Post by .Rabid Lycan. on Aug 22, 2009 23:13:44 GMT -5
((Okay, I must elaborate. I admit… I wasn’t originally going to give ol’ Diablo a sendoff because, well… he was sort of fading into the background. I mean, he’s been alive for pretty much as long as this site has been alive. That’s kinda screwed up. But I love this guy… unfortunately, I must also admit that I, indeed, have my favorite selection wolfies (that is, wolves that I prefer to use over others). Seeing as this guy is one of my favorites, I decided that he needed a nice little death scene. Nothing amazing, but something that gives him a definitive farewell.
Hope you guys enjoy. Miss ya, Diablo, old buddy. *hugs* Inspiration: Until the Day I Die by Story of the Year // This Dark Day by 12 Stones (lyrics and link at the bottom of the post) ))
A warming sliver of sunlight on the horizon initiated the transition from night into morning, the shadows fleeing from the golden shine. The drenched remains of a midsummer shower lay damp amidst the valley, liquid crystal streaming from the tips of leaves and quietly dripping with the ambient tap, tap of droplets reaching the earth. A bird, preening its bronze plumage, stirred with a few experimental notes, the song of a tired traveler humming in its throat as daylight made its arrival. The lantern glow of fireflies dissolved into vibrant waves of honeysuckle and forget-me-nots, and the static of pollen filtered through the air above. Various bulbs, like scattered pairs of indigo and emerald eyes, peered through the chaos of the surrounding foliage, eager to receive the splendor of warmth as morning finally slid into view.
But there was a disturbance. The stems of cerulean flowers dipped under the weight of treading paws, locks of russet hair swaying in the rhythm of the wanderer’s limping gait. It was a male wolf, his frame shriveled with age and the outline of his ribs and spine reasonably visible whenever he paused to scent the air. Colored streaks of fur, once an effervescent scarlet, were now dulled and monochrome. Gray and white speckled his muzzle and paws, but, above all, his eyes were the most affected by time. While cataracts and scars had plagued his face in his youth, an opaque film now clouded both eyes. Between the gnarled scars that divided his eyelids and the pale veil that shrouded his vision, the wolf was now sufficiently blind, and continued to pause every minute or so—his frail body quivering—to inspect the surrounding environment with a twitch of his nostrils.
And there it was.
Every muscle seized, his entire being tensed as a certain aroma brushed his whiskers. A scent not of honeysuckle or forget-me-nots or the songbird in the tree. Nor was it the aged scent of damp soil or the lingering traces of fireflies. It was but a wolf, approaching swiftly from the west.
Tucking his ears flat against his skull, the male retreated back into the cover of trees, brushing the coarse trunk of a cedar tree while his unseeing eyes flickered about. And yet, the wolf did not appear panicked; rather, he appeared to be preoccupied with navigating his way to a more spacious location, using the trees to guide him to an open clearing just beyond the floral meadow. Once comfortable, the ancient wolf settled on his haunches, and slowly slid onto his stomach. His ears swiveled forward, but he remained at ease, even as the footfalls of the advancing intruder became near and audible.
Finally, the commotion ceased, and the male could scent the presence of another wolf standing behind him. But despite his fairly reliable sense of smell and the weighing probabilities against such a miracle, four words automatically swelled in his throat, and before long, the male had uttered his hopeful question.
“Annanti?” Diablo whispered, quite hesitant in speaking. “Is that you?”
Silence.
“Not precisely.”
Slam. Diablo reached out with his foreleg, his paw swiping into air rather than earth. There was that dizzying deception that comes when a careless individual trips and stumbles down a flight of stairs, with the exception that Diablo was also being rammed into by a massive creature of bone and muscle. And after this moment of midair suspension, Diablo descended, ultimately landing on his side. The amplified slap of flesh colliding with the ground echoed before dying into a low moan of surprise, and it took Diablo a few minutes to recover from the blow.
