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Death's Precipice
#1
Two brothers stand upon the precipice of a great chasm. Their robes, which glimmered with silken shadow in life, are but worn rags in comparison to the starlit beauty of the desolate landscape behind them. Deep below, in the darkness beneath them too shone with little glimmers and sparkles, like an ocean of stars stretching into oblivion, mirroring the moonless sky above. Beside them stands a weary oak, leaves torn away by the vicious night. In each crack of the tree's bark, the rods that once held incense are tucked away, burnt and smothered.

Tall and arrogant stands the Spider, with his crimson hair billowing in the icy gusts that blow at their backs.

The mere wind in this place threatened to shove them into that serene blackness. It howled with rage as it spiraled down the cliff side, and whispered invitations as it reached the bottom.


The Raven stands beside the Spider in silence, his long and lanky form upright, straight and strong. He slowly looks to the Spider at his side before turning to the familiar landscape again. His lips curl into a silent frown as he took hold of his brother's hand in the most protective of manners.


The Spider grips the hand strong, gazing down in defiant pride. As those emeralds pierce the void, it does indeed gaze in return, countless eyes of those who took the leap, countless hands beckoning with countless fingers. In his thoughtless audacity, the Spider is nearly overcome, his footing lost on a blade of air. He falls but a short way, but keeps a tight grip on the Raven's hand.

The Raven's grip tightens near instantly, his strong look fading as he kept his gaze on the younger. He tries with all his might to try and pull the Spider back. Not once does he try to hide the fear on his face, each word he tries to speak naught but a pained stutter.

Up comes the Spider, his eyes not leaving the Raven, save one glance toward the weary oak. One again on solid ground, the Spider takes point, walking to the tree in a flurry of silent movement, his brother led by hand. As they move, the wind ceases, as if in reverence for their bold actions. To resist the temptations offered by the silent void, to put death at their backs and face life instead.

In a place where cries of love lost were the only sounds, silence was deafening. In an attempt to fill the void, a hummed hymn trickles along the wind. A soft soprano that those brothers knew too well. Their mother always used music to fill a quiet room.

The Spider guides the Raven along the ledge. Together, between the roots of an oak and a cliff's drop, they turn from the edge, and begin relighting anise incense, humming a hymn they know too well...


(Unformatted version for those with contrast sensitivity.)

Two brothers stand upon the precipice of a great chasm. Their robes, which glimmered with silken shadow in life, are but worn rags in comparison to the starlit beauty of the desolate landscape behind them. Deep below, in the darkness beneath them too shone with little glimmers and sparkles, like an ocean of stars stretching into oblivion, mirroring the moonless sky above. Beside them stands a weary oak, leaves torn away by the vicious night. In each crack of the tree's bark, the rods that once held incense are tucked away, burnt and smothered.

Tall and arrogant stands the Spider, with his crimson hair billowing in the icy gusts that blow at their backs.

The mere wind in this place threatened to shove them into that serene blackness. It howled with rage as it spiraled down the cliff side, and whispered invitations as it reached the bottom.

The Raven stands beside the Spider in silence, his long and lanky form upright, straight and strong. He slowly looks to the Spider at his side before turning to the familiar landscape again. His lips curl into a silent frown as he took hold of his brother's hand in the most protective of manners.

The Spider grips the hand strong, gazing down in defiant pride. As those emeralds pierce the void, it does indeed gaze in return, countless eyes of those who took the leap, countless hands beckoning with countless fingers. In his thoughtless audacity, the Spider is nearly overcome, his footing lost on a blade of air. He falls but a short way, but keeps a tight grip on the Raven's hand.

The Raven's grip tightens near instantly, his strong look fading as he kept his gaze on the younger. He tries with all his might to try and pull the Spider back. Not once does he try to hide the fear on his face, each word he tries to speak naught but a pained stutter.

Up comes the Spider, his eyes not leaving the Raven, save one glance toward the weary oak. One again on solid ground, the Spider takes point, walking to the tree in a flurry of silent movement, his brother led by hand. As they move, the wind ceases, as if in reverence for their bold actions. To resist the temptations offered by the silent void, to put death at their backs and face life instead.

In a place where cries of love lost were the only sounds, silence was deafening. In an attempt to fill the void, a hummed hymn trickles along the wind. A soft soprano that those brothers knew too well. Their mother always used music to fill a quiet room.

The Spider guides the Raven along the ledge. Together, between the roots of an oak and a cliff's drop, they turn from the edge, and begin relighting anise incense, humming a hymn they know too well...

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