[There is a gust of hot sand on the outer barrier of this roiling, burning scene, where love and compassion eat at the clear cold air. The heat and humidity settles before the figure, raking in a wave of permeating death, the reek of carcass and corpse, the stench of rot under a blazing sun. A creature has made its arrival.]
....you break his heartaut_augurJanuary 1 2010, 07:32:50 UTC
[Jast looks up, startled, blue eyes wide and defensive. He puts himself between this thing and all that have gathered to watch the exultation. Death may be a part of this world, but there are rules and he will see them obeyed.]
gently and tenderlyrougecarrionJanuary 1 2010, 07:39:11 UTC
[It is an entirely too pretty thing to sneer so ugly, to smell so repulsive, lips stretched apart and for a moment there are white wriggling maggots on its tongue--with a hyena's black hysterical cackle, they seem to disappear.]
Hello, precious little thing. Don't mind this old ghoul.
[It unnerves him. The thick reek of death and madness push at him, hurt him and nauseate him. He shakes it off, rises up and watches, something pinched around the corner of his mouth.]
May the night find you peaceful.
[A soft warning, and an earnest hope that perhaps the ceremony has some meaning to it as well.]
[In a vicious whorl of desert sand, its presence flickers closers, a distended smear of red and black, until it leers in this guardian's space, crossing the boundary, near enough to show off the demon lunacy in its swollen blue eyes.]
May the night find you and many more dead. After all, this one is never at peace. That's a bit insulting.
[Ceremonies are hardly more than gatherings, lures, traps to bring in strangers, places to wreak havoc.]
[He gives a sharp shriek in response, no sparrow's twitter, no robin's chirp. There are eagles and falcons who know the taste of war and he can channel them as well. There is a protector inside of him and there is much to protect here.]
[It responds in kind with a vulture's starving screech, a flare of temper in its smooth corpse face, teeth bared, gums black and rotten. It doesn't like this little thing standing between it and its meal, hot wind whipping around its feet.]
And what will you do, peck this one's eyes out, hm? We need our nourishment. Just as you.
[Earth wardens are not known for their destructive impulses, they are defenders and Jast spreads his arms out, marks the territory that is his in a blue glow that seeps from him and the rising of an angry wind around him.
His cool, clean scent at odds with its desert sorrows.]
[That makes it seethe and spit, pacing in its spot at the warden's defensive claim, shifting form from filthy hyena to flapping vulture to shouting human within several seconds of hot humid rage.
It settles uneasily outside of the boundary, only lashing out in a final fit of anger, claws scratching forward with intent to mar the boy's pretty white skin, if it can reach.]
[Damage incurred to his form is meaningless to him in the face of what needs be done. He does not flinch, he does not waver, but he does bleed. They are all of them disposed to their natures, he accepts that.]
[The blood only proves to stir the creature's depthless hunger, but it does not approach again, lingering back a cautious step. There are always consequences when it comes to eating a warden, a guardian of nature. Rules, fucking rules, it hates them but it is just as susceptible as the next reckless beast.
A disgusted sneer, and the ghouleh hisses,] Stand between this one again and it will have your flesh, little warden.
[Jast's anger is rare and cold, but it is there in his depthless eyes. Blighted death mongers. His green wind rises up pushes at it, shoos the mangy thing away from his ceremony and from those he calls friend.]
May it poison you, creature, for I will protect what I will.
[The desert tempest recoils, forming the shape of a hyena, its fur matted with old blood and its teeth rotten, its eyes sulfur yellow. It growls, furious pitched laughter carrying in the hot wind of its retreat, lingering behind at its heels even as it disappears. There is a promise of return, a black gift of the creature's insatiable hunger for dead flesh.]
[He watches it go warily, aware that he has not made himself a friend and aware of the sting where its claws have raked him. He does not heal it immediately, stands with his hand over the wound as he first cleanses the land of the beast's passage.
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Greetings.
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Hello, precious little thing. Don't mind this old ghoul.
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May the night find you peaceful.
[A soft warning, and an earnest hope that perhaps the ceremony has some meaning to it as well.]
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May the night find you and many more dead. After all, this one is never at peace. That's a bit insulting.
[Ceremonies are hardly more than gatherings, lures, traps to bring in strangers, places to wreak havoc.]
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There will be no death here tonight.
[His eyes narrow.]
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And what will you do, peck this one's eyes out, hm? We need our nourishment. Just as you.
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His cool, clean scent at odds with its desert sorrows.]
Keep your eyes and find your meal elsewhere.
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It settles uneasily outside of the boundary, only lashing out in a final fit of anger, claws scratching forward with intent to mar the boy's pretty white skin, if it can reach.]
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A disgusted sneer, and the ghouleh hisses,] Stand between this one again and it will have your flesh, little warden.
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May it poison you, creature, for I will protect what I will.
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No death here, tonight.]
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