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03-07-2015, 07:18 AM
If one were to measure successes by luck, by serendipity, by chance, by fate, or by kismet, Erebos had lost and won in equal strokes. His talents had lain in discovering bits and pieces of himself, in scouring the countryside in search of power and potency, when it merely lay dormant within him all along, eager and waiting for exposure, for temptation, for allure. As he explored, as he investigated, as he worked and chiseled and sculpted away at the confines of enigmas and mysteries, he’d made friends, allies, and enemies, bolstered the gallant expertise, heightened the stature of the darkness coiled and curled around him. The lad had been a privileged being, capable of so many things, and then…failing at so many others. His eyes had glanced at Gods and been in awe of their mastery, his body had been in the presence of monsters and lived to tell the tale, his stature had been composed and riddled and triumphed over and he’d found a way to survive, but he’d also watched as others grasped hold of prowess. He’d been witness to their conquests, a silent, lithe shadow, saying nothing as one more clenched and seized something he’d wanted, something he’d craved, something he’d tried so desperately to snag. It made his desires churn, it made an avaricious swing in his chest pulse and beat, it made the pervading surroundings seem all encompassing and tainted, but determination, resolution, and perseverance, so entrenched, so lacquered to his sentiments, always won. The scion raised his head from the loss, time and time again, not a chosen being but another of the mass, of the throng, of the gathered crowd deemed incapable (and then always left wondering: what did he have to show? What did he have to do?). Maybe the forest could provide answers, for within, a warren, a puzzle, a conundrum bloomed, and he followed the trails of its ascension, raising long, lanky limbs (which never seemed to stop growing) over stumps and roots, becoming another of the predators and prey in the dim, smoky husk of shadowed abyss. An omniscient caw boomed and echoed throughout the wood, and he ceased all movement for a moment, twisting an ear towards the sound, towards the summoning, already provoked and incensed by its obscure qualities. The princeling rumbled along the makeshift path, beguiled and enticed, deep, fluttering yearnings clustered and twisting amidst his blackguard enamel, because the winds began howling, cackling, laughing, and a chill ran down the length of his spine - a prize, a prize! - his eyes widened when he finally arrived at the befuddling sight. There was an egg, and it had to mean something, it had to be something, like all the companions he’d seen, like Adelric and Tobias, an object, a friend, he craved the most. The mystery held limitless bounds, because how was he supposed to get to it? While the wind seared and scorched, threw petulant shards of rock, soil, grass, and roots, he closed his eyes against its maelstrom and struggled to come up with a solution. There was someone, nestled and quartered nearby, screeching and screaming at the top of their lungs (and it was deafening and defiant; please make it stop), he pinned his ears, trying in vain to close off the disturbing composition. Perhaps that was their magic, their ability – he had several, but would they be of any use? Setting fire to the forest would do more harm than good, and flames would likely only be ripped apart or added to the haunting forces. Water-walking when there was no water in sight wouldn’t assuage the dilemma either. All that was left was the strange, for he knew almost naught about it, hadn’t ever wielded it to great fruition or understood its power, was the darkness flowing within his veins, stretching and reeling with his emotions. Opening one eye, forelock shielding the other with rapid assertion at the wind’s touch, he stared upon the tiny egg, lost and forlorn, and wondered if there was any poison or venom in it. Could he coax it towards him? Could he invite it with bestial invocations? With sinister bestowals? With savage creeds and promises? Slowly, he courted the fanning plumes of iniquity, of immorality, through the blistering haze, a seething, simmering call of corruption, summoning, beckoning, reaching for the egg’s sentiments and ruminations, yearning it to follow and find him, roll towards the shade of safety. OOC;; [Erebos attempts to coax the egg towards him using his dark corruption magic.] Wishlist - Kitsune with Dark Illusions magic Refusal One Refusal Two TAG;; @[ ] |
- table by Niki -
