Post by MrDoctorDo on Feb 2, 2015 10:14:38 GMT -5
(OoC: This is to be an introductory thread for Mika and Umaroth, the ThrillaZilla. Is going to be a barrel of laughs, and possibly dark jokes...who knows. Hopefully it will lead to each of the character's realizing some negatives in their personalities. Maybe change for the better? Or maybe just grow stronger in the face of opposition...either way, progress! So, let's get started.)
Why? A single word. A single syllable. An infinite number of interpretations. There are so many things for us to ask why about. Many things can be joyous. Lovers reassuring one another of mutual affection; by answering this question with tender sentiments. There are confusions. Questions over methods or systems. Curiosities scratching at the natural or unnatural ways, alike. Then comes misery. Sadness and tragedy. Events like death, expected or not. Situations like betrayal, loving or cold. As merciless and imbalanced as the reality often is, there is an abundance of such variety.Each and every soul knowing a taste of suffering. Many knowing it more intimately. Others knowing it from a far, obsessing on that distant catastrophe with fear and hesitation. Those untouched by horror often dwell on thoughts of it. Expectations and superstitions. On all of their lips, that permanent syllable of "why". What many never experience...is the intertwining of these events.
How many can turn to their lives and ask why; all while filled with mixing emotions of joy, fear...curiosity, or sorrow. How many really see life's uncertainties with a kaleidoscope's lens? With each of these perspectives lending a hue? None. Or, at least none should claim to. For such a claim is both defining and condemning. Anyone who turns to the great questions of their existence with feelings of joy and sorrow, apprehension and impatience...they are truly a cursed soul. Others will never sympathize with their complexity. They will never find solace for their variety of concerns.
Never with that taste the relief offered by a heaven of disconnection. Forever will the anchor themselves with their incessant why's. Questions and mysteries becoming shackles. Stubbornness and dissatisfaction becoming locks. Locks without keys. Ah, to bear the mighty burden of an Osen. To walk upon existence, cursed by the frailty which garden's one's soul and heart. How...absolutely fortunate those without curses are. No matter how unfortunate their fates or circumstances may be. Not even...if their struggles are identical in pain.
The Soul Society. Far too often is it called by this assumed name. Too frequently is it thought to be a place for only the masters who named it such. Yet, domain of the Shinigami or not, the mortal world was one of sufficient intrigue. A place governed by cruel, natural laws of exchange. An exchange that breeds competition and struggle; requiring sacrifice and death to sustain. All aspects of the material plane are defined by loss. Loss that often comes with great pain. Pain of insecurity; when valuables are lost. Pain of loneliness; when love is lost. Pain of injury; when well being is lost.
Pain...of hunger; when all other precious treasures are gone. Hunger. The compelling, deepest force. The last thing the living ever lose, just before the end. Hunger is not only life's final treasure, it is it's greatest evil. Devouring to survive is what creates all loss. The darkness that imbalances an otherwise perpetual system. Darkness...that in many ways, has an identity all it's own. One opposed to life. One that is broken and empty. One that comes crawling out of the shadows, in the coldest hours of the night. Such was the case this very evening; in a outer...more desperate districts of the Rukongai.
Oh, such a wondrous area this was. Filled with all walks of life. All types of spirits and haunts. Though for it's beauties, it carried with it evils. Now that the sun had set...the light which illuminated those beauties was gone. All throughout the suburbs and streets. Between buildings in alleys and hideaways. Sounds of steps could be heard. Often slow, frequently heavy. Even if someone was incapable of seeing the borrow that lingered in the streets...they could hear their steps. Many natives would dismiss the sounds. Bumps and tremors being nothing more than tricks of the mind and senses. Others would blame miniscule earthquakes, causing little to no actual harm. Then...then there were those who could hear more. Even some, who could see more. They would be audience to things more dreadful than earthquakes. They would witness things stranger than tricks of the mind. Humans possessing even the smallest fragment of spiritual connectivity, would hear the screaming. Outside their window. Outside their door.
Even far below their balconies' roost. Somewhere in the darkness of unlit corners. In the places where no life seemed to stir. Humans would he screams...most chilling and alive. For nothing could muster the same sort of terror that a life clamours at it's tragic end. Unnerving to the core, but fleeting. No matter how hard the humans surveyed or starred...they would never see the victims. Just long, deafening silences. Time spent in anxiety and shuddering anticipation. Always broken suddenly, by yet another soul-shivering scream. Only when they were lucky. For, it is quite awful to listen to a fellow human die in agony and fear. It is something wholly more horrific to hear the bloodcurdling roar of some...thing, that did the brutal act. All of these souls left to shake in their darken homes; wondering, "What's out there?!"
Ah, but some could brave the nightly avenues of Karakura with no hesitation. Some could walk freely without care. The distant sounds of fear stricken demises...not phasing them in the slightest. Often these brave, intuitive souls were not human. How could they be, and still be so free of mortal dread? They were often Shinigami, but not always. Sometimes monsters almost as savage as the hollow ones would come. Demons. Vampires. Even witches and warlocks with the capacity to manipulate the very fabric of reality itself. Then...there were those who appeared as beasts. Animalistic in looks, but not in soul or thought. Roguish souls who develop powerful spirits, but are haunted by the lingering of primal instincts. Sighting such rarities was challenge, indeed. They were not common. Nor were they very successful in their survival. Often forced to live solitary lives divided from any source of trust or community. It was such a soul that becomes the topic of this particular night.
