The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-07-27 08:03 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thecapitol2015-07-27 08:03 pm
Entry tags:
But now I'm a monster, my blood all runs cold
Who| The Grand Highblood and his unfortunate victims.
What| The Capitol has brought the Initiate's future in at last for this limited time opportunity.
Where| Dreaming worlds.
When| During the dream event.
Notes| I'm posting this with Initiate's account, but it will be GHB (comicalamity) that tags come from. Icons will be in the comments so if that's a pet peeve then steer clear.
Warnings| HUGE MASSIVE WARNINGS FOR THIS GUY, which is a reason he's getting a post of his own instead of going in the official log. Warning for possible genocide references, torture references, desecration of corpses, violences, language... the worst of things. Just be weary. (Also casual spacism.)
Day 2
It doesn't matter where you came from, it matters that you're here. It matters that you really don't want to be here...
The throne room is massive. It reaches upwards like it can compete with that of the sky. Its color and glimmer grasping at star's glory. Bones line the chambers, make up the walls, the ceiling, some still featuring their death hues. Some skulls with sharpened maws still agape, like they can cry out their respective agonies, even lacking tongues in their maws. The bones hang from the ceiling, interspersed with pleasant little lanterns and swaths of cloth and cloak.
Behind it all is a wall so smooth as to be glass. But for the sticky bits of color clinging to it, a brilliant collage. A motherfucking kingdom of dead behind him, and the living set before his beholding. Stained glass high, depicting various amusing executions and tortures, as well as shows of the holy scriptures, all cast light beautiful on the dark indigo room.
His throne sits, tall and imposing, the same hue as the blood of the last Highblood and made up from all them old bones long decayed and every Highblood come before. None of this is what makes the room terrifying. The source of choking, terror sits within, on that throne, lounging and smiling any way but kindly. He looms over, painted face a picture of fear, expression one of murder, and his claws the beauty what follows. He is something ancient, beholding something new with the same regard-- amusement.
"HIS BRETHREN DON'T OFTEN BRING NEW MOTHERFUCKING GIFTS," His voice booms. "Not ones such as this. NO, NO." He leans forward. "...You must be something... real goddamned special."
Day 4
He resides in the shadows of the conciousness, and as the world of dreams shifts into something of his grasp, he makes himself home in it. So many paths lead his way, once the world opens up to his will. A merry motherfucking guide is he, the ticket taker and ring master all in fucking one. He is a wraith in these dreams.
Where the little Initiate was not but speck of time and failures, a blotted mark in the swath of a thousand pages, a discomfort in his own motherfucking form... the Grand Highblood owns every gesture, every breath, every bit of his all too-tall body.
He sits, just as before, this time before the wall behind his throne. He paints with grace unearthly. He paints every horror in the mind of his new guest. And then he smiles wide. The Grand Highblood's fangs stick into every word. If it were more conscious, it would seem to be done deliberate. It's quite possible it is still, considering the way his slow calm hand gestures put his wicked, rainbow stained claws on display.
"It's so beautiful... ALL UP FULL OF FUCKING BEAUTY TO BE KICKED BY PLACE DARK AND RAPPED THE HOLY UNDOING BY IT BEING UP AND MOTHERFUCKING DONE. The rowdy raucous got to be stopped upon, cause a calm calamitous by the wicked revelations to be had. A REVELATION OF HIGHEST FUCKING ORDER WOULD MAKE APT AS ALL TO BE. He does think... OH BY HIS PAN HAS COME OCCURRENCE NOW! He thinks it missing only one thing singular." The Grand Highblood turns his head. "AIN'T YOU DOWN FOR THE RIGHTEOUS MOTHERFUCKING AGREEMENTS WITH HE?"
Day 7
His height is not easily processed. He is not particularly wide set, not big by the correct proportional measures. Fuck that, he says wordless by every step. No, his form simply fails to make sense to the functioning mind. He doesn't look like a person, he looks like something that happens to people.
And happen he does.
He moves along lax and idle, no apparent place better to be. The battlefield is a well-tended park. His club-- a great wicked thing sharp spikes and a heavy swing and rainbow all over it-- is twirled like a toy. He wears his an armor, bone of bone, the last efforts of someone's attempt to end him then warped and crafted into his protection. Or really, just to inspire.
But it's the smug grin as he walks on through, like he's an immortal. It's the way his eyes go wide with childish delight, his grin matching, before he darts forward with a lightening fast acrobatic motion and gleefully swings his club at the first living thing he sees, making a great show of watching it fly into the distance if the body is not stuck to his club-- then he quickly shifts back once more to being something old. It sets him off against the world around. It makes it seem as though he's waiting for something bigger.
And then his eyes fall upon his next game.
What| The Capitol has brought the Initiate's future in at last for this limited time opportunity.
Where| Dreaming worlds.
When| During the dream event.
