#oc:lawrence

And some flags I made with my friend @mr-gecko5592

Maker gasped as the cold water poured down their back, the overhead stained glass and mosaics that painted the quartz walls and ceilings glittered the surface of the water with rainbows. Their white hair danced like silk among the water lilies, and their red horns contrasted against the blue waves that reflected onto marble carvings of fish and birds. “Sorry about that. The ceremony is starting soon, and we didn't have time to warm the blessing water.” A priestess apologized, dawning silver jewelry and a plant crown of water lilies and peach tree leaves onto them, as a second priestess covered their scarred body in silk robes.

Taking in a deep breath, Maker relaxed their muscles, taking in the scents of the calming pool, and the sound of the gentle waterfalls. It reminded them of their mountain home, of the snowmelt creeks, and the blossoming trees and wildflowers that scattered the surrounding plains, and how Bla’ank would take them to gather fruits with her, as well as her.

Snapping themself out of their daydream, they followed a priestess out of the pool and into a large, open room with a domed roof, depicting various tales with stained glass throughout it. A large proportion of the room is filled with hand-crafted wooden benches. The sides were filled with flowering plants and fruit trees, and various birds could be seen in the branches. In the middle of the dome is a flatted top with an opening, letting in the noon sun, lighting a spot on a raised stage that the high priest, Lawrence is his name, stood upon.

Lawrence, the man that killed Maker’s new family.

Lawrence, that man that kidnapped Maker’s friends.

Lawrence, the man that forced Maker to endure pain and torture every damn day of their life.

The priestesses ushered them onto the area behind him, where several others of the Rakeras, or ‘Floral Beings’, as the priests called them, because of how they all bleed flowers. They all had snake-like lower bodies or webbed claws, most of which were desired water-dwelling traits. Maker was the only non-reptile or -amphibian-like one there, only having cloven hooves and furry legs.

They stood in the flame-kissed clearing, the smell of smoke strangled their lungs as blackness billowed into the sky. Most of the Rakeras have taken shelter into the swampy water, hidden from the invaders ridden on horseback, who carried strange contraptions that shot flames with the force of ten soldiers. They were dressed in white and blue robes, with light, silver armor adorned on them.

The sky grew more cast, clouds shielding the stained glass from the sunlight. The temperature started to slowly rise and plants drooped as people soon flood into the room, taking their seats.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lawrence spoke out into the room. “Today we gather here to witness the blessing given upon us by the great Lynoik. Our wonderful and merciful Father has gifted us beings of water and spirit.”

A young child cries out as they were taken away from their parents, a sound that would ring in the people’s ear for years to come. The invaders spoke in a garbled tongue among themselves, as the child tried to shake them off, and an older Rakera reached out to them, only to be shot in the shoulder, collapsing to the ground as both they and the child were carried into the back of a cart drawn by horses.

Rage bubbled inside of Maker as they looked around, the other Rakeras looked uneasy, some of the younger ones started to fidget with their robes. The sky was fully covered now, the once rainbow room was now dull and gray, and a faint rattling sound could be heard from the glass. The people murmured anxiously in their seats, some glancing around quickly. “And today they will bless us with the connection back to the water, the sky, and our Creator…”

He gestured to the eldest of the group, a kind yet powerful being who possessed the ability to bring back the dead or help those with grave injuries or illnesses, something Maker knew firsthand. His hands and face were a calendar of over two hundred years, from wrinkles and scarring to piercings and intricate tattoos, most of which depicted flowers blossoming from animals or stories that spoke immeasurable generations ago. “...Who I have seen with my very own eyes, bring this young child away from the march of death.” He grabbed Maker’s wrist, raising it above their head.

Instinctively, they tore it away, glass shattering as they did, almost as if caused by an explosion, marble and stone pillars crumbling down along with the force. The onlookers shrieked and screamed with fear, rushing towards the doors, the forest of plants and trees wilted and swelled with bright red fire, smoke billowing out of where glass once stood with pride. Lawrence glared towards Maker, the rest of the Rakeras huddled together for safety. “You devil!” He harangued, stomping closer towards Maker, a concealed knife now in his hand. Stumbling backward, Maker cowered and shielded their face. A marble statue crashed in front of them, pebbles and stone shrapnels leaving sharp kisses on their arm, small, red, daffodils blooming from the injuries.

Looking back up, Lawrence was caught underneath a ruined carving of a large bird with three fishtails. The knife skidded to a stop at Maker’s hooves, and they gingerly picked it up, quickly admiring the opalescent blade. Their attention flickered back to Lawrence, blood starting to pool from out of a gash on his side. “You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?” he hissed, rage sparked in his blue eyes, tearing into Maker’s soul. “You tricked us all into letting you into the safety of our church, only to kill us.”

Maker stepped forwards, gripping the knife, heart racing in their chest, and they could’ve believed that it would try and burst out of their ribs at any moment. “You think I wanted this?” They screeched at him, their heart beating out of their chest as they gestured to the room, now filled with an overbearing red light. “You think that I wanted you to come into our home, burning down our houses? To steal us to keep us captive as to ‘save’ us?” They sobbed, their arms shaking the knife.

“Don’t you understand?” Lawrence “If it wasn’t for us, you wouldn’t-” Maker thrusted the knife into his chest cavity, and again, and again, quickly silencing him. The fires died down as the smoke blew away in the chilling wind. Blood dripped down their arms and hands, quickly cooling into an icy coat, reminiscent of the morning’s bath. Dropping to their knees, they held their legs tight to their body as they quietly sobbed.

Happy belated birthday Mary! I think who can tell who and what this is supposed to be.

Man my scanner has been doing some weird with my drawings. The color is all weird, and they look fuzzy so I have to try and adjust and bleh.