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[YOUTUBE]NmfzWpp0hMc[/YOUTUBE]
============
NAME:
Tungyen, The Devourer
Age:
33
FACTION:
None
SPECIES:
Kiffar
GENDER:
Male
HEIGHT:
5ft 11
WEIGHT:
170 pounds
EYES:
Dark Brown
HAIR:
Black
SKIN:
Pale
Tungyen, The Devourer
Age:
33
FACTION:
None
SPECIES:
Kiffar
GENDER:
Male
HEIGHT:
5ft 11
WEIGHT:
170 pounds
EYES:
Dark Brown
HAIR:
Black
SKIN:
Pale
============
Devour, to consume destructively, recklessly, or wantonly.
Devour, to swallow or eat up hungrily, voraciously, or ravenously.
I am a Devourer, but I have mastered control. I am no animal without restraint, but that hardly releases me from my desires. Yes, control over my instincts, instead of racing around as a rabid hound. Kindly do not mistake me for some street side cannibal, the taste of raw flesh is overrated anyway, it’s simply the medias fascination with such a crude act that causes the ‘ooohs’ and the ‘aahhs’ to appear every time the word ‘cannibal’ is used. Vampires, perhaps possibly the most boring bunch you’ll encounter, hardly the romantic night walkers that the media attempts time and time again to portray them as. Sucking blood? Not for humans, those filthy impersonators who have to use false teeth to prevent the bite wounds from looking like an utter joke.
There have been many Destroyers over the ages, rising above all others and culling their path through the cattle and flock, only to be conquered eventually by those forces greater than them. I am no Destroyer, for as noble as their intentions are, being doomed to fail is one dish I’m looking to avoid. Yes, and that dish is no doubt succulent, but the immediate juicy reward of biting into the tender and fatty shank would soon turn into regret for having once again eaten over your fill, not to mention the prospect of having to check your weight the next morning. Therefore, while that dish is clearly more appealing than human flesh, sadly it’s not the course for me to order.
There are those who call themselves Reapers, but that is a fancy name for a Destroyer. They are the same in that they do not plant the seeds, mix together the rockcrete, or study for the test. They expect the fruits to be there for them to harvest, the building there for them to dwell in, and the test answers being on the paper before they write down a single word. Of course, that doesn’t mean I am a farmer or artist, but the Architect is certainly one who I share similarities with.
The Devourer, I am the one who donates to failing farmers the seeds to plant, even planting alongside them, while having already made sure that the crop is doomed to fail. I am the one who designs and constructs buildings to perfection, and then selling it to a young couple at half the market price, while having corrupted already its core and foundations. The Devourer is no easy title to carry, and I am certainly no ‘Devourer of Souls’ or ‘Destroyer of the Ages’. Hopes and dreams are what I nurture, care for and protect before I crush them only as torturously as I could.
Little boys and girls, sleep well tonight, hug your toys if you will. Young couples, forget about your stressful workload, have some fun at night! Yes, even you retired folks, who cares about the nurses and doctor’s advice? You’ll find yourself sent a bottle of gin tonight, free gratis. Enjoy the current, look forward to the future. That way, when I turn up at your doorstep, we can be overjoyed together, you being happy at the once in a lifetime fortune, and me being ecstatic of once again encountering such optimism.
Across the Galaxy and all its’ splendid planets and species, among all the races, be it Chiss, human, or Nagai. In every tongue, be it basic, Mando'a or Rodese. I am Tungyen, The Devourer.
Devour, to swallow or eat up hungrily, voraciously, or ravenously.
I am a Devourer, but I have mastered control. I am no animal without restraint, but that hardly releases me from my desires. Yes, control over my instincts, instead of racing around as a rabid hound. Kindly do not mistake me for some street side cannibal, the taste of raw flesh is overrated anyway, it’s simply the medias fascination with such a crude act that causes the ‘ooohs’ and the ‘aahhs’ to appear every time the word ‘cannibal’ is used. Vampires, perhaps possibly the most boring bunch you’ll encounter, hardly the romantic night walkers that the media attempts time and time again to portray them as. Sucking blood? Not for humans, those filthy impersonators who have to use false teeth to prevent the bite wounds from looking like an utter joke.