Notes| I'm posting this with Initiate's account, but it will be GHB (
comicalamity) that tags come from. Icons will be in the comments so if that's a pet peeve then steer clear. Warnings| HUGE MASSIVE WARNINGS FOR THIS GUY, which is a reason he's getting a post of his own instead of going in the official log. Warning for possible genocide references, torture references, desecration of corpses, violences, language... the worst of things. Just be weary. (Also casual spacism.)
Day 2
It doesn't matter where you came from, it matters that you're here. It matters that you really don't want to be here...
The throne room is massive. It reaches upwards like it can compete with that of the sky. Its color and glimmer grasping at star's glory. Bones line the chambers, make up the walls, the ceiling, some still featuring their death hues. Some skulls with sharpened maws still agape, like they can cry out their respective agonies, even lacking tongues in their maws. The bones hang from the ceiling, interspersed with pleasant little lanterns and swaths of cloth and cloak.
Behind it all is a wall so smooth as to be glass. But for the sticky bits of color clinging to it, a brilliant collage. A motherfucking kingdom of dead behind him, and the living set before his beholding. Stained glass high, depicting various amusing executions and tortures, as well as shows of the holy scriptures, all cast light beautiful on the dark indigo room.
His throne sits, tall and imposing, the same hue as the blood of the last Highblood and made up from all them old bones long decayed and every Highblood come before. None of this is what makes the room terrifying. The source of choking, terror sits within, on that throne, lounging and smiling any way but kindly. He looms over, painted face a picture of fear, expression one of murder, and his claws the beauty what follows. He is something ancient, beholding something new with the same regard-- amusement.
"HIS BRETHREN DON'T OFTEN BRING NEW MOTHERFUCKING GIFTS," His voice booms. "Not ones such as this. NO, NO." He leans forward. "...You must be something... real goddamned special."
Day 4
He resides in the shadows of the conciousness, and as the world of dreams shifts into something of his grasp, he makes himself home in it. So many paths lead his way, once the world opens up to his will. A merry motherfucking guide is he, the ticket taker and ring master all in fucking one. He is a wraith in these dreams.
Where the little Initiate was not but speck of time and failures, a blotted mark in the swath of a thousand pages, a discomfort in his own motherfucking form... the Grand Highblood owns every gesture, every breath, every bit of his all too-tall body.
He sits, just as before, this time before the wall behind his throne. He paints with grace unearthly. He paints every horror in the mind of his new guest. And then he smiles wide. The Grand Highblood's fangs stick into every word. If it were more conscious, it would seem to be done deliberate. It's quite possible it is still, considering the way his slow calm hand gestures put his wicked, rainbow stained claws on display.
"It's so beautiful... ALL UP FULL OF FUCKING BEAUTY TO BE KICKED BY PLACE DARK AND RAPPED THE HOLY UNDOING BY IT BEING UP AND MOTHERFUCKING DONE. The rowdy raucous got to be stopped upon, cause a calm calamitous by the wicked revelations to be had. A REVELATION OF HIGHEST FUCKING ORDER WOULD MAKE APT AS ALL TO BE. He does think... OH BY HIS PAN HAS COME OCCURRENCE NOW! He thinks it missing only one thing singular." The Grand Highblood turns his head. "AIN'T YOU DOWN FOR THE RIGHTEOUS MOTHERFUCKING AGREEMENTS WITH HE?"
Day 7
His height is not easily processed. He is not particularly wide set, not big by the correct proportional measures. Fuck that, he says wordless by every step. No, his form simply fails to make sense to the functioning mind. He doesn't look like a person, he looks like something that happens to people.
And happen he does.
He moves along lax and idle, no apparent place better to be. The battlefield is a well-tended park. His club-- a great wicked thing sharp spikes and a heavy swing and rainbow all over it-- is twirled like a toy. He wears his an armor, bone of bone, the last efforts of someone's attempt to end him then warped and crafted into his protection. Or really, just to inspire.
But it's the smug grin as he walks on through, like he's an immortal. It's the way his eyes go wide with childish delight, his grin matching, before he darts forward with a lightening fast acrobatic motion and gleefully swings his club at the first living thing he sees, making a great show of watching it fly into the distance if the body is not stuck to his club-- then he quickly shifts back once more to being something old. It sets him off against the world around. It makes it seem as though he's waiting for something bigger.
And then his eyes fall upon his next game.
no subject
One hit and Jet was likely to find himself six feet under and ready to bury when he hit the ground. For now, he flew higher, much, much, higher than the towering monster's head, though Jet still found himself needing to be wary of those enormous horns.
"Sorry, don't sit around drinking with mass-murderers, you'll have to find yourself another date." A quick setting-switch on his blaster and the next time Jet pulled the trigger, it wasn't lightning that came out, but balls of plasma aimed right at GHB's head.
no subject
"AIN'T NO ONE NEVER TOLD YOU OF LAYING JUDGEMENT UPON WRIT UNREAD?" He cackles.
