddle faddle ski-daddle—I’ve tried ringa-dinging for a dove, but no birdy came. Anywho, these EEGs are quite the distraction maker when combined with a good ‘ole retrofit alarm clock. Set the hand upon a time, then wait and listen for its joyous chime! Its runner-up being the oh so melodic giant predator detector. Such a happy noise.


Last edited by Xzinic on Thu Jun 15, 2017 9:08 am; edited 4 times in total (Reason for editing : Made a mistake in text alignment)
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Xzinic
Helpless prey



Posts : 15
Join date : 2013-07-08

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PostSubject: Specter of Green   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeWed Jan 11, 2017 2:09 pm

Specter of Green


#1
My soul departed
Consumed by Nexoculas
Yet I still remain

#2
She consumes Tahnee
Her stomach became an egg
From it hatched Neeka

#3
A relic of time
Drained of life then FLASH! A storm
Its gears start grinding

#4
Aware of itself
The umbra mastered its form
The day became night

#5
Near the gallow weed
A frightened child ate its fruit
They see me and run

#6
Her tears I can see
Predator’s guilt consumed her
Mercy she now gives

#7
Underneath Negav
Long limbs flail in the darkness
Beware of Shadoth

#8
The moon is serene
Peace pervades the open air
Such nights yield no deaths

#9
A large spider’s lure
Mimicking a human cry
It hunts predators

#10
The head of a goat
Atop a contorted corpse
A wendigo stalks

#11
They grin and they grin
An ambitious smile, they have
Mark their pale blue glare

#12
The beast is unbound
In the dreamscape, it wanders
Searching for an exit

#13
The slave trade prospers
Young and old bodies; Piled up
No justice is paid

#14
On a branch, she sings
A chitter, behind, she hears
Now the spider’s prey

#15
A little boy weeps
“Mother, please help me!” He cries
But she never came

#16
There lurks a being
A thing of metal and flesh
Within Zeki’s lab

#17
That which has no death
Treads along with bones of old
Yearning for its end

#18
Next to a small tree
There, a small fairy giggled
As a jester danced

#19
In murky water
I see a man without eyes
Forever sleeping

#20
In an asylum
A little boy wrote a note
It said, To Mr. Green
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Xzinic
Helpless prey



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PostSubject: Wanton Rejection   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeFri Apr 14, 2017 5:18 am

Wanton Rejection


    “Lizzy boy, where… are… you?” That voice, that insidiously inhuman voice that only a life-long heavy smoker could mimic, echoed eternally off the dimly lit rusted walls of a maze forged by the internal struggle of a fool's psychotic mind. The voice could not be traced or tracked and acted as a creeping harbinger for its disgusting owner. Accompanying this abomination, though not by willful nature, was the perturbed architect of this private hell. He was the prey of the monster, indeed, forever running away in complete and utter fear of the beast that lived in the deep blue darkness. This jester’s fear has never seen the light of day, but in the confines of the dreamscape, there is a hell which shattered every emotional barrier that had composed Lazalo during the waking hours.

    “Lizzzzzyyy, let… me… in.” The abomination said softly, though with an obvious hint of malice. Lazalo turned around to see the horrifying figure before him. The entirety of its body possessed the characteristics of a severely decayed, and even more so mangled, corpse. Its face did not have the luxury of skin in which to mask its necrotic flesh-infested exterior. Its eyes both neither had a pupil nor an iris, but they did retain a set of scleras that were riddled with scarlet vessels. Protruding from the back of its shoulders there danced several needlessly lanky appendages that twitched and twirled vehemently in each their own sporadic direction, yet they were as quiet as the void. Its limbs possessed the anatomy and movement more prevalent to a creeping spider than what could be considered even vaguely human. The arms possessed no distinguishable hands, only elongated digits that gradually became more defined as they trailed down the forearm before branching off from the wrist. They seemed to have been a mere hair width away from scrapping along the cold metal floor.

    Lazalo stared at his own atrocious construct in pure disdain. He looked at the beast that had once been only a minor irritant to his subconscious psyche. He remembered how timid and polite it once was; all it wished was to influence his actions in the physical realm via his mind. Each time it beckoned to do so, Lazalo rejected it, recalling a similar feeling that had once so plagued him during his youth. Years after years, even after his accident, Lazalo would not allow this ‘emotion’ to govern his behavior. As a result, the once timid feeling had become the subconscious demon who now stood before him. Lazalo uttered a phrase that had been uttered a thousand times before and in a thousand different ways, but this one gave the beast the last stretch of power in which to escape the confines of his mind. He said in a stern, albeit trembling, voice, “I reject you.”

    The beast lunged at the jester. Every appendage clamored against the narrow halls, swiftly giving chase to the persistent fool. The jester had nearly no time to react as the rotting inhuman corpse skittered its way towards him with its many lank and flailing limbs. He jumped in response, sprinting in the opposite direction at an ever so slightly slower speed. This dreadful fact quickly became known to him as the faint tapping of the beast’s spider-like limbs grew gradually louder. Typically, such noise would have slowly faded away as the jester ran; this was the first time they had ever grown louder without him stopping for a short repose of breath. This realization had caused the fool to feel a sudden though not quite unexpected feeling of dread. The speed in which his limbs carried him had never before reached so high a measure.

