SHF Scribe '10
Post by Toadkiller Dog on Jan 19, 2010 18:35:45 GMT
The lanky shell of a man stood amongst a room full of carnage. Wrapped tightly in rotting bandages, his hakama and kimono tattered and filthy, hanging from the frail form loosely. Severed heads, limbs, spilled innards and puddles of still warm blood trailed over the floor. Even the majority of the ceiling and walls splattered in gore. A major battle having just unfolded, the rawboned samurai thing resembling a human the victor. It's sword arm trembling, almost as if under the weight of the crimson, serrated bladed katana clutched tightly in hand.
Blank, milky glazed eyes unblinking amidst the butchery. Small white globes taking nothing in around them, fully amaurotic in sense. Grievous wounds surrounding those eyes, across the face, over the neck, spiraling around the chest and further. Crimson stains soaking over more, older stains. Left arm dangling limply and at an odd, unnatural angle along the thing's side, equally lacerated.
The sword vibrates, faintly glowing a dark, almost deep purple aura. It feeds, hungrily and greedily. Feasting upon the negativity in the air, the stench of death, the essence of turmoil. The dark aura swirling up through the blade, past the hilt and over the wrist of the outstretched forearm. A soft moan escapes the torn, pale lips of the figure, dry and hoarse. The limp, badly broken left arm stiffens at first, then writhes violently. The oozing wounds sear audibly, burning closed. The gnarled and shattered radius and ulna crack and pop loudly, twisting under the flesh. Realigning and regenerating themselves into proper form.
A tanto blade protruding from between the ribcage slowly dislodges itself from the thing's body. Thick, black gore gushing from the hole before the flesh begins to cauterize itself shut. The slowly beating heart beneath quickly closing in around itself with new tissue to seal the wound.
The body stumbles forward, slowly. Step by step, trampling gore under bare feet. It has no will, no decision in where it's legs carry it. The mind long since lost under the every whim of the cursed blade's command. It is merely the vessel, the arm with which to swing the sword. Once a dignified warrior who was unlucky enough to stumble upon the dreaded weapon, Junjinji. Named after it's original wielder. A name that every bearer of it's malicious intent eventually will be called by as well.
Slayer of man, eater of souls, destroyer of hope. Junjinji knows no bounds to it's hatred. Holds no remorse for it's wake of slaughter and chaos. Rather it relishes and savors each and every killing stroke, reveling in the finality it brings.
This lost soul will continue to fulfill it's masters wishes. Night by night it will seek new flesh to rend, new lives to take. Every moon bringing the blade more power. Sighing deeply as it is sheathed, awaiting the day it no longer needs a host. Anticipation mounting as that day draws closer and closer.
Blank, milky glazed eyes unblinking amidst the butchery. Small white globes taking nothing in around them, fully amaurotic in sense. Grievous wounds surrounding those eyes, across the face, over the neck, spiraling around the chest and further. Crimson stains soaking over more, older stains. Left arm dangling limply and at an odd, unnatural angle along the thing's side, equally lacerated.
The sword vibrates, faintly glowing a dark, almost deep purple aura. It feeds, hungrily and greedily. Feasting upon the negativity in the air, the stench of death, the essence of turmoil. The dark aura swirling up through the blade, past the hilt and over the wrist of the outstretched forearm. A soft moan escapes the torn, pale lips of the figure, dry and hoarse. The limp, badly broken left arm stiffens at first, then writhes violently. The oozing wounds sear audibly, burning closed. The gnarled and shattered radius and ulna crack and pop loudly, twisting under the flesh. Realigning and regenerating themselves into proper form.
A tanto blade protruding from between the ribcage slowly dislodges itself from the thing's body. Thick, black gore gushing from the hole before the flesh begins to cauterize itself shut. The slowly beating heart beneath quickly closing in around itself with new tissue to seal the wound.
The body stumbles forward, slowly. Step by step, trampling gore under bare feet. It has no will, no decision in where it's legs carry it. The mind long since lost under the every whim of the cursed blade's command. It is merely the vessel, the arm with which to swing the sword. Once a dignified warrior who was unlucky enough to stumble upon the dreaded weapon, Junjinji. Named after it's original wielder. A name that every bearer of it's malicious intent eventually will be called by as well.
Slayer of man, eater of souls, destroyer of hope. Junjinji knows no bounds to it's hatred. Holds no remorse for it's wake of slaughter and chaos. Rather it relishes and savors each and every killing stroke, reveling in the finality it brings.
This lost soul will continue to fulfill it's masters wishes. Night by night it will seek new flesh to rend, new lives to take. Every moon bringing the blade more power. Sighing deeply as it is sheathed, awaiting the day it no longer needs a host. Anticipation mounting as that day draws closer and closer.
