Sordid Secrets
Les Revenants | Issar - Printable Version

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Les Revenants | Issar - Fall - 07-22-2017

And now I fell
as bodies fall,
for dead
These walls where not home, old and alien and rotted. Promising of times long past and the only words that passed through falls head where how glorious it could have been. An empire of the dead. A gloaming passage, a congregation of those who had earned their tolls or otherwise for all walks of absent life where lost among lavish catacombs and a dampness that perambulated through the air itself like a punch in the face. It felt wrong. Horribly stereotypical for the dead to rot underground. When the world was up and functioning at their heads. Fall thought Mordecai a fool to bury them even though they walked as good as any other man. As adorable as it was to match aesthetics. The new king wanted something more fiercely political. Something that screamed payback.

He could smell something familiar, making its way there upon the expanse. Their relationship anything but the guise of familiarity. It was a strange terse agreement set between the unlikely who both didn’t seem too gracious over sharing their things. Or at least fall was, in his happenstance he clutched to what he could the way a faery would clutch to pretty words and riches. He did not trust what she yearned for and he had every right to assume neither she did him. Yet politics had brought them. Tethered them to the likes of an empty hall that not so long ago was filled with walking forests and risen undead. This was the aftermath. This was the time when words needed to be filtered through a different means. His mother was an expert in word craft. She had taught him once in his bastardised royalty of the words to say to appease men and how there is a language of its own that needed to come forth to nest with tradition and virtue. There was nothing more men loved that tradition and virtue. Hold true to them and every argument is won.

“Issar, walk with me.” His tone was overt and serious. A sightless visage running over her own in pure scrutiny before he would begin at a leisurely pace, a patrol through the old untouched halls. For a moment, he’d stay silent. Dormant. There was a great sadness in seeing the damage one man could accomplish to the lives of the many. “Our empire of flame is built on top of corpses. Achievement and Pride brimming in the absence of life. Our judgement is moulded in what we could see. What we can feel. What we can rend and cleave with our own hands. For our ilk to be deceived by the inky blackness of Ambiguity…” His words were spoken as cold and as quiet as midwinter breeze. It felt wrong to be so correct, to be so prestigious. Upon the end he would stop and wait and all of him would fall to that creeping silence once more before he would add so carefully in the way a mourning lover would to her chosen lost; “T’would be nothing but shameful.” He was criticising Mordecai. It flooded every inch of his words; his stance upon the current standing. His stance upon the slander of the dead. His stance on their sweeping like old autumn leaves, into the fireplace to warm the likes of better men. Living men.

“In seeking guidance from the dusk, she once told me; simply try.” Simply try was a mockery in itself to him. Yet they would need to do more than try to right wrongs. But when some days he could barely bring himself to inquire upon the it’s making, he knew that looking to like as looking liking felt was more than an arbitrary deed. It was near impossible. For all he knew it was impossible. For there was a sickness that he felt that smothered him, assailed him. It had already martyred him once. Parading him like a puppet to the fly nest. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Not to him. Blinking slowly, he’d let his thought stream run for a little while before chasing up to his statement. It was far from finished. He was far from finished. “Tis no embarrassment in seeking what thou truly desires, of course…How despicably akin to man” it was within the nature of man to yearn. But he was suggesting, in those closet foundations. That they needed to put aside their mortal queries. That deep want for burning effigies. For the needs of the masses, as few as they where and in a sense he indirectly implied this. If not with words, with the look on his face that seemed heavily restless.

“What are we to do. The empire we fought for has been lost for years, we’re just clutching at the ashes.”

We've got a lot to clean up

@Issar Erowyn Sterben

RE: Les Revenants | Issar - Issar Erowyn Sterben - 08-11-2017

How fallen from grace these lands had become. I recalled a time when the shadows danced fervently across the halls, spirits vibrating with their vigorous plight. Times were simpler then; no false gods and petty acts from true gods who could be considered equally as false in the same breath. The realm of the living had oxidized the air, and where desolation fed the foliage it now had little influence. Contempt still rested within my blackened heart at the memory of Atroxian scum rending the Ferus realm and allowing it to coexist with that of the living. It lost its luster in those moments, and despite spilling their blood and tearing their souls from their bodies it had done little to placate me. Ever since the throne had slipped from my fingers Ferus simply perished for it. The dead still dwelled here, but they were the enigmatic echoes of what they could be, what they had been. Among the bodies of those inconsolable phantoms lingered another, albeit one who could actually be reasoned with. Onyx eyes glittered with amusement at that thought, for he was barely more reasonable than those stuck on a loop in their timeless existence.