There have been many Destroyers over the ages, rising above all others and culling their path through the cattle and flock, only to be conquered eventually by those forces greater than them. I am no Destroyer, for as noble as their intentions are, being doomed to fail is one dish I’m looking to avoid. Yes, and that dish is no doubt succulent, but the immediate juicy reward of biting into the tender and fatty shank would soon turn into regret for having once again eaten over your fill, not to mention the prospect of having to check your weight the next morning. Therefore, while that dish is clearly more appealing than human flesh, sadly it’s not the course for me to order.
There are those who call themselves Reapers, but that is a fancy name for a Destroyer. They are the same in that they do not plant the seeds, mix together the rockcrete, or study for the test. They expect the fruits to be there for them to harvest, the building there for them to dwell in, and the test answers being on the paper before they write down a single word. Of course, that doesn’t mean I am a farmer or artist, but the Architect is certainly one who I share similarities with.
The Devourer, I am the one who donates to failing farmers the seeds to plant, even planting alongside them, while having already made sure that the crop is doomed to fail. I am the one who designs and constructs buildings to perfection, and then selling it to a young couple at half the market price, while having corrupted already its core and foundations. The Devourer is no easy title to carry, and I am certainly no ‘Devourer of Souls’ or ‘Destroyer of the Ages’. Hopes and dreams are what I nurture, care for and protect before I crush them only as torturously as I could.
Little boys and girls, sleep well tonight, hug your toys if you will. Young couples, forget about your stressful workload, have some fun at night! Yes, even you retired folks, who cares about the nurses and doctor’s advice? You’ll find yourself sent a bottle of gin tonight, free gratis. Enjoy the current, look forward to the future. That way, when I turn up at your doorstep, we can be overjoyed together, you being happy at the once in a lifetime fortune, and me being ecstatic of once again encountering such optimism.
Across the Galaxy and all its’ splendid planets and species, among all the races, be it Chiss, human, or Nagai. In every tongue, be it basic, Mando'a or Rodese. I am Tungyen, The Devourer.
============
Such a sweet thing it is, that parents do. Tearing themselves from precious sleep so that they can check up on their children, whether they had kicked a blanket off, to see whether the room was warm enough, or even whether the ‘monsters’ their darlings have complained about really exist under their beds. Once everything is to the parent’s satisfaction, they take delight in the knowledge that their little girl is safe and sound, and return to their sleep for most likely a good 2 hours, which is time plenty for me…
How blind people are, when they aren’t looking for specifics. I stand there, night after night in the exact same place, peering over the mum or dad’s right shoulder as they kiss their darlings good night. Night after night, they turn and nearly bump into me as they continue to their own beds. Night after night, I stay unspotten, other than the few times I allow the children themselves to see my face or half of it. It’s delicious, when they finally see you, a mix of wonder, dread, and confusion.
No matter, it is for only barely half a second that they see me, then it’s the familiar image of the clock ticking away that greets their eyes once again. Now, the little girl sleeps, and for those squeamish, the sight of me looming above them might cause them to turn in fear of the two things I might possibly do. How unfair of them, once again I blame the media. How could I possibly bring myself to do anything like that, while nothing but rainbows and candy floods her young mind?
I bring my left hand over her forehead, and close my eyes, seeing what nightly episode was playing tonight in her sleep. Slowly but gradually, each night as I watch these episodes, I’ve slowly added things foreign to her mind, things that she has not encountered before and shouldn’t exist in her mind otherwise. Oh, of course, they were but small details, the leaves of a tree turning scarlet for a moment, or the milk she pours into her cereal turning into ice shavings. Nothing that would bring horror to her, perhaps it’d even entertain her.
But tonight was different, for tonight I was bringing a new friend, something that I had been preparing for quite some time. The episode finally reaches a point that I thought was suitable, she and her friends having a picnic on some fantasy world, untouched by politics and the merciless confusions of an adult life. I make my first move, nudging her friends aside, using whatever lame excuse I first thought of. We’ll be right back, there’s a flower we want to pick? Wow, that’s a new low right there, I apologise for that. So now our little friend sits alone, but it is an enjoyable moment of silence and being alone. A slight change in weather now, the sun is no longer up, but it was gradual and done slowly enough to not disturb her. The grassland underneath her feet soon shift, her entire perception of the dream world distorting and reshaping around her, but being blinded as she was, nothing was wrong.
