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08-21-2015, 05:28 PM
The spark of adventure, the keen of the unknown, the dwelling of mystery always led him down particular pathways. He was enticed by enigmas, intoxicated by inquiry, and riveted by riddles. He wanted to know how the world worked, how it twisted and folded upon itself, how it gave light and serenaded darkness, and where he fit in between all the measures, all the schemes, all the rhymes and satanic reveries. Too young to understand, too old to be confused, befuddled, and bewitched, he walked across the earth in the name of sport: deciphering, contorting, dissolving the things puzzling him. Bold and intrepid, valorous and audacious, the realms, the empires, the kingdoms, were at his disposal, and given each and every opportunity, his princely presence snagged, clenched, and grasped until each moment was a possibility for intellect, for musing, and for corruption. By no means was he a philosopher, one of the sages, one meant for constant knowledge and intellect: his desires stemmed from avaricious pursuit, for the pledge and devotion of power, for the means to control and conduct and reach a stage of domination. Ripped from the Machiavellian void, tied together by hollowed hells, rippling and contorting with the vicious coils of endeavors and beliefs, wishing and dreaming and aspiring for grand heights, for friends to return, for an embrace of the darkness, and all the steps before its succession. Bewitched by the earnest, ardent, fervent foundation, he and Orsino delved, deeper and deeper, further and further, into the passages of shadow and veils, wearing shrouds of lies and building towers of deceit, pushing masks across their eyes, spellbinding, alluring, beguiling, and some days, he didn’t know which masquerade he fell into anymore. The kitsune rambled quietly ahead of him, chasing down the whims of darkness and the mercurial trance of each laden bough, each tempered arm, eyeing the claws, the hands, of the oaks, of the maples, of the pines and fir; sometimes all Erebos could see of him were the glowing, gilded eyes and the flash of white fangs, and they’d both rejoice at the plunge of their decadence, wind away the hours of silliness and ebullience into relentless yearnings. He laughed through the scene, tangled his way into moss and undergrowth, danced a fractious waltz with the beasts and the infidels, another part of their mordant splendor, another token of their arcane affairs. Their combined giggling echoed off the limbs of the trees, bounding and bounding, chasing and chasing their inclinations and wiles; too consumed with a feverish plunge into the licentious to worry about monsters, demons, and cretins lurking. The prince’s blue gaze sharpened in the crisp gloaming, a stitch of the surreal, a marble haze of the serene, not yet piercing or puncturing as his father’s, not as gentle as his mother’s, an intangible, wicked little light scorching amidst mischief and upheaval. The stare, a behemoth’s code of imps and duplicity, was aimed directly towards their other companion, ghosting over Enna’s the white, gossamer threads of her mane, the silhouette of honey and mahogany blending into the backdrop of idle blackness, the mismatched set of her eyes flanking amidst the lethal corridors and the unholy halls. He’d invited her because he liked her: she was entertaining, she was funny, she cared nothing for anyone’s judgment or opinion, and she gave over to devilry and naughtiness just as quickly as he did. He wanted to know what she was like amidst crusades and exploits, how far she’d peer down into the rabbit hole, if she’d linger in precariousness or whittle her way out of hazard and peril. He laughed again, easy and light, staring at her as he maneuvered sideways over sticks and twigs, wandering their way through the thickets, along the marsh, towards the pool of crimson stones and endless myths. He provided her with discourse, wild, frenetic, blistering and silly, sometimes chiming over jokes on the air of jubilation or mocking fervor. When he turned his head towards a particular glade, he varnished her with a specific story. “That’s where I found Orsino! I had to trick a raven.” Here, he winked, because he thought he’d been quite clever in the entire spectacle, and then he ceased all movement, bending closer to her, extending his features until they rested near hers, luminescent and speculative. “What do you think of the forest?” OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] "talk talk talk" |
- table by Niki -
@Enna
