#YMIR THREAD (DEADLINE OF A DREAM)

[gxldings]

Deadline of a Dream

A lost one, with no home to return to, makes his appearance among the living.

Reality marbles and warps, tears away to void-colored shades of purple. A hole blacker than the deepest depths emerges, threatening to swallow the world. Eerie vibrations blows from it, like the distorted wind of another realm. Its form is by no means corporeal; one cannot touch it and feel matter, but it produces light and shadow. It disrupts the natural order of things until its circumference reaches its apex, then it stabilizes. The gateway is formed, behind our hero of interest in this story: Ymir.

The Dragon of Life, blessed with the infinite power to protect and nourish, how pathetic that you would be made a pawn here in the Order of Heroes. How ironic that you would be dead, only to be brought back with powers greater than your own.

The portal flashes a bright light, and from it emerges a walking corpse. He is a hulking beast of a man, bearing no signs of sweet life that he once wore with pride. His footsteps are heavy with the burden of thousands slain, his fearsome armor and weaponry clanking to add to the symphony of his approach. Blue mist bellows from beneath his mask, fattening and shortening as though it is his breath. But what a cheap imitation of life he is! He cannot breathe, cannot choke, cannot warm another with the heat of a mortal body. He is Lif, the Lethal Swordsman, and he seeks the power of the Life Mother.

“Fallen goddess,” he starts, the moment the steps through the gate, “who bears no bond with the eternal pantheon. Yours is the infinite well of life that I seek.” The man needs no introduction, for what he is means more than who. He is a dread reconstruction of Hel’s--a fiend born of the power opposite to Ymir. Perhaps, by merely seeing his accursed form, she would take pity on him. Perhaps that pity could move her to act, to give him that which he pines so dearly for. Lif can only hope.

“Name your price. I shall go to the darkest corners of the world if it is what you desire: I have done worse.” Crimson-stained eyes pull into a scowl as they stare at the woman in front of them. The voice from this man--cutthroat and monotone--is muffled by the mask he wears over his face. It makes his speech all the more unsettling, but he shows no intention of removing it. What he is now, a monster, cannot be shown to those who do not share his fate. He cannot bear the shame and embarrassment he’d feel if others looked upon his undead jaw with sorrow. The filter over his voice would be something Ymir must learn to deal with. 

“What I ask for in return is that my realm be saved. You have the power to grant life unending, so grant it to those wronged by Hel.” 

// Lif at Ymir; starter for @sunsinger