And that is when we finally reach the realm that I had carefully crafted for her, and finally something seems to have upset the little darling. At the bed, I can feel her tremble and shaking, but I know that it was not enough to force her out of her sleep, not that I would permit it anyway. It is only when enough tension has been built up, that I reveal what has been hidden away all this time. It is not only the feeling of falling that we experience in our sleep that brings us to awake with a cry, but also the sense of absolute weakness, when something incomprehensible, something of such terrible magnificence that appears in front of you. That, is what makes you cry.
What a cry indeed, the 7 year old’s sudden howl being much more thunderous than what I had previously expected. Even the greatest of parents and their protective instinct wouldn’t have been necessary, given that all the nearly neighbours were too stirring awake, alarmed by the piercing obtrusion. By the time her parents were panting and wide-eyed, frantically searching for the cause of their daughter’s terror, I was already off with a laugh. Immature for me to do so? Perhaps, but one must take delight in the small things in our lives, and who is to say that one move today will not turn out to be significant in the future?
How blind people are, when they aren’t looking for specifics. I stand there, night after night in the exact same place, peering over the mum or dad’s right shoulder as they kiss their darlings good night. Night after night, they turn and nearly bump into me as they continue to their own beds. Night after night, I stay unspotten, other than the few times I allow the children themselves to see my face or half of it. It’s delicious, when they finally see you, a mix of wonder, dread, and confusion.
No matter, it is for only barely half a second that they see me, then it’s the familiar image of the clock ticking away that greets their eyes once again. Now, the little girl sleeps, and for those squeamish, the sight of me looming above them might cause them to turn in fear of the two things I might possibly do. How unfair of them, once again I blame the media. How could I possibly bring myself to do anything like that, while nothing but rainbows and candy floods her young mind?
I bring my left hand over her forehead, and close my eyes, seeing what nightly episode was playing tonight in her sleep. Slowly but gradually, each night as I watch these episodes, I’ve slowly added things foreign to her mind, things that she has not encountered before and shouldn’t exist in her mind otherwise. Oh, of course, they were but small details, the leaves of a tree turning scarlet for a moment, or the milk she pours into her cereal turning into ice shavings. Nothing that would bring horror to her, perhaps it’d even entertain her.
But tonight was different, for tonight I was bringing a new friend, something that I had been preparing for quite some time. The episode finally reaches a point that I thought was suitable, she and her friends having a picnic on some fantasy world, untouched by politics and the merciless confusions of an adult life. I make my first move, nudging her friends aside, using whatever lame excuse I first thought of. We’ll be right back, there’s a flower we want to pick? Wow, that’s a new low right there, I apologise for that. So now our little friend sits alone, but it is an enjoyable moment of silence and being alone. A slight change in weather now, the sun is no longer up, but it was gradual and done slowly enough to not disturb her. The grassland underneath her feet soon shift, her entire perception of the dream world distorting and reshaping around her, but being blinded as she was, nothing was wrong.
And that is when we finally reach the realm that I had carefully crafted for her, and finally something seems to have upset the little darling. At the bed, I can feel her tremble and shaking, but I know that it was not enough to force her out of her sleep, not that I would permit it anyway. It is only when enough tension has been built up, that I reveal what has been hidden away all this time. It is not only the feeling of falling that we experience in our sleep that brings us to awake with a cry, but also the sense of absolute weakness, when something incomprehensible, something of such terrible magnificence that appears in front of you. That, is what makes you cry.
What a cry indeed, the 7 year old’s sudden howl being much more thunderous than what I had previously expected. Even the greatest of parents and their protective instinct wouldn’t have been necessary, given that all the nearly neighbours were too stirring awake, alarmed by the piercing obtrusion. By the time her parents were panting and wide-eyed, frantically searching for the cause of their daughter’s terror, I was already off with a laugh. Immature for me to do so? Perhaps, but one must take delight in the small things in our lives, and who is to say that one move today will not turn out to be significant in the future?
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