[ P ] Death And All His Friends

Oleander Elric

Carnage. A small village once full of life now lay fallen. A wasteland of remnants of chaos. Even days later, the scene was macabre masterpiece of ultimate suffering created by the will of those who found it easy to take advantage of a war to satisfy their cravings for violence.

Bodies were strewn haphazardly about the central area, the stench of gore overwhelming by the remains of those who were made ab example during the slaughtering. The homes of the locals had been completely burned to the ground, embers continuing to spread across whatever they could, leaving the air dense with smoke.

There were no survivors.

At least, that is what one might assume when passing through without a careful glance, but upon closer inspection, there were obvious traces of a lost child. Tiny paw prints were scattered in the ashen earth, the pattern showing a cluster of confusion as they wandered here and there.

They always ked back to the same place. A pair of corpses stacked one over the other leaving enough wiggle room for a tiny pup to squeeze beneath the weight of them and conceal himself. The glow of large fearful golden eyes peeked out from underneath as the sun began to set and transition into nightfall. Another day and another night going by where Oleander found himself alone, terrified, and starving in the presence of Death and all his friends.

@Sylvain

enie

The Tainted Victory

She'd been sending out search parties by the masses those first weeks, scavenging for Imperials dead or alive. Again and again, they'd happen upon more of their fallen brothers and sisters of the final war, carrying their lifeless corpses onto their backs until they'd reached the final resting place, where Colonel Bartosz would try to visit each funeral and assist with notifying each family. It was hard work—mentally taxing and faith-crushing work—but she did it anyway. For them. Until one day she couldn't stand the smell of rotting flesh and the familiar faces being buried deep, Sylvain rallied a small sect to patrol the lands of Perth. It was odd being so close to home, but a job was a job, and the Colonel did not wish to think of anything else other than that.

Soon, the soldiers would come to a crossroads, and she'd put them in teams of two before taking each path. Whitley Seymour, a wiry cadet on assignment, was nervous as the two happened upon the burned village and rushed at his superior's order to search for stragglers. Secure the area, she bellowed, and for fucks sakes, kill any Jacobians you find!

Cinders clogged her senses as the Imperial woman ran along the dirt roads, crushing brittle wood planks under her sturdy paws as she sniffed the smoked grass. Tracks—small ones at that. It hadn't taken long before the Colonel found where they'd led; two adult casualties were strung about, fur strands melted into a thick scab along their skin. Ringed eyes narrowed silently, sighing as she chanced to walk forward before stopping once more at the sight of two golden lights staring back at her.

"Hello?" She whispered, fried and gravelly. The luscious gleam of the moon glazed over silver cheeks, soft with youth. She grew closer, quieting her hefty steps though keeping a distance, "I'm not here to hurt you..."

Notes

"God doesn't hear deadmen." But, I do...

Oleander Elric

There was shouting from afar. It only grew closer, heavy footsteps drawing nearer and spreading out around what was left of his home. They came back! The pup shrunk back beneath the protection of his mother and father, his entire body trembling uncontrollably as frantic wide eyes searched for movement about the ashes. Each exhale was laced with a terrified whine, knowing what would come next if they found him.

Oleander tried to control his breathing, tried to calm himself, but he became stuck in his own mind reliving his trauma in a devastating blow. When he came back around to the present, there were giant paws just ahead of him. His breathing became rapid with his unease as he moved to cling onto his mother, pressing his face into her fur.

She did not hold him, coo in his ear while hushing his crying. She was cold...and stiff...the only warmth felt were his tears that dampened her fur. There was a voice then. A voice that promised him no harm. Was it Momma? No...it was not her voice that he wished for with all of his heart. It came from the heavy paws that stepped closer...and closer...

@Sylvain

enie