Post by bubblegum91 on Aug 30, 2011 7:06:34 GMT -5
Comments and critiques (no matter how 'harsh') all welcome.
Blood was all Sky knew. He lived it, loved it, accepted it. It was life, and it was death. His fascinations with the morbid had left him an outcast. Laughed at by his peers. His entire life all Sky longed for was acceptance.
So he shouldn't have been surprised when he had accepted an invitation to the famed 'Depraved Brotherhood.' A Brotherhood rumored to have been started by the Devil himself. Feared for it's brutality and cruelty.
But the man who had invited him seemed to have accepted whatever weirdness bubbled underneath Sky's surface. Whatever had forced him into solidarity. And that invoked a happiness in him so intense, he would have jumped off the highest cliff, had the man commanded it.
Now, here he was. Standing in front of an intimidating black door, etched with writing that would have puzzled the smartest of scholars.
He cocked his head to one side. Would he find acceptance here? Or was that dream too impossible to hope for?
Well, only one way to find out. With an aggrieved sigh, he read aloud from the small parchment the strange man had given him. The strange man was average looking enough. A black carpet of hair graced his head, falling to the man's shoulders. He wore simple garments, a black and grey 'tunic' and baggy pants, suspended by a red rope. His muscles were lean and hard, and in his deep blue eyes Sky only saw love. Albeit singed with grief.
Despite the length of the words, and the fact he hadn't encountered them before, they rolled off his tongue as easily as children's English. He even added the appropriate accent, a phlegm enriched enunciation, when needed.
"-Visethurest hariiki jubline hariti haritu acumberethere.-"
The door slowly creaked open, emitting a strange bloodcurdling howl that left Sky caught between a deep desire to run as fast as he could the opposite direction, and an insane curiosity to see what awaited him beyond the sound.
His curiosity won out, and a trembling Sky peered beyond the door.
His green eyes darted around the room, both taking in the scene and looking for any threats that might face him. Instead he found an odd sensation of understanding, as if he already belonged. He relaxed slightly, his sinewy muscles hanging loosely off his young body. His wavy black mane framed his ebony childlike face, as flickers of light cast shadows over his many scars; A round scar, recently healed, looped around his right eye, a lightning bolt scar streamed across his right cheek, and an X shaped scar adorned his forehead. Each told the story of one of his father's drug fueled beatings.
Sky had chosen to wear all black- a black hoodie with a singlet and long tight pants complete with black and white converse sneakers- and it had seemed eerily appropriate. The walls, dotted with torches for light, a table that sat directly in the middle off the room, and even the picture frame above it all wore the same color. The only other color in the room came from the picture hanging proudly on display, showing an epic battle between two sword-masters, dawn's light slowly pulling up from the horizon. And the seats stationed around the black table, each tightly holding blood red cushions.
At each sat a man in a black robe, hoods pulled up, except for one in the center. Sky's face lit up, everything he had ever dreamed seemed within reach for the first time in his pained life.
One of the men, sitting at the end, stood up. He threw back his hood, revealing a pockmarked face, red eyes and cracked lips, and smiled. He was relatively tall, and Sky guessed, he must be the head huncho.
"So," the man said, still smiling. "Are you ready, Skylar, to serve Satan?"
Sky's eyes danced, swimming in pools of tears, as he nodded feverishly.
Blood was all Sky knew. He lived it, loved it, accepted it. It was life, and it was death. His fascinations with the morbid had left him an outcast. Laughed at by his peers. His entire life all Sky longed for was acceptance.
So he shouldn't have been surprised when he had accepted an invitation to the famed 'Depraved Brotherhood.' A Brotherhood rumored to have been started by the Devil himself. Feared for it's brutality and cruelty.
But the man who had invited him seemed to have accepted whatever weirdness bubbled underneath Sky's surface. Whatever had forced him into solidarity. And that invoked a happiness in him so intense, he would have jumped off the highest cliff, had the man commanded it.
Now, here he was. Standing in front of an intimidating black door, etched with writing that would have puzzled the smartest of scholars.
He cocked his head to one side. Would he find acceptance here? Or was that dream too impossible to hope for?
Well, only one way to find out. With an aggrieved sigh, he read aloud from the small parchment the strange man had given him. The strange man was average looking enough. A black carpet of hair graced his head, falling to the man's shoulders. He wore simple garments, a black and grey 'tunic' and baggy pants, suspended by a red rope. His muscles were lean and hard, and in his deep blue eyes Sky only saw love. Albeit singed with grief.
Despite the length of the words, and the fact he hadn't encountered them before, they rolled off his tongue as easily as children's English. He even added the appropriate accent, a phlegm enriched enunciation, when needed.
"-Visethurest hariiki jubline hariti haritu acumberethere.-"
The door slowly creaked open, emitting a strange bloodcurdling howl that left Sky caught between a deep desire to run as fast as he could the opposite direction, and an insane curiosity to see what awaited him beyond the sound.
His curiosity won out, and a trembling Sky peered beyond the door.
His green eyes darted around the room, both taking in the scene and looking for any threats that might face him. Instead he found an odd sensation of understanding, as if he already belonged. He relaxed slightly, his sinewy muscles hanging loosely off his young body. His wavy black mane framed his ebony childlike face, as flickers of light cast shadows over his many scars; A round scar, recently healed, looped around his right eye, a lightning bolt scar streamed across his right cheek, and an X shaped scar adorned his forehead. Each told the story of one of his father's drug fueled beatings.
Sky had chosen to wear all black- a black hoodie with a singlet and long tight pants complete with black and white converse sneakers- and it had seemed eerily appropriate. The walls, dotted with torches for light, a table that sat directly in the middle off the room, and even the picture frame above it all wore the same color. The only other color in the room came from the picture hanging proudly on display, showing an epic battle between two sword-masters, dawn's light slowly pulling up from the horizon. And the seats stationed around the black table, each tightly holding blood red cushions.
At each sat a man in a black robe, hoods pulled up, except for one in the center. Sky's face lit up, everything he had ever dreamed seemed within reach for the first time in his pained life.
One of the men, sitting at the end, stood up. He threw back his hood, revealing a pockmarked face, red eyes and cracked lips, and smiled. He was relatively tall, and Sky guessed, he must be the head huncho.
"So," the man said, still smiling. "Are you ready, Skylar, to serve Satan?"
Sky's eyes danced, swimming in pools of tears, as he nodded feverishly.