Martyr's Legacy
> Amnesia : End

caepaecaesurae:

CC: Cronus Ampora hadn’t slept much, that week. Neither had Kankri, really. They both knew what was coming. They knew that the unconscious power of Hope brought his daymares to life, when they were vivid enough. There wasn’t much that was more vivid than death, and his memories of that were coming.

CC: They’d taken to resting in Kankri’s room, away from the cat, on the occasions when they bothered to rest at all. Cronus had stopped wearing his bodyarmor unless he was planning to leave the room. A few hours ago, he’d finally drifted off to sleep despite himself, curled up against one end of the couch.

ML: Once he had realized his moiraill was asleep Kankri had moved himself out of arms reach, despite every instinct in him telling him to cradle the sea dwller, to hold him close and sooth his hair and remind his body that it was grounded in reality and not dreams.

ML: This dream would be too vivid, and they feared how he would lash out, not knowing it was Kankri.

ML: He sat his sleepless vigil, watching over Cronus, despite eyes that looked bruised from a week of the same.

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martyrslegacy:

Heavy irons surrounded his wrists and held them bound, dragging them down. He who had only ever preached peace, the idea of him being a danger was almost laughable.

His skin was mottled in bruises, stripped bare of the cloak his mother had made for him, they looked livid against his skin, a visual testiment to the sin of his blood colour.

The subjugglators had questioned him. Questioning. A more accurate portrayl would be that he was used for their japery. Accusations shouted at him as he was passed and pushed from one to another, so they could get their blows, and their laughs in at is  stuttering responses. They mocked him and his peaceful ways cruelly,and now, with their fun over, they bring them before their high priest, the Grand High Blood.

Signless was thrown hard onto the ground before the bloody throne, and shockingly red eyes lifted to behold his judge and exicutioner. A shock went through the mind of the Signless and he found himself staring too long as sinapses popped and frizzled, finding familiarity in the curve of a horn and the line of his jaw.

Kurloz.

His visions whispered the trolls hatch name to him, the dim memory of a shorter, slighter frame of a much younger troll, who laughed a good deal more drifted to him and scattered like delicate cobwebs broken by the wind.

The frankly huge troll leaned forward and peered down at the mutant on his knees before him with a pensive expression, and then he spoke. The sound of his voice was a shock to your core, although you could not have said why.

“So you are the little motherfucker the lowbloods are callin their king?”

It took him a moment to find his voice, hoarse and rough and dry, cracking. 

“I have never claimed this title.”

“You just let other little fuckers claim that shit for you.” His gaze drifted away from the prostrate mutant and to one of the clowns who had brought him in. “Why you wastin my time on this shit? Flog him and turn him back out. Aint worth spit, aint a threat none, groveling fuckers about wet himself.”

“Is that any way to defend my empire for me?” The pouting lazy voice rose from somewhere back behind the bloody throne, and its owner  slowly stepped out from an archway hidden in shadow.  The flickering light glinded off her jewel and gold covered form, and the 2X3dent that she  casually carried in her hands. She walked as if she knew every eye in the room was on her and could feel the touch of every eye, and luxurated in it, as she made her way over to the bloodied seat of the high priest of the mirthful messiahs, and her right hand.

“He aint not a bit of a real threat..” The subjugglator protested in a lazy drawl, and deflected the smack of tines against his head reflexively.

Signless heard little of the rest of the exchange as they bickered over him, staring up at Her Royal Condescension for the first time. He almost blacked out as the visions spared through his tried mind of a snarky laughing girl with a celebration cake…

Meenah. This was Meenah. Her name was Meenah.

“—Excecution!” The word cut through the fog and made his heart constrict. 

“Aw now I already ordered a lashin for him though.”

“So lets have both.” Her tone was nasty, full of glee and anticipation.

“As her majesty fuckin commands.” The Highblood made the words mocking, and ducked another swipe, and Signless’s blood ran cold in his veins as he understood that he was simply a chess piece in a game played between the two ancient trolls. “This blood aint on my hands.”

