Mooris The Pity(Open) Feb 27, 2017 21:36:15 GMT
Post by Mammon on Feb 27, 2017 21:36:15 GMT
Mooris The Pity
Lay Of The Land
Lay Of The Land
It sighed through the capital like the breath of a sleeping giant, it wound itself around the bases of trees and domed houses picking up leaves and dust scattering them on its exhalation. It made small dust devils in the debris of fallen houses and made small quiet places howl with the wind, it was the aftermath of the great domination the rise of the Mazoku clan and their fell empire. But there were no bodies that littered the streets, no gibbets raised on poles filled with the unquiet souls of those who opposed their master, it was a poor man's evil that had swept through the Moori and much as it was before was it now. Kids played in the streets, old and young alike laughed and talked.
But as much as thing were the same much was different, there were unsaid words 'what's going to happen', 'what's he planning', 'who are these strange soldiers he keeps', civil unrest slept fitfully these days. He wore blackened leather and plate that stretched down his body like a second skin, it was engraved with fine details and depictions of debased scenes of violence and sexual extasy, a women with breasts laid bare holding a chalice with a snake twined about it, strange gaunt creatures feeding on a fallen man, a fist that held a flaming skull, he was nothing short of some dark god stepped out from some horrific tableau. He looked out onto the city with face hidden behind an iron morion, it had a face guard that obscured all but his eye's and those the devils own glowing softly.
He lived and breathed drama, here he was the fist of an emperor swabbed in something under better circumstances would be called 'over-dramatic' but with the unknown on his side and a few well-placed rumors, he was fear incarnate or a distant cousin at least. He strolled down the streets a path opening up in the crowd like the metaphorical leper no one wanted to touch him or get in his way, he entered a half fallen over building light spilling in from a half smashed in window, timber and stone lined the floor in piles leaving only a table and a chair clean, he sat.
He waited, he set tarot cards out before him with a wave of his hand. "Enter." his voice was a basso rumble that hung in the air long after the word was said. "I know you're out there." his voice changed morphing into a petulant youth with all the certainty of the young. "You have come to become more than you are." his voice was provocative that of a women who filled men's dreams at night. "Enter." they all boomed at once as if not one being sat within that armor hide but many, good stage theatrics. He was there in his official capacity as one of the many recruiter scattered around the city ready to pick up hopped up youth and feed them to the machine of war. He flipped one of the cards over 'the fool'.