Green Labyrinth
01-17-2018, 05:40 AM
He was dejected, starving, and exhausted. All these futile attempts to simply snare the creatures that creeped into his home had ended with nothing but a hollow burning in his stomach of hunger. Even the other less intelligent creatures of the Rift he used to feed on had stopped coming once they scented the other creatures. He remained, unseeing, but unable to simply hide any longer. What good did it do him anyway? He could venture out and try and find food like the other hunters in the Labyrinth, but Scorch was hard on the Metus. His papery-thin skin sweltered and welted under the heat, and it just wasn’t worth it to him.
He felt as though he’d rather starve to death than face a burning demise. And so he settled himself in his little cave, sitting, not at all prepared to take on those that might venture to him. His teeth no longer churned menacingly, his claws sat limp on the soft earthen floor of his home. He looked the picture perfect version of dejected and emaciated. Ribs poked out of his papery skin, the quills along his spine no longer stood tall, instead they seemed to droop against his back, and he seemed to blindly stare at the wall, despite scenting numerous creatures approaching. Two smelt familiar to him, and he heard them come – yet made no effort to try and snare them.
Instead, he allowed them to come and see him as this, to offer whatever it was to him that they had come to do. And he sat, sorrowful. “What do you want?” His voice hissed out as his tongue slipped from his circular snout with the words, leaving them sounding as a sad hiss. He didn’t turn to face the direction he heard them come from. Instead, he remained staring at the wall, his eyeless face boring holes into the bushes and mist.
“Talk.”
He felt as though he’d rather starve to death than face a burning demise. And so he settled himself in his little cave, sitting, not at all prepared to take on those that might venture to him. His teeth no longer churned menacingly, his claws sat limp on the soft earthen floor of his home. He looked the picture perfect version of dejected and emaciated. Ribs poked out of his papery skin, the quills along his spine no longer stood tall, instead they seemed to droop against his back, and he seemed to blindly stare at the wall, despite scenting numerous creatures approaching. Two smelt familiar to him, and he heard them come – yet made no effort to try and snare them.
Instead, he allowed them to come and see him as this, to offer whatever it was to him that they had come to do. And he sat, sorrowful. “What do you want?” His voice hissed out as his tongue slipped from his circular snout with the words, leaving them sounding as a sad hiss. He didn’t turn to face the direction he heard them come from. Instead, he remained staring at the wall, his eyeless face boring holes into the bushes and mist.
“Talk.”
THE MAGNUS METUS
The Metus is starving and sad. Will spreading the hope help him?
* Each round is 48 hours (give or take), and has no posting order. If you miss a round, don't worry - just post when you have a chance to! The round is open until Rift Presence posts again.
* New characters are always welcome to join the plot
* If you find the pace too high, let us know, and we'll slow down!
* Posts are encouraged to be 400 words or less.
