Post by MorningStar on Jan 25, 2007 20:55:43 GMT -5
(OOC: Before you start, I know it's short 
there are reasons)
"A man may claim to have gods or demons, magic or belief, luck or karma on their side. But ultimately he must realise the truth... When all is said and done, there is no one but himself." - Anonymous
Like cut diamonds of the purest clarity, the stars burn in their ebon bed. Lying like the finest silk, the frost envelops the rough, gritty earth. Nights like this are few and far between. A pure winters night in the heart of the welsh valleys... such a night can only be decribed as crystalline, it's beauty sharp, cold and pure. Such is the way of winter time. For one night, and one night alone, the ugliness of the world is masked 'neath a veneer of purity, a light dusting of snow is all it takes to turn the real surreal, and the surreal to eldritch. Fitting then, that upon this nameless mountain in the dead of winter does a new chapter begin...
A sliver of moon illuminates the glade, bathing the stark trees with its rays, turning them from haunting dryads to luminescent giants. The air is so cold, yet so still, that ones breath almost tinkles from the lips in billowing clouds. All is silent, until the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps in snow…
<|?|>Voice<|?|>
Three years is a long, long time. Jesus, way too long…
From beneath the shadows of a bare oak a lone figure emerges, seemingly borne of the depths within. Barely a stark silhouette against the glaring snow, the figure seems almost wraithlike. An arm reaches out, a gloved hand stroking the bark of the oak from which it crept.
<|?|>Voice<|?|>
Three years without feeling. Three years without sensation. Not the pleasure of eating or drinking, not the heady joy of laying with a woman… not even the warm, drowsy embrace of sleeping. Three years of my life gone, watched from afar as a stranger wrenched away my existence, and twisted it to his own ends. And in all that time, I never tried to stop it…
Finally the figure steps into the moonlight, the eldritch rays outlining the features of our mysterious speaker. Lank hair in black and red cascades past the shoulders, a hooked nose protruding over tight lips. And resting above these feature, a mask of bone white, crafted and carved loving to perfectly fit the contours of the face. A face known to many – a face that has brought blood, terror and destruction to many. But the eyes tell a different story…
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
Since as far back as I remember, I’ve always fallen short. By a second, by a yard, by a goal… it’s always been the same. Finally, I took it one step too far. Many people out there believe in something, a higher being, a creator, something. Whether it exists or not is irrelevant, their force of belief is what drives them higher and further. They truly think that having such a force on their side will aide their chances in whatever they do, will stop them before they push too hard, will save them if it all falls apart. I suppose you could call it a mental safety net. Well, I too found something to believe in. I found something which would help me move that extra second faster, jump that extra yard, reach out and brush that goal with my fingertips… but I took it one step too far.
The man known throughout the world as The MorningStar, Ogou Badagris and many other names, kneels in the snow, absently tracing a circle in the crunching ice. He adds to it, expanding the circle with a second, before adding arcane and mystic symbols, beautiful yet terrifying to behold.
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
This was my downfall. To this I prayed, to this I sacrificed… to this I screamed my plea, and was answered. Since then I’ve fought every step of the way, battling my demons in the realest sense imaginable. Sometimes I won… but sometimes I lost. No amount of snow can ever cover my deeds throughout these years, the blood on my hands will never wash away. But life moves on, does it not? No salvation, no atonement… just a desire to turn your back on all that’s happened, grieve for those left in your wake, and soldier on doggedly…
His Veve complete, Mental flows gracefully back to his feet, solemnly staring down at the ritual marking. Sighing deeply and with a gentle shake of the head, he reaches to his chest, seizing the flimsy silk robe between claw-like fingers, and tearing it from his body. The harsh ripping of the fabric seems even louder in the serene glade. Dropping the shredded rag on top of the veve, he reaches behind his head, searching for the fastenings of the mask and dragging it clear. He holds it in both hands, staring at the empty eye sockets, seeing something not quite there…
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
I’ve learnt now where belief gets you. It brings you agony, torture and pain. Belief is a cancer that, unbeknownst to the believer, eats away at you inside. It rots your mind, distorts your perceptions… it makes you something your not. No more will I hide, no more will I run. I need nothing to give me an edge, nor to give me the drive to go on. I don’t need excuses or miracles… and I damned well don’t need this…
That said, he drops the mask upon the Veve, where it nestles like a grotesque bird in a nest of ragged black satin. Mentals shoulders begin to tremble, his chest heaving erratically with laughter…
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
For better or worse, I’m once again my own man, and my future is mine to fashion as I see fit. Omarian, congratulations. You have a chance no one else in the future will EVER have. You have a chance to stop destiny before it begins, you have the choice of ending a mans legacy before it’s been engraved upon the scrolls of history. But inversely, your future could also be blunted, could also be stopped dead in its tracks even before the wheels gain momentum… Tell me, Omarian… what do YOU believe in?