Even still, we forged a pact, and so I found myself moving through the halls of the dampened catacombs towards the beacon yet again. This time it was not in malice with the intent to destroy. Wingtips whispered over the rocky floor as I walked, Greshal’s distaste a heavy burden in my mind that I cast away with a mere thought. He lingered outside the tomb, much to his dismay, and would remain there until we had finished fraternizing. It was all politics at this point, and I knew politics.

Issar, walk with me.

He spoke in serious tones when I stepped into the opening, betraying the humorous and almost crazed countenance he had held during our battle. He had recovered well, horned head raised and interstellar pelt shimmering like the stars above in the dimly lit cavern. Blind eyes traveled over me, and I said little in the way of response and instead fell into step beside him, our steps staggered to allow us both to stride through the forsaken halls. ‘Our empire of flame is built on top of corpses,’ he began, and I did not see the need to point out the irony in his words. ‘Achievement and Pride brimming in the absence of life. Our judgment is moulded in what we could see. What we can feel. What we can rend and cleave with our own hands. For our ilk to be deceived by the inky blackness of Ambiguity…’ he trailed off, steps coming to a halt yet I continued my trek. Black ears twitched as he considered, allowing the weight of his words to fill the silence. ‘T’would be nothing but shameful.

The tone lingering over his words implicated Mordecai, and there was no doubt that he had run Ferus into the ground deeper than any before him. In fact, there had been none but Mordecai after my disappearance. Part of me felt that it was my fault, but another part of me knew that even though I had parted ways with Ferus I had grown more powerful because of it. I had never felt as powerful as I did now, and there was still more untapped just beneath the surface. ‘In seeking guidance from the dusk, she once told me; simply try,’ Fall said resolutely, though there was a slight bitterness hovering in the backdrop. I turned and looked to him then. Many try, and many fail. I am not one prone to failure, however, I said flatly, voice barely over a murmur, and waited for him to reset his pace. He blinked, shaking himself from some unheard reverie. ‘’Tis no embarrassment in seeking what thou truly desires, of course… How despicably akin to man.

I considered him a moment, this man who had been my foe but a short time ago, and knew there was plenty that would need to be discussed. I let him walk the floor, exploring his thoughts and speaking more now than I had ever heard him speak before. ‘What are we to do. The empire we fought for has been lost for years, we’re just clutching at the ashes.’ How right he was, yet I knew it was because I had let it slip from my grasp. I was foolish then, and blinded by my need for revenge. While I still harbored the hatred in the deepest recesses of my soul I did not let it rule me any longer. It was part of my being like anything else, but it was not the sole deciding factor for my actions.

You are aware of the story of the phoenix, no? I said then, voice a haunting lull. From the ashes rises something reborn, something greater than before. A bland and overused sentiment, but it applies nonetheless. I turned and continued our trek through the web-like catacombs. We cling to ashes and piles of bones forgotten and stepped upon, but upon those bones we will build this kingdom, I stole a glance to him, then, eyes alight and piercing, our kingdom.

We can mourn and mope about what was, or we can walk these halls and see what is left to salvage and rebuild anew. Something greater than it had been in the beginning and something greater than that of which Mordecai rode into the dirt. So come, Fall, and let’s not linger any longer on idle thoughts.            

Deathly whispers
Table © Freakshow


RE: Les Revenants | Issar - Girum Shuluk - 08-11-2017

This night is chilled by ghosts and the woods are full of werewolves

Lo, these pathetic craven hearts set to shiver in unadulterated terror.  How they ached to see them writhe, to hear the heart howl from the depths of their mortal breast as it raced, as it screamed against their succulently saccharine flesh.  They observed in unabridged silence - eyeless beast lurked in the shadows to which they were born, the entity forged in a mould of searing bedlam and ruinous carnage.  The shades quavered in vast delight as sensation trickled down their spine.  Anticipation.  Impatience flourished ever nurtured by their ravenous appetence; ebony lips darker than twilight skies stretched unnaturally wide into the likeness of a manic grin.  As the shades shifted against the earth they betrayed nothing of their intent - sound was deafened, scent abstract and void.  They were nothing; they were everything.  In an instant, they rose from beneath the wolf-kin's with eager maws unhinged, untethered from restraint with a harrowing howl as they aimed to sink ink dripped fangs into their inviting... luscious flesh.  
© Jahi

@Fall @Issar Erowyn Sterben

You are being attacked by creatures yet unknown to Victus.  Fight if you choose or flee but be weary, with the absence of healing magic their bite could prove to be quite... fatal.