One wandering through a quiet home...possessing no interest to mingle or dabble in the affairs of Humans or Reapers, alike. One such individual who would find that such desires might not always be acceptable possibilities. For the night became a rupture of sound and activity. The city shook with a particularly violent cry. One that was a mix of pain, and of ferocity. It was the bloodlusting cry of a Hollow on the hunt. A masked soul turned lively by the presentation of fresh prey. It came screeching through the night, and resounded quite closely. In time...the emptiness of the environment would be interrupted by the panting and pounding of a fledgling soul. The spirit of a young man, whose healthy spirit chain seemed only recently deceased. Like a passing breeze, the ghast went sprinting by. How odd to see; someone already dead, fleeing for their life. A sight that the unintended spectator would undoubtedly be accustomed to.
There was no time to talk. There was no way to capture the Plus who desperately sprinted by. For in the same moment that the figure emerged from the nearby park, so did his tormentor. A large body of black, lumbering forward like a fatted hog. It's form was wide and crept quite low on the ground. It seemed to slither, or even slide as it pursued. What was most clear of this Hollow was it's mask, as always. Taking the elongated, yet bloated design of a boar. The mask was detailed by curved ridges, and brandished four large tusks. The creature seemed to charge without fear or hesitation. Aiming straight for the Plus...or at least, where the Plus had been. Now, the spectator was all there was to approach. So the pig did so. Darting quicker than one might expect its chubbiness to manage. It was as though it were in a rage. Yet, there was no sound coming from it now. Having erupted from the foliage of the neighboring trees and shrubs, the monster now charged forward.
It continued to crawl and serpentine in it's advance. The closer it drew...the more clear it was that there were no stomping feet. Legs and arms which should have been sweeping to provide propulsion. Arching and stretching of a back, necessary motion for direction and force. None of these natural mechanisms were taking place. The Hollow seemed to just glide across the street surface. The surrounding buildings and structures forming a pin. A channel for the predator's rage to funnel. The eyes which should have appeared as burning red lights were absent. All three eye sockets were as dark and empty as a void. This creature was in all ways...an unorthodox, disturbing sight. Its nature and behavior should fill any onlooker with dread. If not with its savagery, then with its aberrant maneuvers. What would our spectator do? What response might be mustered against this bestial boogyman? Hopefully it would be something quick, powerful, and decisive. Such retorts are always the most stimulating to see.
Why? A single word. A single syllable. An infinite number of interpretations. There are so many things for us to ask why about. Many things can be joyous. Lovers reassuring one another of mutual affection; by answering this question with tender sentiments. There are confusions. Questions over methods or systems. Curiosities scratching at the natural or unnatural ways, alike. Then comes misery. Sadness and tragedy. Events like death, expected or not. Situations like betrayal, loving or cold. As merciless and imbalanced as the reality often is, there is an abundance of such variety.Each and every soul knowing a taste of suffering. Many knowing it more intimately. Others knowing it from a far, obsessing on that distant catastrophe with fear and hesitation. Those untouched by horror often dwell on thoughts of it. Expectations and superstitions. On all of their lips, that permanent syllable of "why". What many never experience...is the intertwining of these events.
How many can turn to their lives and ask why; all while filled with mixing emotions of joy, fear...curiosity, or sorrow. How many really see life's uncertainties with a kaleidoscope's lens? With each of these perspectives lending a hue? None. Or, at least none should claim to. For such a claim is both defining and condemning. Anyone who turns to the great questions of their existence with feelings of joy and sorrow, apprehension and impatience...they are truly a cursed soul. Others will never sympathize with their complexity. They will never find solace for their variety of concerns.
Never with that taste the relief offered by a heaven of disconnection. Forever will the anchor themselves with their incessant why's. Questions and mysteries becoming shackles. Stubbornness and dissatisfaction becoming locks. Locks without keys. Ah, to bear the mighty burden of an Osen. To walk upon existence, cursed by the frailty which garden's one's soul and heart. How...absolutely fortunate those without curses are. No matter how unfortunate their fates or circumstances may be. Not even...if their struggles are identical in pain.
The Soul Society. Far too often is it called by this assumed name. Too frequently is it thought to be a place for only the masters who named it such. Yet, domain of the Shinigami or not, the mortal world was one of sufficient intrigue. A place governed by cruel, natural laws of exchange. An exchange that breeds competition and struggle; requiring sacrifice and death to sustain. All aspects of the material plane are defined by loss. Loss that often comes with great pain. Pain of insecurity; when valuables are lost. Pain of loneliness; when love is lost. Pain of injury; when well being is lost.
