[[ Dream ]]
The sky is the color of blood, the ground a barren wasteland. The smell of blood is thick in the air, causing any who might smell it to gag or retch. Thunder rumbles in the distance, but it seems that any storms building are still far off. Karasu is walking, slowly, his hands in his pockets, appearing unconcerned with the stale wind that idles through the air, now and then lifting a strand of black hair before setting it down a moment later. The wind does little to make the stench fade, but with that mask on, it seems as if he doesn't notice it one bit...or at the very least, doesn't seem to care.
The farther he walks, the more the landscape seems to form around him, dusty grey sands giving way to a blood-spattered dirt that seems to grow with each step until the entire ground is a deep blackish red, the earth damp and crumbling. Bones litter the ground here, of beasts far larger than any man, but built similarly all the same.
And still he continues walking, humming to himself. It isn't a jaunty tune, or even a somber one, but it seems to swell on the wind, carried back to the ears of any who might listen. And like a nursery rhyme, it gets stuck in one's head.
"They say...that graveyard of the ancient's has a lot of power in it..." he whispers without turning around, his voice warm, fond...too fond to be talking about the dead and gone. He turns, reaching out, white hand perched lightly on the skull of a giant cyclops, the flesh eaten away completely from the bone.
"A pity...I prefer the here and now."
The skull explodes in a shower of razor-sharp shards.
[[OOC: Event Post Info]]
The farther he walks, the more the landscape seems to form around him, dusty grey sands giving way to a blood-spattered dirt that seems to grow with each step until the entire ground is a deep blackish red, the earth damp and crumbling. Bones litter the ground here, of beasts far larger than any man, but built similarly all the same.
And still he continues walking, humming to himself. It isn't a jaunty tune, or even a somber one, but it seems to swell on the wind, carried back to the ears of any who might listen. And like a nursery rhyme, it gets stuck in one's head.
"They say...that graveyard of the ancient's has a lot of power in it..." he whispers without turning around, his voice warm, fond...too fond to be talking about the dead and gone. He turns, reaching out, white hand perched lightly on the skull of a giant cyclops, the flesh eaten away completely from the bone.
"A pity...I prefer the here and now."
The skull explodes in a shower of razor-sharp shards.
[[OOC: Event Post Info]]