Tillna
06-17-2008, 01:03 AM
((got a spark to write again...it's a strange one...))
Like a twisted web of arms she had been spying, watching, gathering all she could. Who knew who, what was important, bases. The spider of the shadows, eccentric, deadly, deranged she spun webs of truth and deceit.
"This one has made much progress on the mission as stated. It continues to investigate targets of great importance. One is of great importance."
Twisted minds and bodies alike she, rather it, sped off. Time was ever lasting to it, its skin a horrific display of pain and suffering. The eyes a lesson in what makes an abomination. The hands were discarded to lay behind gloves. It had lost the one thing that separated the automatons from the sentient. The sense of self had been removed to keep missions in check, to keep them successful.
This thing did not walk or crawl, it moved, more like a shadow, a cool breeze, through unknowing lands. In hazy vision it found the target. This one would be bate, or a show of force. Take one cared about and disgrace, ruin, tarnish, impede it. Make the purity take on characteristics of a discarded vial. As a bent dagger. Useless, gone, worthless, destroyed. She was not sane, she was not human. Or was she? A noble question to ask, if there was some way to bring back the little girl who was once host to the maelstrom of corrupted visions. The answer would be no, for the girl, the innocent was not destroyed but changed into this, by its own wishes.
If it could spread this same sentiment to the other, the target, the one within the sights, it would, but the change must come from within it had been told. Crawling, leeching, creeping along the wall, it watched this one, making notes, mental, about actions, interactions. What was it? Friendship or love, perhaps, that made others draw to it like moths to a flame, like the abomination to the kill.
Termination was instinct for it, but no, it had to follow orders, all orders form the one above it in rank. It was the left hand, the right hand. It was there to serve and protect, to throw away the shell at the first mention, first motion of hatred. Termination, killing was postponed. Kidnapping was not expressly forbidden. Watching, waiting, turning and curling around time and space it waited, but the one was never alone. To disobey an order it would never do, so it had to keep on watching, waiting, spying.
Eyes, burning, digging, hating all around, they stared, dead on. The left, blue, soft blue, whirring mechanical gizmo of youth, a gift of an orc, one who she would never attack, regardless of orders given. The other shone dead black to the world. Inside it hinted colors others cannot see. Made of the moth, stuck into her head, she was allowed to see far more then the ordinary person. She loved and hated it, the angles made her sick and dizzy, but angles of view were more important. To target so many at once.
It was a wreck, an abomination of bone and machine. Created, treated to be able to function. Trained, conditioned to be an engine of destruction, a hate machine for killing as ordered. It was its own, and yet belonged to others. It was as it is seen, but secrets are kept, locked away. It was one thing.
Average
Like a twisted web of arms she had been spying, watching, gathering all she could. Who knew who, what was important, bases. The spider of the shadows, eccentric, deadly, deranged she spun webs of truth and deceit.
"This one has made much progress on the mission as stated. It continues to investigate targets of great importance. One is of great importance."
Twisted minds and bodies alike she, rather it, sped off. Time was ever lasting to it, its skin a horrific display of pain and suffering. The eyes a lesson in what makes an abomination. The hands were discarded to lay behind gloves. It had lost the one thing that separated the automatons from the sentient. The sense of self had been removed to keep missions in check, to keep them successful.
This thing did not walk or crawl, it moved, more like a shadow, a cool breeze, through unknowing lands. In hazy vision it found the target. This one would be bate, or a show of force. Take one cared about and disgrace, ruin, tarnish, impede it. Make the purity take on characteristics of a discarded vial. As a bent dagger. Useless, gone, worthless, destroyed. She was not sane, she was not human. Or was she? A noble question to ask, if there was some way to bring back the little girl who was once host to the maelstrom of corrupted visions. The answer would be no, for the girl, the innocent was not destroyed but changed into this, by its own wishes.
If it could spread this same sentiment to the other, the target, the one within the sights, it would, but the change must come from within it had been told. Crawling, leeching, creeping along the wall, it watched this one, making notes, mental, about actions, interactions. What was it? Friendship or love, perhaps, that made others draw to it like moths to a flame, like the abomination to the kill.
Termination was instinct for it, but no, it had to follow orders, all orders form the one above it in rank. It was the left hand, the right hand. It was there to serve and protect, to throw away the shell at the first mention, first motion of hatred. Termination, killing was postponed. Kidnapping was not expressly forbidden. Watching, waiting, turning and curling around time and space it waited, but the one was never alone. To disobey an order it would never do, so it had to keep on watching, waiting, spying.
Eyes, burning, digging, hating all around, they stared, dead on. The left, blue, soft blue, whirring mechanical gizmo of youth, a gift of an orc, one who she would never attack, regardless of orders given. The other shone dead black to the world. Inside it hinted colors others cannot see. Made of the moth, stuck into her head, she was allowed to see far more then the ordinary person. She loved and hated it, the angles made her sick and dizzy, but angles of view were more important. To target so many at once.
It was a wreck, an abomination of bone and machine. Created, treated to be able to function. Trained, conditioned to be an engine of destruction, a hate machine for killing as ordered. It was its own, and yet belonged to others. It was as it is seen, but secrets are kept, locked away. It was one thing.
Average