Cold hard hands grabbed his arms and hauled him back up to his feet, wrenching his shoulders in their sockets. They didn’t allow him to get his feet braced beneath him, dragging him outside into an open area with a  large rock  in its center. Other painted trolls were rounding up lowbloods to watch- though it took little encouragement once a few had gathered for an entire crowd to appear .. and then three othrs, bound in chains. Tired red eyes saw his guardian, his matesprit, and his brother, already in a collar that would feed his psionics back into him if he attempted to use them. Their eyes were wide with fear and shock, and he tried to smile for them, even as he was bound stomach down on the rock,and his vestments were stripped to his hips.

The first lash made his body attmept to arch as a cry was drawn out from his lips, pain sizzling through him and running like lightening through his mind, cutting off thought. The lashlanded again, its weighted end  raising a welted line of red on his back.. and again, and again, till flesh tore beneath it and his back began to run sticky with blood, his sin laid out bare for all to see and staining the ground beneath him, still the lash came, till he lost track of what happened, in a sea of pain, and a voice gone horse and quiet from the outcries he did not attempt to stiful. The crowd was cheering, the trolls loved their blood sport, a heretic, a rebel brought to justice.

And the clowns knew just how to play to their audiance. 

Were these not the same trolls who just yesterday listened to him speak, and begged him to teach them?

Another lash and the thought was gone again.

He was dizzy now, and bloody sweat ran into his eyes, and plastered his hair to his skin. His back was ruined, and all he felt was pain as he was forced to move, to march, and stumble, and continue marching through the town. Trolls, some solumn, some jeering and throwing rotting fruit that splattered against his skin, lined the streets to watch the specticle.

Every step was a new adventure in pain as his back wrenched, twitching and spasming, the heavy irons dragging at his arms, and the blood running down his legs making him slip and stumble.

For one brilliant moment there was relief, gentle hands pressing something cool and damp to his face, to wipe away the sweat, and side eyes behind the deed, soon chased away by kicks and curses.

He struggled up a winding hill  and out to the edge of a cliff, where another servent of the empire waited with a torch in hand. He was forced to hold his arms out before him as the torch was put to his irons and held steady.

The cuffs around his wrists were heated to a cherry red, an intense colour that the clowns laughed of, his bracelets matched his eyes they said, as he felt his wrists searing, and smelled his own flesh cooking in the air, the shocking colour running down his cheeks as he choked on his own pain.

They used a hook to attach the chain of the manicles to a nail embedded in the rock, and they kicked him over the edge, to hang swinging from it, to the cheers of the crowd below.

He remembered speaking, fevrishly, to those gathered, but he did not remember the words.

He remembered an anger bubbling up inside him, a frustration, a searing feeling of hatrid for all that this was, and for the knowledge that his death meant nothing to them.

He screamed his anger out into the heavens, as his bloodpusher finally gave out under the stress of his body.

All went dark.

The Beginning of the End

caepaeCaesurae: It had become a habit, over the past perigees. Kankri would play big spoon while a few sweeps of Alternia seeped into his moirail, night after night, and when they awoke he would gradually teach the seadweller how to be a normal friendly person by example. Cronus would perk back up, and they’d go on about their day…

Of course, sometimes he slept fitfully, or poorly. Once or twice, small scars had opened in the night and healed closed again moments later, as Hope brought dreams to life. That tended to make for a very quiet morning, and quietly laundered sheets. He’d never thrashed before, though; never ejected himself forcefully from the sleeping platform to sprawl onto the floor with a strangled and disoriented grunt.

caepaeCaesurae: There was a first time for everything.

martyrsLegacy: Kankri Vantas had been sleeping restlessly for a small amount of time now, he was anticipating a very bad night, very soon- and this? Was not it, it did serve to rouse him into complete wakefulness with a suddenness that left his blood pump pounding painfully in his chest as he sat up wide eyed and wild haired, falling to his knees as he stumped off the sleeping platform and to his moirail, reaching for him.

