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paixaorpg2006-01-21 03:14 am
seared-god.livejournal.com) wrote in paixaorpg2006-01-21 03:14 am
Entry tags:
At the gates of Niflheim [open]
Character(s): Sephiroth, all.
Content: Entering through the Niflheim gates.
Setting: Niflheim
Time: Morning.
Warnings: N/A
There it was! At last, the opening he had been looking for. A surging, urgeful power enveloped him, tore him from all he had come to know, and suddenly - in what seemed like either years or seconds, the pain of life, of spirit, of being washed over him from all sides.
He was still for a long moment, crouched as he was on terra firma, savouring with luxurious slowness the first inhalation. He could taste the air around him, taste its promise and its life. Inwardly he allowed himself the brief vulnerability to rejoice, before straightening with an easeless grace, the material of his long coat creaking as its folds realigned as he stood. His head still cast down, eyes shut with the delicate lashes resting against his cheeks, he adjusted himself to the sounds of this new world - still sightless.
Vaguely, murmuring ahead of him. A congregation of people, muted as though subdued by some kind of protocol. Behind him only the whisper of flora, the breath of the wind. Finally, his skin prickling all over with sensation - sensation, such like he hadn't experienced for the longest time - he opened his eyes.
At once his pupils adjusted to the light, and he could feel every tiny movement of body and sinew as though it had been a manual effort to do so. Ahead of him was a great gate of shimmering silver ice, towering above an orderly mass of people passing under it. It was a sight to behold even for such a person as had not 'seen' for a long time.
Sephiroth steeled himself, still marvelling inwardly at the muscles tensed to do his mind's bidding as though it were nothing short of a miracle, and strode with long, careless strides towards the gate. His eyes registered that there was a queue of sorts, as though of a well-structured system of entrance to what he presumed to be a city. However, such things had never applied to him in the past; the functions of human society was but an observation spectacle, not something that intruded upon the life he had built for himself out of blood and ashes.
Striding past, he heard a couple of disgruntled murmurs and paid them no heed. His sword swung lazily from side to side as he walked, its horizontal resting position clearing people from his path in a wide berth. There was no need of it today. Today he was become everything he had been born for - today he was God. And it so happened that he was feeling gracious with the populace of this... This new and exciting world that he had forged a path to using the very Lifestream, that ethereal flow that powered the Wheel of Life.
However, this euphoria did not permeate the crowd gathered patiently behind him as he strode past decisively. The quiet, disgruntled murmurs turned to angry mutters, and these spawned and bred into a unified rabble of complaint as he neared the towering ice gates. He could feel the cold air radiating from them, these primeval monoliths, as a rather short and squat man stepped into his path.
"May I ask your name?" The stubby man questioned in a polite voice, his eyes nervously darting behind Sephiroth to the congregation of impatient people. Sephiroth inclined his head slightly towards the man in a gracious fashion. "No." Came the simple reply. His mind was buzzing, he was too full of burning, consuming life to engage in idle conversation. The man faltered, unsure of what to say next. "I see.. Very well.." He stammered.
A taller, more powerfully built younger man came forward from the crowd. "Hey, how come he gets to skip the queue?" the angry demand came. The short information booth clerk shrugged helplessly at the younger man, willing him to not cause trouble. But the silver-haired man had already swept on past, his coat billowing behind his powerful strides. As he walked through the towering gates, a small silver device was thrust into his hand by an over-zealous bystander. Rage suddenly flashed through his mind, and he envisaged drawing his sword and running her through then and there for interrupting the flow of his thoughts, but just as quickly as it came the anger vanished. Placidity flooded his mind once more, and he merely inclined his head again in a gracious acknowledgement, and walked onwards beyond the gates.
Content: Entering through the Niflheim gates.
Setting: Niflheim
Time: Morning.
Warnings: N/A
There it was! At last, the opening he had been looking for. A surging, urgeful power enveloped him, tore him from all he had come to know, and suddenly - in what seemed like either years or seconds, the pain of life, of spirit, of being washed over him from all sides.
He was still for a long moment, crouched as he was on terra firma, savouring with luxurious slowness the first inhalation. He could taste the air around him, taste its promise and its life. Inwardly he allowed himself the brief vulnerability to rejoice, before straightening with an easeless grace, the material of his long coat creaking as its folds realigned as he stood. His head still cast down, eyes shut with the delicate lashes resting against his cheeks, he adjusted himself to the sounds of this new world - still sightless.