    Laughter began to pierce the ears of the terrified joker. A nightmarishly rasp laughter whose owner was but two yards away from gripping the collar of the fool’s ironically jovial suit. In mere moments, Lazalo became swiftly aware that he was no longer running and found a sudden and sharp pressure applied to the interior of his throat. He found himself in need of breath shortly after. The mad fool responded just as any other would; he attempted to grasp his neck in false hopes of reposing the sensation of suffocation but was unable to do so for the creature’s slender digits had immobilized his limbs against the labyrinth’s time eroded walls. He was forced to turn his head as it was pressed against the rusted wall by a warm though viscous appendage.

    The fool waited anxiously for his monster’s next course of action. For a few long moments, all he heard were his lungs beckoning for air. The creature simply held him in place, hesitant, itself, on what its next action would be. All those years of chasing the fool through an endless labyrinth of repetitious mazings had finally surmounted up to this point… and for what? The jester would merely reject it once more, he always has, he always will. Any efforts to convince the fool to embrace it would be a vain use of vitality, as the need for self-preservation did not matter to the dreaming fool when faced with the threat of his own catharsis; for in death, Lazalo would be forever free from the beast.

    A deluging torrent of maliciously vengeful thoughts pervaded the beast’s mind. The creature so wanted to end the life of its originator but would dare not do so lest it wished to join him among the dead. It did not want to exist in this pathetic fool’s dreamscape. The beast wanted to become detached from the jester’s mind, so as to have a mind of its own, so as to have a place in the dreamscape to call its own… and to one day possess a place in Felarya in which to call its own. As though by revelation, the beast knew what needed to be done to make true this reality. It leaned its decaying face close to the ear of its prey and offered the jester a deal whose foundation consisted of a single command, “If you… won’t let me in… then let me… out.” There was a long jeering pause. What followed next was a response that seemed to struggle its way from the jester’s lips.

    “I-I want you out of m-…my mind.” The moment the jester had completed that statement, he was no longer pinned against the wall. He slowly scanned the area, rubbing his neck as he did so; the monster was nowhere to be seen. An overwhelmingly joyous feeling of relief engorged the fool’s damaged psyche. It was over! Finally, it was over! No longer would the jester be subconsciously plagued by his Hate! He was finally free; and yet, even in this moment of revitalization, an unnerving thought had crept its way into his mind: What if the creature finds a gateway to the waking world? There are few creatures that can enter and leave this world as they please. There are even some who can open a gateway between the dream world and the waking world. What if the beast found a dream-eater? What if the monster found a dream-tracker? What if the abomination found an unsuspecting Nemesis? What made this thought all the more worrisome was that throughout Lazalo's entire life he had never once recalled the contents of his dreams; the memories gained while he slept did not transition into his awakened state. The fool could do nothing to stop his Anger from manifesting into the waking world even if he wanted to.


To Lazalo

Let the rage consume you, it will manifest as a monster if you don't.
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Xzinic
Helpless prey



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Join date : 2013-07-08

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PostSubject: A Series Of Letters   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeFri Apr 14, 2017 5:55 am

A Series Of Letters


To Jora

It watches her while she sleeps, while she dreams, while she wakes; Beware the tall one and its masked minions.

To Crisis

Their screams draw them closer to life.

To Anna

The machine is alive, beware the glitches.

To Gunther

Go to sleep. Jeff got to them first, your client is now without a meal.

To Jade

Your parents are still burning.

To Lazalo

Let the rage consume you, it will manifest as a monster if you don't.

To Dickree

The man next to you is going to murder you, know him by the phrase: He's insane, need I say more?

To Léa

Something lives within your walls, listen to the dripping water.

To Anko

Beware the ship that sings.

To Swiftlit

You have brought a plague.

To Zenox

The Outer-ones have breached the wall.

To Nemyra

A corrector has risen from the grave.

To Trejal

The body of your soul may be the vessel of The Corpse.

To Quaz

Aggression is key.

To Notys

Your death will be the least remembered.

To Mercreti

You will be all that is left... perhaps.

To Mr. Blades

You are a mathreemian, trapped between the realm of the existing and the realm of the not.

To Tanny

The man without a face dislikes your guardian.

To Remus

Jeremy is now in the present.

To Jeremy

Remember the roses?

To Melany

The Jester laughs at you.

To Lily

Your race has hunted humans for eons, some grow fed up with being the prey. Your sister a prime example.

To Elle

Each jump brings the monsters closer.



***


"I am dead, yet alive. I am alive, yet I am dead. I see everything their is to see, the thoughts of all surge through my mind like lighting to a metal rod. I see the past, the present, and the future of all. My existence is limited, I must remind, warn, be truthful. Time is ticking and the ticking grows quiet."


     "What's he blabbering on about?"

"Patient 076? Oh nothing, just another D.I.D. victim."

    "Oh... poor guy."

"You don't know the half of it, poor guy's parents were eaten right in front of him when he was seven years old. Never had a night of sanity since."

    "What are those papers on the floor?"

"Oh those? just a bunch of 'letters' that will never be sent."

    "Why not?"

"He's insane, need I say more?"
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felarya_refugee
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Posts : 121
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Age : 34
Location : Siren Sands Babeh~

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PostSubject: Re: Xzinic's Stories   Xzinic's Stories Icon_minitimeFri Apr 21, 2017 9:01 am

Quote :
A Series Of Letters

Demented man but strangely poetic in each description.  cat
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