09-27-2017, 06:33 PM
It was gone.
All that remained of the Scint River was a thin, black scar, snaking from north to south somewhere in the transition from the Tidepools to the Cliffs. It smelled acrid and alien, that black line, a tiny sliver of void clinging to his world. All that remained of the ghost madness was memory.
And all he'd wanted was to do something good...
But Kisamoa did not believe in inherent goodness. He, briefly, had believed in remorse, compassion even, and in making things right. He believed in the fair trade of services and emotions, of bargains made between supply and demand.
He did not believe in holy paladins, in altruism, in anything but greed—the advancing of the self. Whether they knew it or not, it seemed to be what they all strove for: joy and prosperity for themselves.
He had gone where he shouldn't. He had stepped into affairs he did not understand. He had tried to be kind, when he was bred for cruelty—an amalgam of stubbornness and vengeance. Why had he thought to help..? Why did he let them get to him—Castiella and Kiada? Why did he care?
Slowly, he shook his head. Red tipped the long, coarse hairs of his scruff, and on his back, a tiger pelt's cloak and a second spine were fused together. Black fangs glowed green in his mouth. Iridescent scales glittered here and there upon his body, the seams oozing black blood. Next to him, a shadow-demon stood, restlessly twirling a sword mane from bone.
Look what you made me do. His eyes narrowed, and his body went from deathly stillness to the fury of a sea, whipping around to face those he had shepherded from certain death into an unveiled East.
"This is all your fault!" he roared at them, before striding away with impossibly long strides, disappearing into the distance, to brood.
All that remained of the Scint River was a thin, black scar, snaking from north to south somewhere in the transition from the Tidepools to the Cliffs. It smelled acrid and alien, that black line, a tiny sliver of void clinging to his world. All that remained of the ghost madness was memory.
And all he'd wanted was to do something good...
But Kisamoa did not believe in inherent goodness. He, briefly, had believed in remorse, compassion even, and in making things right. He believed in the fair trade of services and emotions, of bargains made between supply and demand.
He did not believe in holy paladins, in altruism, in anything but greed—the advancing of the self. Whether they knew it or not, it seemed to be what they all strove for: joy and prosperity for themselves.
He had gone where he shouldn't. He had stepped into affairs he did not understand. He had tried to be kind, when he was bred for cruelty—an amalgam of stubbornness and vengeance. Why had he thought to help..? Why did he let them get to him—Castiella and Kiada? Why did he care?
Slowly, he shook his head. Red tipped the long, coarse hairs of his scruff, and on his back, a tiger pelt's cloak and a second spine were fused together. Black fangs glowed green in his mouth. Iridescent scales glittered here and there upon his body, the seams oozing black blood. Next to him, a shadow-demon stood, restlessly twirling a sword mane from bone.
Look what you made me do. His eyes narrowed, and his body went from deathly stillness to the fury of a sea, whipping around to face those he had shepherded from certain death into an unveiled East.
"This is all your fault!" he roared at them, before striding away with impossibly long strides, disappearing into the distance, to brood.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
This is a direct continuation of » every broken promise, where the Scint River was torn from the Rift and flung into the void.
KISAMOA'S ITEMS:
Tiger God Hide Armor (shape of a cloak)
Tiger God Bone Sword (wielded by a shadow demon)
Crocodile God Spine Bow (masquerading as a spine on Kis)
Wolf God Fangs (glowing in his mouth)