“…Morgan?”
At the mention of the name, the towering wolf abandoned Diablo’s crippled body and began to pace from one edge of the clearing to the other, all the while staring at the old wolf’s unseeing eyes. “Hmm… I’m surprised you remember me after all this time.”
The crinkled grin of a senior wolf melted Diablo’s dreary disposition, and although his flank was aching from the violent assault, he managed to lift his head and offer a reply. ”When you see as much and grow as old as I am, memories are the only thing you have.” There was a slight pause, during which Diablo twitched the edge of his muzzle. “Hmm… you reek of the flames. Of BloodMist. A bad path you have chosen.”
Morgan responded with a threatening snarl, his lips lifting to reveal the rubbery texture of pink-and-black gums, and formidable incisors to match. “I did not track you down to hear your petty lecturing.”
“And yet, you will hear me,” Diablo interrupted, narrowing his eyes. “I do not deal with your kind, Morgan. That time has long since passed.”
Despite the ominous edge to Diablo’s tone, Morgan replied with a jeering smirk. Advancing a single step toward his opponent, the brute growled pleasantly. “But I do not wish to deal… I wish to command!” He lunged in a flurry of coal and scarlet pelage, using his forelegs to pin Diablo onto his back. Heated fog curled from Morgan’s slackened jaw, his face now inches away from his foe. “Now, listen up, old man. You’re the oldest wolf in this forest. You’ve seen everything important that has ever happened… through your own eyes, of course. Meanwhile, all of us supposedly ‘ill-hearted’ wolves were all cooped up in a very, very warm place. Then, all of a sudden, jailbreak, and we’re all breathing fresh air and tossing our shackles to the side. Care to lend me your view?”
For a moment, Diablo locked onto Morgan’s eyes with a serious stare, his blind gaze instinctively attempting to study his opponent. But a smile, once again, cracked his visage. “Heh, I smell soot on you… very recent, too. You went back into the flames? Why, did you slip and hit your head on something sharp?”
A disgusted wince flickered across Morgan’s features. “Hermph… let’s just say that destiny decided to pay me a little visit, and reminded me that I’m not here to play with a bunch of BloodMist lunatics. A little hole in my throat put me back on track, to what’s really important: family.” A humorless chuckle churned in Morgan’s chest, the low octave resonating in his wounded throat. “Now, answer my question!”
“Tsk, tsk… youth wasted on the young. Using words like ‘destiny so carelessly… such a word so complicated that a wolf such as yourself could not even begin to comprehend its meaning! You were always in such a hurry, Morgan. Pace yourself, consider what you are doing, lest you invite destiny to ‘remind’ you to slow down.” Diablo paused. “…again.”
“Don’t test me, Diablo,” snapped Morgan. “One swipe, and your insides are on your outside.”
“What, you would waste time killing an ancient, useless wolf?” Diablo growled, slowly pulling away from Morgan’s grasp. “Look at me… I spent most of my life chasing demons, and what became of it? A weary cripple that scavenges for scraps so that he may continue his pointless existence. Oh, sure, I have attempted to absolve myself for my past. I sided with the packs, watched over my granddaughter, aided travelers that I happened to encounter, and other such contributions. But you cannot alter what has come and gone.” Diablo was standing now. “I have lost the ones I love through hate, and will never be redeemed for my sins. My punishment is to tread this earth, alone with my despair, until fate tempts me onward. If you wish to rid the world of me, so be it. I will not stop you. And I am tired… it would be nice to rest.”
There was an unsettling stillness after Diablo had spoken, with Morgan carefully eyeing the ancient wolf. There was a rather unique shift in emotion, with uncertainty momentarily blurring his gaze. But it was all too short in its arrival, and in a matter of seconds, Morgan had returned to his typical mindset.
“At first, you were tolerable,” Morgan muttered, “but now your chatter is really beginning to get on my nerves. Now, for the last time, tell me! How much time do I have left!?”