Pain...of hunger; when all other precious treasures are gone. Hunger. The compelling, deepest force. The last thing the living ever lose, just before the end. Hunger is not only life's final treasure, it is it's greatest evil. Devouring to survive is what creates all loss. The darkness that imbalances an otherwise perpetual system. Darkness...that in many ways, has an identity all it's own. One opposed to life. One that is broken and empty. One that comes crawling out of the shadows, in the coldest hours of the night. Such was the case this very evening; in a outer...more desperate districts of the Rukongai.
Oh, such a wondrous area this was. Filled with all walks of life. All types of spirits and haunts. Though for it's beauties, it carried with it evils. Now that the sun had set...the light which illuminated those beauties was gone. All throughout the suburbs and streets. Between buildings in alleys and hideaways. Sounds of steps could be heard. Often slow, frequently heavy. Even if someone was incapable of seeing the borrow that lingered in the streets...they could hear their steps. Many natives would dismiss the sounds. Bumps and tremors being nothing more than tricks of the mind and senses. Others would blame miniscule earthquakes, causing little to no actual harm. Then...then there were those who could hear more. Even some, who could see more. They would be audience to things more dreadful than earthquakes. They would witness things stranger than tricks of the mind. Humans possessing even the smallest fragment of spiritual connectivity, would hear the screaming. Outside their window. Outside their door.
Even far below their balconies' roost. Somewhere in the darkness of unlit corners. In the places where no life seemed to stir. Humans would he screams...most chilling and alive. For nothing could muster the same sort of terror that a life clamours at it's tragic end. Unnerving to the core, but fleeting. No matter how hard the humans surveyed or starred...they would never see the victims. Just long, deafening silences. Time spent in anxiety and shuddering anticipation. Always broken suddenly, by yet another soul-shivering scream. Only when they were lucky. For, it is quite awful to listen to a fellow human die in agony and fear. It is something wholly more horrific to hear the bloodcurdling roar of some...thing, that did the brutal act. All of these souls left to shake in their darken homes; wondering, "What's out there?!"
Ah, but some could brave the nightly avenues of Karakura with no hesitation. Some could walk freely without care. The distant sounds of fear stricken demises...not phasing them in the slightest. Often these brave, intuitive souls were not human. How could they be, and still be so free of mortal dread? They were often Shinigami, but not always. Sometimes monsters almost as savage as the hollow ones would come. Demons. Vampires. Even witches and warlocks with the capacity to manipulate the very fabric of reality itself. Then...there were those who appeared as beasts. Animalistic in looks, but not in soul or thought. Roguish souls who develop powerful spirits, but are haunted by the lingering of primal instincts. Sighting such rarities was challenge, indeed. They were not common. Nor were they very successful in their survival. Often forced to live solitary lives divided from any source of trust or community. It was such a soul that becomes the topic of this particular night.
One wandering through a quiet home...possessing no interest to mingle or dabble in the affairs of Humans or Reapers, alike. One such individual who would find that such desires might not always be acceptable possibilities. For the night became a rupture of sound and activity. The city shook with a particularly violent cry. One that was a mix of pain, and of ferocity. It was the bloodlusting cry of a Hollow on the hunt. A masked soul turned lively by the presentation of fresh prey. It came screeching through the night, and resounded quite closely. In time...the emptiness of the environment would be interrupted by the panting and pounding of a fledgling soul. The spirit of a young man, whose healthy spirit chain seemed only recently deceased. Like a passing breeze, the ghast went sprinting by. How odd to see; someone already dead, fleeing for their life. A sight that the unintended spectator would undoubtedly be accustomed to.
There was no time to talk. There was no way to capture the Plus who desperately sprinted by. For in the same moment that the figure emerged from the nearby park, so did his tormentor. A large body of black, lumbering forward like a fatted hog. It's form was wide and crept quite low on the ground. It seemed to slither, or even slide as it pursued. What was most clear of this Hollow was it's mask, as always. Taking the elongated, yet bloated design of a boar. The mask was detailed by curved ridges, and brandished four large tusks. The creature seemed to charge without fear or hesitation. Aiming straight for the Plus...or at least, where the Plus had been. Now, the spectator was all there was to approach. So the pig did so. Darting quicker than one might expect its chubbiness to manage. It was as though it were in a rage. Yet, there was no sound coming from it now. Having erupted from the foliage of the neighboring trees and shrubs, the monster now charged forward.
It continued to crawl and serpentine in it's advance. The closer it drew...the more clear it was that there were no stomping feet. Legs and arms which should have been sweeping to provide propulsion. Arching and stretching of a back, necessary motion for direction and force. None of these natural mechanisms were taking place. The Hollow seemed to just glide across the street surface. The surrounding buildings and structures forming a pin. A channel for the predator's rage to funnel. The eyes which should have appeared as burning red lights were absent. All three eye sockets were as dark and empty as a void. This creature was in all ways...an unorthodox, disturbing sight. Its nature and behavior should fill any onlooker with dread. If not with its savagery, then with its aberrant maneuvers. What would our spectator do? What response might be mustered against this bestial boogyman? Hopefully it would be something quick, powerful, and decisive. Such retorts are always the most stimulating to see.