That said, “The MorningStar” Johnny Mental gives one last glance at the pathetic pile, then turns and walks on silent feet back to the shadows and the world beyond, leaving the symbols of a life not truly lived behind…
[/color] there are reasons)"A man may claim to have gods or demons, magic or belief, luck or karma on their side. But ultimately he must realise the truth... When all is said and done, there is no one but himself." - Anonymous
Like cut diamonds of the purest clarity, the stars burn in their ebon bed. Lying like the finest silk, the frost envelops the rough, gritty earth. Nights like this are few and far between. A pure winters night in the heart of the welsh valleys... such a night can only be decribed as crystalline, it's beauty sharp, cold and pure. Such is the way of winter time. For one night, and one night alone, the ugliness of the world is masked 'neath a veneer of purity, a light dusting of snow is all it takes to turn the real surreal, and the surreal to eldritch. Fitting then, that upon this nameless mountain in the dead of winter does a new chapter begin...
A sliver of moon illuminates the glade, bathing the stark trees with its rays, turning them from haunting dryads to luminescent giants. The air is so cold, yet so still, that ones breath almost tinkles from the lips in billowing clouds. All is silent, until the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps in snow…
<|?|>Voice<|?|>
Three years is a long, long time. Jesus, way too long…
From beneath the shadows of a bare oak a lone figure emerges, seemingly borne of the depths within. Barely a stark silhouette against the glaring snow, the figure seems almost wraithlike. An arm reaches out, a gloved hand stroking the bark of the oak from which it crept.
<|?|>Voice<|?|>
Three years without feeling. Three years without sensation. Not the pleasure of eating or drinking, not the heady joy of laying with a woman… not even the warm, drowsy embrace of sleeping. Three years of my life gone, watched from afar as a stranger wrenched away my existence, and twisted it to his own ends. And in all that time, I never tried to stop it…
Finally the figure steps into the moonlight, the eldritch rays outlining the features of our mysterious speaker. Lank hair in black and red cascades past the shoulders, a hooked nose protruding over tight lips. And resting above these feature, a mask of bone white, crafted and carved loving to perfectly fit the contours of the face. A face known to many – a face that has brought blood, terror and destruction to many. But the eyes tell a different story…
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
Since as far back as I remember, I’ve always fallen short. By a second, by a yard, by a goal… it’s always been the same. Finally, I took it one step too far. Many people out there believe in something, a higher being, a creator, something. Whether it exists or not is irrelevant, their force of belief is what drives them higher and further. They truly think that having such a force on their side will aide their chances in whatever they do, will stop them before they push too hard, will save them if it all falls apart. I suppose you could call it a mental safety net. Well, I too found something to believe in. I found something which would help me move that extra second faster, jump that extra yard, reach out and brush that goal with my fingertips… but I took it one step too far.
The man known throughout the world as The MorningStar, Ogou Badagris and many other names, kneels in the snow, absently tracing a circle in the crunching ice. He adds to it, expanding the circle with a second, before adding arcane and mystic symbols, beautiful yet terrifying to behold.
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
This was my downfall. To this I prayed, to this I sacrificed… to this I screamed my plea, and was answered. Since then I’ve fought every step of the way, battling my demons in the realest sense imaginable. Sometimes I won… but sometimes I lost. No amount of snow can ever cover my deeds throughout these years, the blood on my hands will never wash away. But life moves on, does it not? No salvation, no atonement… just a desire to turn your back on all that’s happened, grieve for those left in your wake, and soldier on doggedly…
His Veve complete, Mental flows gracefully back to his feet, solemnly staring down at the ritual marking. Sighing deeply and with a gentle shake of the head, he reaches to his chest, seizing the flimsy silk robe between claw-like fingers, and tearing it from his body. The harsh ripping of the fabric seems even louder in the serene glade. Dropping the shredded rag on top of the veve, he reaches behind his head, searching for the fastenings of the mask and dragging it clear. He holds it in both hands, staring at the empty eye sockets, seeing something not quite there…
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
I’ve learnt now where belief gets you. It brings you agony, torture and pain. Belief is a cancer that, unbeknownst to the believer, eats away at you inside. It rots your mind, distorts your perceptions… it makes you something your not. No more will I hide, no more will I run. I need nothing to give me an edge, nor to give me the drive to go on. I don’t need excuses or miracles… and I damned well don’t need this…
That said, he drops the mask upon the Veve, where it nestles like a grotesque bird in a nest of ragged black satin. Mentals shoulders begin to tremble, his chest heaving erratically with laughter…
<|?|>The MorningStar<|?|>
For better or worse, I’m once again my own man, and my future is mine to fashion as I see fit. Omarian, congratulations. You have a chance no one else in the future will EVER have. You have a chance to stop destiny before it begins, you have the choice of ending a mans legacy before it’s been engraved upon the scrolls of history. But inversely, your future could also be blunted, could also be stopped dead in its tracks even before the wheels gain momentum… Tell me, Omarian… what do YOU believe in?
That said, “The MorningStar” Johnny Mental gives one last glance at the pathetic pile, then turns and walks on silent feet back to the shadows and the world beyond, leaving the symbols of a life not truly lived behind…