Post by Shikitsuhiko Isayama on Aug 26, 2017 23:33:32 GMT -5
Drip. Drip. Drip. The distant echoes of droplets of liquid can be heard upon entering the cavernous burrow. Descending further into the dimly lit space offers glimpses into the past. This was once home to a number of individuals, but now has been silenced. The walls spoke of bloodshed and carnage. They reflected rage and despair. Imprinted in the sandstone was the irremovable mark of conflict. Moving deeper granted further insight with the walls telling a story of fractured bonds and disappointment. Beneath one's feet is a painted floor. It is wet, and remains reasonably fresh.
The color is slowly drying, seeping deeper and discoloring the sand. The red hue might not be immediately observable as the shadows obscure one's clarity. Venturing further reveals the remnants of loyal servants and hopeful rebels. Bodies lie motionless on the ground. One body is peculiarly positioned, a sign that he died by succumbing to wounds following the conflict. His head is slumped to the side and his hand resting on another's unrecognizable face. The splatter of blood and innards decorates the walls as one steps closer toward a room that offers greater light.
Within the room, at the most distant edge of the room, sits a familiar figure. Strewn about the room are countless dead bodies. The blood has collected on the ground is collective pools, subtly glistening under the light. Large craters decorate the floors and walls, leading all the way to a chair sitting alone in the shadows. The position of the chair, which once was a part of many, now resembles more of a throne. Unfortunately, the throne is without loyal disciples. Whoever sits upon it is left to rule over the corpses occupying this sprawling space. A sudden rhythmic tapping can be heard. It remains steady with four taps one after the other.
A slender figure can be seen crossing the shadows and entering the light within the hall. Even before entering her identity is known by Shikitsuhiko, who sits rather impatiently in the chair. Normally, he is known for his patience but considering the circumstances for his visit, his mental fortitude had waned. He had been waiting for her for more than three hours. He has remained quietly seated, though his mind was frequently arrested by a mixture of welcomed and unwelcomed thoughts. He was surprised to be in such a situation, and yet a part of him knew this was coming. He didn't appreciate being caught off-guard, especially under these circumstances. Such behavior was unacceptable, and he would not offer even a modicum of forgiveness.
"And the prodigal leader returns to check on her sheep." He said ominously from the lone chair in the distance. He lifted his hand and gestured toward the room with his hand. "They're all dead, most of them having suffered a great deal. They have you to blame for that." He said while lifting himself from the chair. Shikitsuhiko's towering frame walked slowly forward so the light could illuminate his presence. He stepped into the light. "Lagos." He said with a disgusted frown.
The color is slowly drying, seeping deeper and discoloring the sand. The red hue might not be immediately observable as the shadows obscure one's clarity. Venturing further reveals the remnants of loyal servants and hopeful rebels. Bodies lie motionless on the ground. One body is peculiarly positioned, a sign that he died by succumbing to wounds following the conflict. His head is slumped to the side and his hand resting on another's unrecognizable face. The splatter of blood and innards decorates the walls as one steps closer toward a room that offers greater light.
Within the room, at the most distant edge of the room, sits a familiar figure. Strewn about the room are countless dead bodies. The blood has collected on the ground is collective pools, subtly glistening under the light. Large craters decorate the floors and walls, leading all the way to a chair sitting alone in the shadows. The position of the chair, which once was a part of many, now resembles more of a throne. Unfortunately, the throne is without loyal disciples. Whoever sits upon it is left to rule over the corpses occupying this sprawling space. A sudden rhythmic tapping can be heard. It remains steady with four taps one after the other.
A slender figure can be seen crossing the shadows and entering the light within the hall. Even before entering her identity is known by Shikitsuhiko, who sits rather impatiently in the chair. Normally, he is known for his patience but considering the circumstances for his visit, his mental fortitude had waned. He had been waiting for her for more than three hours. He has remained quietly seated, though his mind was frequently arrested by a mixture of welcomed and unwelcomed thoughts. He was surprised to be in such a situation, and yet a part of him knew this was coming. He didn't appreciate being caught off-guard, especially under these circumstances. Such behavior was unacceptable, and he would not offer even a modicum of forgiveness.
"And the prodigal leader returns to check on her sheep." He said ominously from the lone chair in the distance. He lifted his hand and gestured toward the room with his hand. "They're all dead, most of them having suffered a great deal. They have you to blame for that." He said while lifting himself from the chair. Shikitsuhiko's towering frame walked slowly forward so the light could illuminate his presence. He stepped into the light. "Lagos." He said with a disgusted frown.