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Posted: Jun 19 2017, 01:11 PM
by Saint Judas
A legend telling of man-eating demons.
They say there are beasts, out there, out in the dark woods beyond, who walk the jungle and the forest in the furthest hours of night, who race across the plains under pale moonlight, who scale the peaks hidden out of sight, who traverse the desert sands in murky twilight, like mirages upon its pale waves, half-hidden, half-dreamed. They are ravenous beasts, intelligent, clever, and with a hunger of the flesh, of the human flesh most directly and specifically, creatures capable of with a glance striking fear and reminding so clearly ones own mortal bindings.
Demons, I hear you say, they are the ones who can make you fear, they are the ones who can make you whimper and hide, afraid of shadows moving on walls, who can cloud your judgement, inflict you with the sadness, with the madness of the suffering and the pain of a thousand losses. They are the ones who prey on us like Mareep, who toy with us for dark amusement, like instruments, bent and twisted to hear our most plaintive and wounded cries. Like shadows they creep all around, hiding, never showing themselves, laughs like echoes in our sleep as nightmares plague our rest, laughs like cackles in our sleep as meat is stripped of bone, laughs like howls in our sleep as our bodies are lain forgotten.
Aye, they are demons, but not of a sort you would think. They slink in shadows but boldly too they walk among us, dancing, swirling, in green and white they prance, pretending at innocence. You would not know one if you saw one, crafty are their ways, enchanting their song and graceful their movements, they allure with a glance, promising revelry, promising romance. See them come to your fires all dressed in green, know that the gardevoir isn't what it seems, but ahh how the entrancement comes so fast, some may know the secret, but others, alas.
They are a gifted folk you see, capable of tricking the eye and fooling the mind and most deceptive in their act. None can alter the truth as they do, twisting reality so thoroughly, so true. Even the ghostly folk, aye, many pale in comparison to their prowess and touch. Yet they are not of a spectral breed, nay, they are but flesh and bone, through and through, yet still these false visions do they spin with an art and a craft, unlike any other. Can one trust one's own eyes around them? Best not chance it, for even the ears tell lies of their crafting. Yet so easy is it to believe, so wanting of this illusion, for is it not a much better deceit then to face the horror of underneath?
For indeed do not take them for a graceless crude people, they hide their forms but they are fair through and through, black furred foxes with long red manes of hair, paws like hands, wide with red claws, paws like feet, long and sturdy bearing weight across two thick pads, cyan eyes glimmering in the dark, cyan eyes, deceiving, all-seeing, sharp. Such an orb, bright as their eyes, binds their mane, a crystal glimmering and bright, hinting of mystery and mystical things, a key perhaps to their powers that defy the nature of their beast. For indeed, should you see one you would not recognize them, though their name perhaps you might once have heard in a whisper: Zoroark.
These demons hide the reality of their nature most cleverly though, for indeed, they entertain human company, they are not one to remain skulking only in shadows. They are a musical people, drawn to the light of the fires, drawn to the music and the revelry and the leaping figures before the fire, and such they themselves are a dancing folk, they are fleet, graceful, they play upon wooden instruments and whistle most sweetly, stamping and beating clawed feet in time to the drums, singing most beautifully, whirling and twirling before the flames and the song, such dances enchanting beyond name. Known best for their green, guised often in the nature of the nature of gardevoir or their like, they boldly display this false visage, and only those who know to look perhaps might glimpse those scarlet claws past the illusion.
For those that don't however, come the light of morning, the Zoroark surely will be gone, and with them perhaps, a few others, lost forever then. They are beasts after all, animals. Just as any other, they eat, and what better then sweet human flesh for those entranced by their song and dance to take the hand of one of the green and white? For any who would attempt to befriend or capture the lithe figures that dance before the fire surely no better fate awaits, for as man would prey upon sawsbuck and stantler then surely they too prey upon man, without shame for such an action is simply the way of nature. Would they prey upon sawsbuck and stantler when such are what they walk the woods with? Hardly.
Perhaps not every one of them was like such though. Perhaps there was one who found hunting the deer amidst the woods and across the plains better then taste of human, especially of sleek dancer boys. Perhaps that one was named Kryshio. Perhaps that one is the one writing this story for you.