Vaguely, murmuring ahead of him. A congregation of people, muted as though subdued by some kind of protocol. Behind him only the whisper of flora, the breath of the wind. Finally, his skin prickling all over with sensation - sensation, such like he hadn't experienced for the longest time - he opened his eyes.
At once his pupils adjusted to the light, and he could feel every tiny movement of body and sinew as though it had been a manual effort to do so. Ahead of him was a great gate of shimmering silver ice, towering above an orderly mass of people passing under it. It was a sight to behold even for such a person as had not 'seen' for a long time.
Sephiroth steeled himself, still marvelling inwardly at the muscles tensed to do his mind's bidding as though it were nothing short of a miracle, and strode with long, careless strides towards the gate. His eyes registered that there was a queue of sorts, as though of a well-structured system of entrance to what he presumed to be a city. However, such things had never applied to him in the past; the functions of human society was but an observation spectacle, not something that intruded upon the life he had built for himself out of blood and ashes.
Striding past, he heard a couple of disgruntled murmurs and paid them no heed. His sword swung lazily from side to side as he walked, its horizontal resting position clearing people from his path in a wide berth. There was no need of it today. Today he was become everything he had been born for - today he was God. And it so happened that he was feeling gracious with the populace of this... This new and exciting world that he had forged a path to using the very Lifestream, that ethereal flow that powered the Wheel of Life.
However, this euphoria did not permeate the crowd gathered patiently behind him as he strode past decisively. The quiet, disgruntled murmurs turned to angry mutters, and these spawned and bred into a unified rabble of complaint as he neared the towering ice gates. He could feel the cold air radiating from them, these primeval monoliths, as a rather short and squat man stepped into his path.
"May I ask your name?" The stubby man questioned in a polite voice, his eyes nervously darting behind Sephiroth to the congregation of impatient people. Sephiroth inclined his head slightly towards the man in a gracious fashion. "No." Came the simple reply. His mind was buzzing, he was too full of burning, consuming life to engage in idle conversation. The man faltered, unsure of what to say next. "I see.. Very well.." He stammered.
A taller, more powerfully built younger man came forward from the crowd. "Hey, how come he gets to skip the queue?" the angry demand came. The short information booth clerk shrugged helplessly at the younger man, willing him to not cause trouble. But the silver-haired man had already swept on past, his coat billowing behind his powerful strides. As he walked through the towering gates, a small silver device was thrust into his hand by an over-zealous bystander. Rage suddenly flashed through his mind, and he envisaged drawing his sword and running her through then and there for interrupting the flow of his thoughts, but just as quickly as it came the anger vanished. Placidity flooded his mind once more, and he merely inclined his head again in a gracious acknowledgement, and walked onwards beyond the gates.
no subject
“Your name?” he asked, looking nervous and put-upon.
“What’s it to you?” Riku growled, looking past him at the city beyond for any sign of Sora.
“You may not enter the city without—“ the man began.
“Fine. The name’s Ansem.” What the hell had made him say that? “Now get out of my way.”
The man moved aside, then happily enough, to record something in a large book nearby. Just inside the gates, a pale, nondescript woman handed him something. Riku snatched it out of her hand just to be done with it. He didn’t have time for this bullshit.
Moving away from the gates, Riku looked this way and that for Sora. But the cobbled square was littered with beggars and large-eyed children selling flowers (he hoped it was flowers they were selling), along with many people dressed in rags, hobbling to and fro.
In spite of the monochrome of the crowd, Riku could not find that speck of red he was looking for.
He gritted his teeth in frustration and sheathed the Soul Eater.
This was all that beanpole’s fault. If he hadn’t distracted him—-a spot of red caught his eye, and Riku looked down...at his arm, which was bleeding freely and copiously from several gashes that damned Shadow must have left when he’d ordered it not to even think of attacking Sora. Their claws were sharp – Riku hadn’t even felt the damage as it was made.
But it wasn’t pretty. Back home, he would have gone for the first aid or maybe even walked to the emergency room. Here...
Riku clenched his fists in frustration, which only increased the flow of blood. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Why was he even here?
He wasn’t helpless, but when it came right down to it, Riku was still a fifteen-year-old boy far from home and friends. And he’d never been what one might call practical or level-headed in a crisis.