[AW] an evolutionary inferior creature, governed by hormonal chaos

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 


Their ship bobs and rocks upon the rolling sea. The water laps upon the dock and the wood groans with weariness borne of its journey.
 
The Ghost had slowly walked up the loading plank. Beneath, so far beneath him, the waters had chattered, fitful or keen – who could be sure truly which? For the sea saves and the sea takes away. Raum was a storm broiling out at sea, growing more monstrous; each flash of lightning was his descending blade. His storm is tallying up the lives it has taken. They follow as ghosts in the haunting silence of his destruction. Each of their lives he marks them upon himself as though his silver skin were a wall of stone. He has lost count, but still he carves them into the place where his soul once was. As if lives meant something to him.
 
Once upon a time they did.
 
Soulless, devoid, Solterra’s hateful king ascended the ramp and the boat bowed before him. It rocked as if it could barely stand the weight of him – for oh how heavy his sins are!
 
The prisoners were lined before him, each one in chains, each one dirtied and weary. But before him now is the stowaway girl. Her lilac eyes are bright and fierce, he knows upon his skin hers would be a bruise that would not quiet. It would hurt and hurt and hurt no matter the softness of such a wound.
 
Her chains clink in a song and from it a thousand enslaved voices rise. She speaks, bold and bright. How many more would raise their voice up to him? How many more would stand bold before him with tongues as brave as serpents? The poison king regards her, his silence is consuming. Yes, yes he looks through her. He does not seek to know her, not when her skin is black as pitch, when her hair is the colour of midnight flowers caught in moonlight’s gaze. To see her is to fall in love with Night and oh Raum is homesick and home-hateful.
 
Her beauty condemns her and a “No,” like a caw, like a claw suddenly striking flesh, slips past his lips.
 
And then, when he turns, when shadows rejoice and reach their clawing black hands for his silver flesh, oh then does she dare speak again.  Her idle suggestion slips like silk past her lips and it is wonder that such an idle, fragile suggestion could bid him stop. Yet Raum pauses. An ear twists to catch each word and slowly he turns from the prisoner beside her. He holds her with his gaze, tighter, heavier than the chains that bind her. That gaze is the silver of a blade, his skin, as though an ominous shadow passes, slips from brilliant silver into black.
 
There is no joy, there is no wonder, there is no amusement. Oh there is nothing in his gaze when he turns back to her, but the silver of him (what little remains) is the fetid skin atop liquid. For beneath that cap is a simmering darkness. There is a maelstrom that begins to churn and as if the sea knows the boat rocks heavily.
 
Claws scratch upon wood, great talons cleaving through planks and the boat pitches heavily as a monster lands. The king’s basilisk caw’s a roar that rises above the din of the port. Raum, below, steps once again before the strange girl. Her stomach rumbles, oh it growls, and is lost beneath the scraping and fracturing of wood above.
 
Raum’s skin is the blackest pitch, it seethes and writhes as though monsters lurk beneath his skin as the leviathan in the deep. Cries rend the air as wood above begins to turn to stone. Legion rips along the deck and more stone creeps down, down the hull of the ship. The boat begins to pitch, too heavy as its skeleton turns from wood to stone.
 
He spares the girl a moment more, as if the boat is not sinking, as if the world has another year to turn before even a second might pass. Then the Ghost King turns and makes for the dock. “Bring the girl. She desires dinner. The rest can remain.” His voice is little more than an echo, for already he is gone, already his men are following and the castle beckons. Upon the boat, the remaining men move to bring the girl too.

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@Polyxena - well, um, that was long...