A sigh rolled from Diablo’s maw. “Such foolish questions… when will you—and all other wolves, for that matter—realize that it does not matter, Morgan? You should always be living as if you are on your last life. Here you are, a cruel and merciless monster, and yet you have been given another chance! Do not waste this opportunity on never-ending grudges, my child. Live as if nothing had happened—relish in your chance to restart, while you are still able to turn things arou—”
“ENOUGH OF THIS!”
There was a final collision, the twin embers of Morgan’s visage sparking with the temperamental rage that cursed him so. Once again, Diablo was pressed between the earth and two sets of sickles, with each claw burrowing into the ragged folds of the old Healer’s skin. But then came the suspended instant. That single moment before a wolf condemns another to either the luxury of paradise or the fires of Hellfire, no matter how many fractions of fractions of a second this instant may last. And in this moment, Morgan cringed. An almost unexplainable hesitation seized his spine, and every twinge of forgotten morals screamed for him to abandon this urge.
But it lasted one fraction of a second too short, and two rows of fangs wrenched open Diablo’s throat in a solitary, fluid motion. A crimson shower curtained from the fresh wound, and as Morgan retreated to avoid the tide of blood, Diablo collapsed in a final gasp of breath.
“Lucinda…”
I’m so sorry.
An unearthly quiet settled amidst the morning woodland, the forest lost in an infinitely brief window of time where the earth held its breath and expected Diablo to rise again.
But he did not.
“…it’s about time you shut up.”
The ash pelt of the executioner speckled with ruby droplets, his snout masked in a grotesque combination of blood and fur. Lowering his head and lifting a foreleg to paw at his muzzle, Morgan diverted his eyes from the display of gore laying inches from his feet. But a faint sound caught his attention, and with the heightened sense of paranoia that accompanies unjust slaughter, the murderer glanced over his shoulder and growled.
A swath of ebony plush crowded beneath a braided set of brambles and leaves. A pair of azure orbs gleamed as the figure shifted its weight onto its haunches, an unsavory mixture of mud and dead leaves clinging to the fur of its torso as it retreated from its position.
“Morgan? And… he killed Diablo?”
Hushed whispers fled from the surveyor’s open maw, content with the confidence that he was not detected in spite of all he had performed and witnessed. The zealous quality in his tone as he repeated his findings aloud served to further spread a grin across his muzzle, and soon the wolf was sneaking off in the opposite direction of Morgan.
“I wonder how Sanceul will react when she hears about this?”
With a private chuckle, Lucifer ducked his head and bounded off into the depths of the woods.
After standing with erect ears for several minutes, Morgan inclined his skull.
“…hurm.”
Dismissing his suspicions as unreliable illusions of the ear, the male lowered his guard and slipped into a casual amble, intentionally avoiding the body whilst simultaneously giving no indication that he acknowledged the existence of the carcass. Before retreating from the scene, Morgan closed his eyes—monstrous scars still permanently etched onto his eyelids—and trampled over a beautiful forget-me-not, his paws carrying him into the shadows whilst Diablo’s body remained in the clearing.
The prophecy of morning had been fulfilled, and whilst golden sun bathed the corpse of the murdered wolf, a single songbird let its rhythm flow.
(This Dark Day ~ 12 Stones)
Hope you guys enjoy. Miss ya, Diablo, old buddy. *hugs* Inspiration: Until the Day I Die by Story of the Year // This Dark Day by 12 Stones (lyrics and link at the bottom of the post) ))
A warming sliver of sunlight on the horizon initiated the transition from night into morning, the shadows fleeing from the golden shine. The drenched remains of a midsummer shower lay damp amidst the valley, liquid crystal streaming from the tips of leaves and quietly dripping with the ambient tap, tap of droplets reaching the earth. A bird, preening its bronze plumage, stirred with a few experimental notes, the song of a tired traveler humming in its throat as daylight made its arrival. The lantern glow of fireflies dissolved into vibrant waves of honeysuckle and forget-me-nots, and the static of pollen filtered through the air above. Various bulbs, like scattered pairs of indigo and emerald eyes, peered through the chaos of the surrounding foliage, eager to receive the splendor of warmth as morning finally slid into view.
