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06-01-2014, 08:53 AM
 Upon the other side of the chilling summit, he wandered, gazing, searching, hoping for a pedestal to rattle, seeking bodies to flay, for vigilance and vehemence to unravel another worthless cretin. When naught postured its ignorant head or its ravenous frame, his appetite, his predatory hunger went unsatisfied, and the Reaper was forced to slither through the tundra, undulating, choking, coils of the damned. Through the wings and eaves, the bubbling of voices crooned from the depths of the entrance. It seemed, despite his prowess, his precision, his slashing rapier and his nefarious intrigue, he was late to another impromptu gathering, a throng of individuals beneath the Sentinel’s puncturing stare. His interest would have remained indifferent and predisposed to removing his presence altogether (the thought of conforming to all of these conversations, to a social outing, nearly made him cringe), had a familiar scent not been brewing amidst the GildedBlade’s General’s, Engineer’s or random newcomer, because he recognized it for all of its promising merit, and its shrunken disappearance thereafter. Varath, once a child, now grown and posturing for the rest of the world, returned from whatever shores he’d chosen to unravel. His eyes distantly set upon the dappled figure, calculating, menacing, but only when his calling drifted upon the wind (where was Deimos - he was being questioned and incriminated after this speck had squandered all of his opportunities laid out before him?) did he advance, intimidating and overwhelming, the eldritch titan of plucked, devilish chords. The deep resonance of his vocals punctured through the air, a cold whip, an acerbic grip, piercing platitudes of the odd injustice he’d been bestowed. “Patrolling.” Then the slightest nod to each figurine lost in the midst of his vexation and irritation, before swinging the cool, apathetic blade of his glare towards the beast. Instead of demanding his own explanations, instead of voicing his queries, he proffered far more generosity than the argent had given him. “Welcome home, Varath.”
DEIMOS
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone |
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