RE: Les Revenants | Issar - Fall - 09-11-2017

And now I fell
as bodies fall,
for dead
It was a downward spiral of ants, or so that was how he viewed it. Fall had never been a type for politics, much rather resorting to pretending to look interested and parental conflicts. However, he was very good with his words, albeit when he found the muse to do so that somewhat differed from his usual manic-depressive state. It was hard to wake up, to do, to precede like men do and yet he had the eyes of them all on him like something accursed and infested. Fall had heard of, once or twice in his youth of places that where haunted and like snare traps where a ticking clock to those on sacred grounds only for them to perish at the end of a song in an outburst most poetic and most difficult to clean. He’d always found it oddly sexy to have such symmetry in the end even if death came with overwhelming dread and occult enigma. There was a wrongness to old mire sickness that chilled him. Yet now he walked among the dead as the dead. As unrespecting and gutless as they were, he found his perception of macabre beauty completely reversed.

In fact he was horrifically disappointed.

Issar spoke of birds and naturally by this point he had stopped listening altogether, bar the occasional tidbit that managed to get stuck in his head not by will but by obligation. “your right, that is horribly overused.” Fall would state rather deadpan. There was no time for birds and ashes, nor was their time for rebirth. Who did she think she was fooling? Nothing was so simple and so coated with saccharine overtly positive menace that could not be realistically achievable in any span of immediate time. Fall had never been patient and neither did his ability to be astute and reasonable now that the novelty had vicariously worn off faster than sun on ice “Don’t kid yourself Ferus is a shithole. Its up to jackholes like us to turn this turdpit into a slightly less awful shitpile and that’s going to take years.” He didn’t really establish himself to a concept. It was far too much effort with far too much to lose. So he always remained a little on the way lines with a mentality that accompanied it like a fine wine. A part of him however was grateful that he could palm anything he had no interest in inciting over to her who seemed to revel in the power of it all.

“they’ll be no bird to fix our shit issar. With any luck we can make ‘them’ fix it for us whilst I exclude myself from the irrelevance this has to asserting our glory over the afterlife.” The Ferus rabble where the worst of them all, he could truly feel sorry for himself in that aspect. They weren’t the cause of his misery but certainly a symptom of it in the same way Issar was in a sense. Their relationship in his opinion being one of the worst he’d ever had to grace his time with. But he wanted that crown and he’d be fucked if he was going to let her snatch it away from him even if he did need more time than others. Even if he was barely holding himself together as some form of time bomb waiting for his next ailment, his next issue that plagued him worse than the shadows ever could. It was ironic that a boy with the dead living inside him would die by his own hand and not the hand of the monsters that exuded from him. He was walking grief in a way, but Fall was a very astute oxymoron, as beautiful as he could be obscene and in every way, most unlike a former prince that any man could ever achieve and to Fall it was an achievement.

He was content to end the meeting there and then. He felt exhausted by it all. Drained. A heavy fatigue washing over the inside of him and cementing his legs. He’d had enough. He needed to be by his lonesome and away from anything with words. Only of course that would never happen.

It came bearing teeth, something eldritch and wrong and his spine would raise, his form violently steering wayward in a bid of its own as he’d try to distance himself from the heavy seeping wrongness that approached vividly like a fever dream. Fall could hear it. Its surrant, rapid being and with his own sense of the eldritch would immediately drown himself in sick panic. It was the unknown, the beyond. Everything at once and he felt a sickness within him rise with his raw and inarticulate fear. “Issar oh god... I cant do this. Issar…I need to leave- I need to go. I-“

here we go again

@Girum Shuluk
@Issar Erowyn Sterben