But there was a disturbance. The stems of cerulean flowers dipped under the weight of treading paws, locks of russet hair swaying in the rhythm of the wanderer’s limping gait. It was a male wolf, his frame shriveled with age and the outline of his ribs and spine reasonably visible whenever he paused to scent the air. Colored streaks of fur, once an effervescent scarlet, were now dulled and monochrome. Gray and white speckled his muzzle and paws, but, above all, his eyes were the most affected by time. While cataracts and scars had plagued his face in his youth, an opaque film now clouded both eyes. Between the gnarled scars that divided his eyelids and the pale veil that shrouded his vision, the wolf was now sufficiently blind, and continued to pause every minute or so—his frail body quivering—to inspect the surrounding environment with a twitch of his nostrils.
And there it was.
Every muscle seized, his entire being tensed as a certain aroma brushed his whiskers. A scent not of honeysuckle or forget-me-nots or the songbird in the tree. Nor was it the aged scent of damp soil or the lingering traces of fireflies. It was but a wolf, approaching swiftly from the west.
Tucking his ears flat against his skull, the male retreated back into the cover of trees, brushing the coarse trunk of a cedar tree while his unseeing eyes flickered about. And yet, the wolf did not appear panicked; rather, he appeared to be preoccupied with navigating his way to a more spacious location, using the trees to guide him to an open clearing just beyond the floral meadow. Once comfortable, the ancient wolf settled on his haunches, and slowly slid onto his stomach. His ears swiveled forward, but he remained at ease, even as the footfalls of the advancing intruder became near and audible.
Finally, the commotion ceased, and the male could scent the presence of another wolf standing behind him. But despite his fairly reliable sense of smell and the weighing probabilities against such a miracle, four words automatically swelled in his throat, and before long, the male had uttered his hopeful question.
“Annanti?” Diablo whispered, quite hesitant in speaking. “Is that you?”
Silence.
“Not precisely.”
Slam. Diablo reached out with his foreleg, his paw swiping into air rather than earth. There was that dizzying deception that comes when a careless individual trips and stumbles down a flight of stairs, with the exception that Diablo was also being rammed into by a massive creature of bone and muscle. And after this moment of midair suspension, Diablo descended, ultimately landing on his side. The amplified slap of flesh colliding with the ground echoed before dying into a low moan of surprise, and it took Diablo a few minutes to recover from the blow.
“…Morgan?”
At the mention of the name, the towering wolf abandoned Diablo’s crippled body and began to pace from one edge of the clearing to the other, all the while staring at the old wolf’s unseeing eyes. “Hmm… I’m surprised you remember me after all this time.”
The crinkled grin of a senior wolf melted Diablo’s dreary disposition, and although his flank was aching from the violent assault, he managed to lift his head and offer a reply. ”When you see as much and grow as old as I am, memories are the only thing you have.” There was a slight pause, during which Diablo twitched the edge of his muzzle. “Hmm… you reek of the flames. Of BloodMist. A bad path you have chosen.”
Morgan responded with a threatening snarl, his lips lifting to reveal the rubbery texture of pink-and-black gums, and formidable incisors to match. “I did not track you down to hear your petty lecturing.”
“And yet, you will hear me,” Diablo interrupted, narrowing his eyes. “I do not deal with your kind, Morgan. That time has long since passed.”
