.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-23-2014, 03:51 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ So, so, sorry for the wait, guys. Life just swallowed me for a bit. Tag @[Aaron], you're it! ]
It is too late to regret anything tonight
After what has come to light
...You have played me for a fool, for all this time?
And he was the cold spear of power poised above them, the glacier come down from the mountain; transformed, in the matter of a few seconds of voices, from something snow-soft to frozen. The relative gentleness of his blue eyes blinked away, replaced by grim, hard ice, and the curious tilt of his head righted itself, neck pulling upwards. In many ways, Mauja's size was his armor, the head he held above others his shield—in his imposing stature, he found security, and comfort.
In the frozen vista of his face, he found the same. He hid behind himself like a child behind its mothers skirts, masking his uncertainty with the unyielding frigidity. If Paladin had watched him—would he have seen the softness pulling back, replaced with the stoic face they all, surely, knew so well?
The face of the villain.
Never mind that he was the sheep in wolf's clothing.
The stranger—oh, he remembered his body all right, brown splotched on white—spoke both their names, and Mauja resisted the urge to flip his ears backwards at the youth. It always struck him as unfair they knew his name when he didn't know theirs, and for those who remembered the old times, it was almost always the case. So in silence, he simply inclined his head, long mane waving against the arch of his neck. "Who doesn't, these days," the fourth said, as Mauja's eyes had fallen to Paladin's hooves in thoughtful silence; those hard, blue eyes snapped up again. He didn't know this one's name either, but remembered him from the very same day: a gray body, a blur of white, the sickening sensation of his skin drying, breaking, cracking, pulling apart like dried leather with each painful jolt of his body. A flicker of white above the battlefield mess, like an angel.
Mauja's voice was reduced to silence, wariness making him bite his tongue—it was ironic, that for the briefest of moments he'd looked forward to spending some time alone with Paladin, here at the end of things.. and now he found himself in an odd gathering of four stallions, and in terms of affiliations, they were three to one. One of his ears fell back. In the back of his mind, Irma and Diego had a heated discussion about how to best destroy a dragon; they'd returned to circle the trees above them, and Mauja felt one corner of his mouth flick up ever so slightly. He didn't like dragons. And this one didn't seem to like him either, if that piercing stare was anything to go by.
"You look like shit, Paladin," the small fat gray was saying. While Mauja couldn't contest that statement, because Paladin did look like something half-dead and pitiful, it still irked him to hear it said so blatantly—irked him to hear the word shit roll off anyone's tongue, because he had a mind as pristine as newly fallen snow.
And it was, actually, quite rare that Mauja ever cursed. And if he did, he was so unimaginative he just said "fuck" about three thousand times.
"You look like shit, too," he said coldly to the gray, eyes as unreadable as the snows themselves; it nearly surprised him the air didn't turn to cold steam in front of his face with each exhalation. "But then again," he went on, "you always do."
The corner of his mouth flicked upwards, ever so slightly, and there was something in his eyes—something, that almost seemed to imply jest.
After what has come to light
...You have played me for a fool, for all this time?
And he was the cold spear of power poised above them, the glacier come down from the mountain; transformed, in the matter of a few seconds of voices, from something snow-soft to frozen. The relative gentleness of his blue eyes blinked away, replaced by grim, hard ice, and the curious tilt of his head righted itself, neck pulling upwards. In many ways, Mauja's size was his armor, the head he held above others his shield—in his imposing stature, he found security, and comfort.
In the frozen vista of his face, he found the same. He hid behind himself like a child behind its mothers skirts, masking his uncertainty with the unyielding frigidity. If Paladin had watched him—would he have seen the softness pulling back, replaced with the stoic face they all, surely, knew so well?
The face of the villain.
Never mind that he was the sheep in wolf's clothing.
The stranger—oh, he remembered his body all right, brown splotched on white—spoke both their names, and Mauja resisted the urge to flip his ears backwards at the youth. It always struck him as unfair they knew his name when he didn't know theirs, and for those who remembered the old times, it was almost always the case. So in silence, he simply inclined his head, long mane waving against the arch of his neck. "Who doesn't, these days," the fourth said, as Mauja's eyes had fallen to Paladin's hooves in thoughtful silence; those hard, blue eyes snapped up again. He didn't know this one's name either, but remembered him from the very same day: a gray body, a blur of white, the sickening sensation of his skin drying, breaking, cracking, pulling apart like dried leather with each painful jolt of his body. A flicker of white above the battlefield mess, like an angel.
Mauja's voice was reduced to silence, wariness making him bite his tongue—it was ironic, that for the briefest of moments he'd looked forward to spending some time alone with Paladin, here at the end of things.. and now he found himself in an odd gathering of four stallions, and in terms of affiliations, they were three to one. One of his ears fell back. In the back of his mind, Irma and Diego had a heated discussion about how to best destroy a dragon; they'd returned to circle the trees above them, and Mauja felt one corner of his mouth flick up ever so slightly. He didn't like dragons. And this one didn't seem to like him either, if that piercing stare was anything to go by.
"You look like shit, Paladin," the small fat gray was saying. While Mauja couldn't contest that statement, because Paladin did look like something half-dead and pitiful, it still irked him to hear it said so blatantly—irked him to hear the word shit roll off anyone's tongue, because he had a mind as pristine as newly fallen snow.
And it was, actually, quite rare that Mauja ever cursed. And if he did, he was so unimaginative he just said "fuck" about three thousand times.
"You look like shit, too," he said coldly to the gray, eyes as unreadable as the snows themselves; it nearly surprised him the air didn't turn to cold steam in front of his face with each exhalation. "But then again," he went on, "you always do."
The corner of his mouth flicked upwards, ever so slightly, and there was something in his eyes—something, that almost seemed to imply jest.
