Solanis
12-19-2017, 08:27 PM
Kisamoa was not certain anyone would heed his call, unaided as it was by the compelling force of his own peculiar magics. It had always been so easy to simply demand they attend him, force them to listen to his voice as he.. what? Told them to go save his land? He'd asked them to explore, sure they'd find something to love, to grow fond of, yet they had only drifted, and been pushed back by the shadows. Repulsed, even.
Force had gotten him nowhere. He knew now that most of them loathed, or feared, him. His natives were uncertain of him; he was the remnant of their stolen gods, yes, but what was he? What was his agenda?
He was uncertain of himself.
The first to come was one of the Helovian children, watching him with bold eyes, yet smelling of fear. Next, the dragon-stranger, protectively curving his wings around the girl, speaking to her yet watching him; Kisamoa's ugly jaw shifted, sharp, mismatched teeth poking out in a mockery of an unintentional grin. The tone of voice, the protective stance, the keen gaze, it all spoke a plain language, one of distrust and doubt.
He knew of the strangers who had arrived, of course; he had seen them all. Taivas, the shaman, arrived next, mustering enough courage to ask him if he needed help. Kisamoa's malformed face showed something akin to surprise, his cervine body shifting slightly. It was the first time he had, in such clear terms, been offered aid, and it reminded him of the constant aching throb of the gods chewing their way into his skin.
"There is nothing you can do for me," he told the girl sadly, noticing the stallion who hung back, and the startled black one that descended to stand next to the kind shaman. Kiada came next, brazenly stepping in front of the crowd, and smiling at him. Spurred on by his glowing companion ball of light, he offered her a tentative, ghoulish smile. "Thank you, Kiada," he mumbled, watching her withdraw to the others.
K'yarie—one of the Natives—seeped out of the shadows, a little bit of night crawling into the day. She stood, for the most part, alone, yet chose to acknowledge all of those gathered. She spoke up, and Kisamoa inclined his head. "Soon I will tell you," he rumbled, "for more are coming." Both of them hung back on the edges, though Otem chose to stand a little closer. Fond of her as he was, Kisamoa swiveled his head to look at her, trying to catch her eye, as if it could somehow convey his gratitude of her still being around. Perhaps he did not deserve the loyalty of her and Kiada, but he was grateful for having what little slivers of it that he did.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and listened. The most immediate surroundings were quiet; if more were coming, they would be late, but he figured he could forgive them for such a thing.
His dark eyes opened again, and his jaws parted, revealing a mess of fangs, some of them glowing green, but he hesitated. What does one say? How do you build anything, fix anything?
"Thank you all for coming," he began, haltingly, trying the words out. They felt wrong in his mouth, but he was swimming in uncharted waters, and they were all he had. Screaming at them didn't seem very.. hope-inspiring. "I.. have.. made mistakes," he forced past his bleeding lips, "and I'd like to, hrm."
He was not made to hold kindness and consideration in his mouth. He was made to avenge, to dominate, to destroy. Frustrated, he touched his soft nose to the ball of pleasant light, only to have it scatter into ten smaller ones. Surprised, his eyes narrowed at it.
".. our world is dying," he finally said, a bit of uncompromising truth. "But I have found hope. I want to share it with you. I want you to share it with the land, with each other, with anyone else you may come across." He nudged one of the balls, and nine of the ten drifted away from him—one to each of them. The tenth clung stubbornly to his own shadow. Oddly touched, the creature of darkness swept his gaze over those gathered.
"Go in good company, bring the light with you where you go. Perhaps together, we can—" He paused for a moment as his jaw rearranged itself, and to cool the burning on his tongue from the words he spoke. "—we can save this place."
Force had gotten him nowhere. He knew now that most of them loathed, or feared, him. His natives were uncertain of him; he was the remnant of their stolen gods, yes, but what was he? What was his agenda?
He was uncertain of himself.