"Cronus!"

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algorithmsdesign:

martyrslegacy:

algorithmsdesign:

martyrslegacy:

Tsk.

What would you like?

Something sweet? I suppose?

Why are you tsking at me? That’s rude.

I shall be as rude as I wish to. (:<B

Don’t you sass me. I’m older than you can imagine getting and I can and probably will sit on you.

I’m certain I’m quite terrified.

I shall be right there.

algorithmsdesign:

martyrslegacy:

Tsk.

What would you like?

Something sweet? I suppose?

Why are you tsking at me? That’s rude.

I shall be as rude as I wish to. (:<B

algorithmsdesign:

martyrslegacy:

Well.

I supposed you’ve certainly been covered in worse things before.

Is this a solicitation for me to bring you something? (:B

Imagine grabby hands becoming a thing, here. I wouldn’t be opposed to something to eat, but I don’t believe I absolutely need it right this moment…

Tsk.

What would you like?

algorithmsdesign:

martyrslegacy:

I would be delighted to see you, Psii, as I always am. That is interesting news, though. How do you fair, are you well?

I could probably fair worse, but I feel physically sluggish and incredibly lazy.

I’m also covered in slobber because Jasmine seems to have determined the only solution to the situation is covering me in affection.

Well.

I supposed you’ve certainly been covered in worse things before.

Is this a solicitation for me to bring you something? (:B

algorithmsdesign:

martyrslegacy:

algorithmsdesign:

I wonder if you saw my warnings yesterday, in regards to the smaller Mituna wandering about, Brother?

Ah! Goodness, no, I’ve not been on, what happens?

It seems the ‘me’ of several days ago was pared apart, resulting in both Beforan and Alternian individuals of the same name.

The little Beforan snot took off with the bee Sparks gave me…Us?? 

and went to parts unknown. Presumably Sparks went and gathered him up safely.

To finish: I don’t know how much you want to go looking for Minituna, but if you wish to visit, I haven’t even seen me properly yet so I don’t know what you’re in for.

I would be delighted to see you, Psii, as I always am. That is interesting news, though. How do you fair, are you well?

algorithmsdesign:

I wonder if you saw my warnings yesterday, in regards to the smaller Mituna wandering about, Brother?

Ah! Goodness, no, I’ve not been on, what happens?

TEA REBUTTAL.

amusedmuralist:

though teas several sent, BROTHER, will with crux of matter get start on.

tea being chamomile, AS IS KNOWN TO BE SUCH MY OWN SELF DESPISES. in the specific, THIS.

PACKAGING DIFFERENT FROM BAGS MY OWN SELF OVER SENT, as is not bagged. LOOSE LEAVES INTERESTING ARE, and flowers whole include. SWEET WERE WHEN ATE AFTER TEA STEEPED.

tea itself? COLOUR STRONG WAS. not so rich hue as that which pissblood bleeds, NOR THE FALSITY OF TEARS. between two hues lay.

BREWED TO SPECIFICATIONS. spoons two for sixteen ounces, AS COULD THEN TRY WITH MILK AND NONE.

without, FOUND ENJOYED! as surprised. NO DIRT, nor dank, WITHIN TASTE. grassy was in way pleasantbeing, AND SWEET MOREOVER. slight bitter at throat mine improved, NOT LESSENED. steam pleasant was, MOREOVER. would drink again, THINK.

milk still do not think in tea belongs, AT ALL. muddied taste, AND WEAKENED. some cream added, BUT THE BITTERNESS ALLAYED IN UTTERNESS. do not recommend.

THERE. will others try later, BUT MATTER AT CRUX IS DONE. chamomiles as do not of taurean arse remind, ENJOY. or can to. MILK STILL NO PLACE HAVING THEREIN.