The plasma is launched. In a split second of quick thinking, wanting to hit those things off with his club but not knowing if it might burn though, he dodges quick to the side. Its effect is threefold; he avoids the blast and injury associated, he gets on swing his horns like twin swords as to tear through the air, and finally, his long hair flies up and gets caught in the plasma's light. He watches close for a burn at the ends.
no subject
He didn't stand a chance and it was only growing clearer by the second.
"The hell's the point of all this, huh? Gonna kill everyone? And then what?"
no subject
The plasma singes his hair and he watches the spark sizzle of it's fucking ends. What a thrilling thought, to imagine catching fire and burning alive.
"You want on a know?" He hums. GOT UP IN YOU FOR FULL PROPER MOTHERFUCKING KNOWING ON YOUR ASS?" He contains his laugh that time, smothers it down until it ain't got a scramble in its limbs. "He's going to do onto your lot what he did to every last unlucky little limeblood, whose numbers dwarfed yours in a miserable fuckin multitude, little brother..."
He stands tall. His arms spread, club extending outwards. A painted target upon his chest. He speaks fast and in rapture.
"HE'S GOING TO DO UNTO YOU WHAT HE DOES EACH AND EVERY PLANET AS DARES SPILL IN HIS PATH! Every last one he's left countless! WHEN HE SLAUGHTERS EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU ALL, HE WILL PAINT WITH GOD'S BLOOD OVER THE WHOLE OF THIS PLANET! Through his eyes they will witness. THROUGH HIS HEAR CARTILAGE THEY WILL BEHOLD THE GREAT UNDENIABLE DISCORD! He is their vessel, their servant. YOUR GRAND HIGHBLOOD, KIN AND KITH OF THE HOLY! He will bring a most righteous rapture. THEIR GREATNESS WILL BREATHE ALL THAT HE MOTHERFUCKING BREATHES AND BLESS HIM, AS THEY HAVE ALREADY UP AND DONE BY TASK ALONE. Oh brother, ain't you opened peep sphere to the game as gets kicked about?"
no subject
He was scared, he'd be an idiot not to be. The monster before him was over twice his height and could probably crush him without even noticing he'd done it. Jet didn't stand a chance and that terrified him, it just didn't stop him.
This...thing looked like Kurloz and talked like kurloz but he was a sick and twisted imitation of his brother and hearing that word used towards him by this guy just made him angry. Grand High Blood or whatever he was, Jet had to do what he could to take him down before he made good on the promise he was making.
Those overly long arms spread out wide, Jet dove down fast, clicking on his accelerator as he went to try and give himself an edge. He just had to hope this troll didn't have some kind of super speed to catch him with. A more realistic part of him wouldn't be surprised. His gun came up and he stuck with the blaster setting, aiming the orange blasts right for the center of the High Blood's chest.
no subject
The flarebeast becomes a blur before his eyes. He sees the orange blasts come out at him. It's blinks in time and his smile is an oh so very slow thing in the span of it.
And then in a blink, he's gone. The blasts shoot off into the distance where he used to stand.
He's behind him, whispering soft into Jet's ear with a name that Jet will know. "Did that whelp ever tell you why they called him Fraysong?"
It's all fast again as he laughs loud, grasps Jet's leg in one hand, and slams him violently down into the dirt.
no subject
The wing-like boosters on his back are crunched in and shattered, leaving painfully flaring stumps in their wake and his head took a harsh blow, but he can still see and he can still move (albeit far too slowly now) so he's not out yet.
He winces and struggles as he sits up in the shallow grave the highblood dug for him.
"Not...exactly. Cause it sounds damn pretty?" If he was about to be crushed in his tracks, he might as well get a smart ass comment in on the way out.
no subject
He smiles on down like a child waiting for their friend to rise up for all the more play. The spiked club, made all up of broken bones and horns, covered in rainbow, sits just so over his shoulder. He's pleased when the motherfucker deigns to answer, is capable too.
He's even more pleased by what the answer is. He laughs loud.
"HA, WHAT A GOOD ONE THAT IS TO BE! You're correct my main motherfucker. PRETTY IT UP AND WAS IN HIS LIKING." But of course titles aren't chosen, but given. "That ain't the proper why though, little brother," He purrs. Then his arms spread and he's speaking in that preacher's voice. The General's voice. "HERE WE STAND IN THE MOTHER FUCKING FRAY WHAT BE OF BATTLE! But he cannot sing. NOT A SONG COMES FROM HE, BROTHER! Much a miracle that would be, a song from him. THAT'S THE JOKE. So, where? WELL THAT, OH FAITHLESS, HE IS HERE TO TELL, ALL BESTOWING WISDOM IS HE!"
He leans in real close so the wicked word can be heard. He leans in nice and nearlike to best produce holy revelation. "The songs come from the sounds as what's made of enemy reaching the motherfucking finale of their shitshow of a life."
Just as Jet's pulled himself up out a grave, the Highblood rips him high into the air, back where he belongs, only to bring around his club in a sharp swing. And it's outta here!