Despite the ominous edge to Diablo’s tone, Morgan replied with a jeering smirk. Advancing a single step toward his opponent, the brute growled pleasantly. “But I do not wish to deal… I wish to command!” He lunged in a flurry of coal and scarlet pelage, using his forelegs to pin Diablo onto his back. Heated fog curled from Morgan’s slackened jaw, his face now inches away from his foe. “Now, listen up, old man. You’re the oldest wolf in this forest. You’ve seen everything important that has ever happened… through your own eyes, of course. Meanwhile, all of us supposedly ‘ill-hearted’ wolves were all cooped up in a very, very warm place. Then, all of a sudden, jailbreak, and we’re all breathing fresh air and tossing our shackles to the side. Care to lend me your view?”
For a moment, Diablo locked onto Morgan’s eyes with a serious stare, his blind gaze instinctively attempting to study his opponent. But a smile, once again, cracked his visage. “Heh, I smell soot on you… very recent, too. You went back into the flames? Why, did you slip and hit your head on something sharp?”
A disgusted wince flickered across Morgan’s features. “Hermph… let’s just say that destiny decided to pay me a little visit, and reminded me that I’m not here to play with a bunch of BloodMist lunatics. A little hole in my throat put me back on track, to what’s really important: family.” A humorless chuckle churned in Morgan’s chest, the low octave resonating in his wounded throat. “Now, answer my question!”
“Tsk, tsk… youth wasted on the young. Using words like ‘destiny so carelessly… such a word so complicated that a wolf such as yourself could not even begin to comprehend its meaning! You were always in such a hurry, Morgan. Pace yourself, consider what you are doing, lest you invite destiny to ‘remind’ you to slow down.” Diablo paused. “…again.”
“Don’t test me, Diablo,” snapped Morgan. “One swipe, and your insides are on your outside.”
“What, you would waste time killing an ancient, useless wolf?” Diablo growled, slowly pulling away from Morgan’s grasp. “Look at me… I spent most of my life chasing demons, and what became of it? A weary cripple that scavenges for scraps so that he may continue his pointless existence. Oh, sure, I have attempted to absolve myself for my past. I sided with the packs, watched over my granddaughter, aided travelers that I happened to encounter, and other such contributions. But you cannot alter what has come and gone.” Diablo was standing now. “I have lost the ones I love through hate, and will never be redeemed for my sins. My punishment is to tread this earth, alone with my despair, until fate tempts me onward. If you wish to rid the world of me, so be it. I will not stop you. And I am tired… it would be nice to rest.”
There was an unsettling stillness after Diablo had spoken, with Morgan carefully eyeing the ancient wolf. There was a rather unique shift in emotion, with uncertainty momentarily blurring his gaze. But it was all too short in its arrival, and in a matter of seconds, Morgan had returned to his typical mindset.
“At first, you were tolerable,” Morgan muttered, “but now your chatter is really beginning to get on my nerves. Now, for the last time, tell me! How much time do I have left!?”
A sigh rolled from Diablo’s maw. “Such foolish questions… when will you—and all other wolves, for that matter—realize that it does not matter, Morgan? You should always be living as if you are on your last life. Here you are, a cruel and merciless monster, and yet you have been given another chance! Do not waste this opportunity on never-ending grudges, my child. Live as if nothing had happened—relish in your chance to restart, while you are still able to turn things arou—”
“ENOUGH OF THIS!”
There was a final collision, the twin embers of Morgan’s visage sparking with the temperamental rage that cursed him so. Once again, Diablo was pressed between the earth and two sets of sickles, with each claw burrowing into the ragged folds of the old Healer’s skin. But then came the suspended instant. That single moment before a wolf condemns another to either the luxury of paradise or the fires of Hellfire, no matter how many fractions of fractions of a second this instant may last. And in this moment, Morgan cringed. An almost unexplainable hesitation seized his spine, and every twinge of forgotten morals screamed for him to abandon this urge.
But it lasted one fraction of a second too short, and two rows of fangs wrenched open Diablo’s throat in a solitary, fluid motion. A crimson shower curtained from the fresh wound, and as Morgan retreated to avoid the tide of blood, Diablo collapsed in a final gasp of breath.