The first to come was one of the Helovian children, watching him with bold eyes, yet smelling of fear. Next, the dragon-stranger, protectively curving his wings around the girl, speaking to her yet watching him; Kisamoa's ugly jaw shifted, sharp, mismatched teeth poking out in a mockery of an unintentional grin. The tone of voice, the protective stance, the keen gaze, it all spoke a plain language, one of distrust and doubt.
He knew of the strangers who had arrived, of course; he had seen them all. Taivas, the shaman, arrived next, mustering enough courage to ask him if he needed help. Kisamoa's malformed face showed something akin to surprise, his cervine body shifting slightly. It was the first time he had, in such clear terms, been offered aid, and it reminded him of the constant aching throb of the gods chewing their way into his skin.
"There is nothing you can do for me," he told the girl sadly, noticing the stallion who hung back, and the startled black one that descended to stand next to the kind shaman. Kiada came next, brazenly stepping in front of the crowd, and smiling at him. Spurred on by his glowing companion ball of light, he offered her a tentative, ghoulish smile. "Thank you, Kiada," he mumbled, watching her withdraw to the others.
K'yarie—one of the Natives—seeped out of the shadows, a little bit of night crawling into the day. She stood, for the most part, alone, yet chose to acknowledge all of those gathered. She spoke up, and Kisamoa inclined his head. "Soon I will tell you," he rumbled, "for more are coming." Both of them hung back on the edges, though Otem chose to stand a little closer. Fond of her as he was, Kisamoa swiveled his head to look at her, trying to catch her eye, as if it could somehow convey his gratitude of her still being around. Perhaps he did not deserve the loyalty of her and Kiada, but he was grateful for having what little slivers of it that he did.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and listened. The most immediate surroundings were quiet; if more were coming, they would be late, but he figured he could forgive them for such a thing.
His dark eyes opened again, and his jaws parted, revealing a mess of fangs, some of them glowing green, but he hesitated. What does one say? How do you build anything, fix anything?
"Thank you all for coming," he began, haltingly, trying the words out. They felt wrong in his mouth, but he was swimming in uncharted waters, and they were all he had. Screaming at them didn't seem very.. hope-inspiring. "I.. have.. made mistakes," he forced past his bleeding lips, "and I'd like to, hrm."
He was not made to hold kindness and consideration in his mouth. He was made to avenge, to dominate, to destroy. Frustrated, he touched his soft nose to the ball of pleasant light, only to have it scatter into ten smaller ones. Surprised, his eyes narrowed at it.
".. our world is dying," he finally said, a bit of uncompromising truth. "But I have found hope. I want to share it with you. I want you to share it with the land, with each other, with anyone else you may come across." He nudged one of the balls, and nine of the ten drifted away from him—one to each of them. The tenth clung stubbornly to his own shadow. Oddly touched, the creature of darkness swept his gaze over those gathered.
"Go in good company, bring the light with you where you go. Perhaps together, we can—" He paused for a moment as his jaw rearranged itself, and to cool the burning on his tongue from the words he spoke. "—we can save this place."
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
Everyone has been given an item!
Piece of Hope
A fist-sized ball of pleasant light, giving hope and light to whomever has it. Infinitely split-able. Mitigates the harmful and violent effects of the Rift.
Any attempts to steal or forcibly take a Piece of Hope will simply cause it to split, giving Hope to all involved. :)
In more OOC terms, Kisamoa is specifically asking you to go in small groups, bringing Hope to the lands! If you meet anyone without a Piece of Hope, you are encouraged to see if yours will split, and offer Hope to everyone. Please log your Hope-specific group outings in your SWP tracker and post in Maintenance if you share your Hope with someone!
You are still allowed to join the thread, even if you did not post in the first round.
You are welcome to leave and/or remain to mingle and/or ask questions of Kis. You don't have to adhere to the posting order. Kis's next post will be on the 30th, or earlier if all current participants have gotten theirs in. :)
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