“Lucinda…”
I’m so sorry.
An unearthly quiet settled amidst the morning woodland, the forest lost in an infinitely brief window of time where the earth held its breath and expected Diablo to rise again.
But he did not.
“…it’s about time you shut up.”
The ash pelt of the executioner speckled with ruby droplets, his snout masked in a grotesque combination of blood and fur. Lowering his head and lifting a foreleg to paw at his muzzle, Morgan diverted his eyes from the display of gore laying inches from his feet. But a faint sound caught his attention, and with the heightened sense of paranoia that accompanies unjust slaughter, the murderer glanced over his shoulder and growled.
A swath of ebony plush crowded beneath a braided set of brambles and leaves. A pair of azure orbs gleamed as the figure shifted its weight onto its haunches, an unsavory mixture of mud and dead leaves clinging to the fur of its torso as it retreated from its position.
“Morgan? And… he killed Diablo?”
Hushed whispers fled from the surveyor’s open maw, content with the confidence that he was not detected in spite of all he had performed and witnessed. The zealous quality in his tone as he repeated his findings aloud served to further spread a grin across his muzzle, and soon the wolf was sneaking off in the opposite direction of Morgan.
“I wonder how Sanceul will react when she hears about this?”
With a private chuckle, Lucifer ducked his head and bounded off into the depths of the woods.
After standing with erect ears for several minutes, Morgan inclined his skull.
“…hurm.”
Dismissing his suspicions as unreliable illusions of the ear, the male lowered his guard and slipped into a casual amble, intentionally avoiding the body whilst simultaneously giving no indication that he acknowledged the existence of the carcass. Before retreating from the scene, Morgan closed his eyes—monstrous scars still permanently etched onto his eyelids—and trampled over a beautiful forget-me-not, his paws carrying him into the shadows whilst Diablo’s body remained in the clearing.
The prophecy of morning had been fulfilled, and whilst golden sun bathed the corpse of the murdered wolf, a single songbird let its rhythm flow.
I'm flushing the pills
I've lost all my will
This has been haunting me way too long
And I can't rewind
I'm the suffering kind
I've been abusing way too long
I'm breaking
Suffocating
I'll close my eyes and I'll drift away
I'll make it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Until this dark day is done
Now I'm trapped in the wake
Of all my mistakes
I've been under for way too long
I sit and I shake
My heart starts to race
The poison lingers in my veins
I'm fading
Suffocating
I'll close my eyes and I'll drift away
I'll make it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Until this dark day is done
You said I'd never change
You said I'd never had the strength
To break away
But now I've changed
It's time to turn the page
And walk away
It's time to walk away...
It's time to walk away...
I'll open my eyes and I'll stay awake
I made it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Now that this dark day is done
I'll open my eyes and I'll stay awake
I made it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Now that this dark day is done
Now that this dark day is done.
I've lost all my will
This has been haunting me way too long
And I can't rewind
I'm the suffering kind
I've been abusing way too long
I'm breaking
Suffocating
I'll close my eyes and I'll drift away
I'll make it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Until this dark day is done
Now I'm trapped in the wake
Of all my mistakes
I've been under for way too long
I sit and I shake
My heart starts to race
The poison lingers in my veins
I'm fading
Suffocating
I'll close my eyes and I'll drift away
I'll make it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Until this dark day is done
You said I'd never change
You said I'd never had the strength
To break away
But now I've changed
It's time to turn the page
And walk away
It's time to walk away...
It's time to walk away...
I'll open my eyes and I'll stay awake
I made it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Now that this dark day is done
I'll open my eyes and I'll stay awake
I made it through my darkest day
And I'll sing this song at the top of my lungs
Now that this dark day is done
Now that this dark day is done.
(This Dark Day ~ 12 Stones)
"My name is Percy Jackson, and I am INVINCIBLE!!"
