.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
09-30-2015, 04:38 PM
EREBOS Cathun’s complete, utter lack of enthusiasm wasn’t a surprise. He’d watched the taller boy flee as a monster rose from the unknown. He’d witnessed him escape into the void. It only made the prince wonder if the youth made of flames, concocted from the embers, was a coward. Was he frightened, or wise, not eager to be deluded into the sensation of danger and triumph? Was he weak or all the more sagacious? Was he petulant or heavily guarded, too aware of what lay beyond the depths of their dreams and fallacies? Was he to be respected for his choices, or criticized? Or was he more jaded, bitter, and rancorous because he was just a little older, just a little more experienced – discerning the world for what it truly was? Erebos had seen the realm, had viewed kingdoms and empires, and knew what he wanted. He was meant to achieve, meant to surge, meant to propel, and had every intention of using others to attain those desires. He needed power, he wanted potency, he craved domination; it curled through his blood, across his ribs, down into the feral reaches of his twisted, demonic heart. If Cathun had no intention of seizing control or influence, he’d be one less to worry about, one more to step over, a means to an end. Were they friends at all? Or mere acquaintances passing through one another’s lives? One experience tumbling into another: a root, a cause, a dilemma, a problem, a vexation? Would anything change? Would it even matter? The growing infidel didn’t know, but had every intention of building whatever happened here and now into knowledge, into experience – would take the necessary damage in stride, would feel the weight of scars and the chisel of lost innocence, would wear it like a badge of honor, like a symbol of courage, like a banner of prowess. Then it all began, and he was forced away from potential melancholy, into the folds of battle – but it was naught as he envisioned. No reign of terror, no declaration of triumph, no marks of sinister, nefarious designs: Cathun met him at an easy, leisurely, longer-strided pace, and despite the lad’s attempt at racing forward, the other bit him promptly on his rump. The pain was respectful, smarting, a dull ache, a molten throb to mark the first of many. Pelt gnarled away and blew into the wind, leaving a blackened fixture of plucked hair. But there was no rage, no condemnation in the aftermath: mere acceptance of the inevitable scratches and imperfections brought on by battle. His reaction thereafter was purely instinctual, made out of compulsion and inclination rather than methods or modicums of practice. A fledgling in combat, despite ambitions and aspirations of grandeur, his intentions were minimal and haphazard – until the black kitsune snickered through their bond. Orsino, cackling and howling amidst their connection, held ferocious, wicked ideas. The Stygian fox was no more experienced than his bonded, but infinitely more brutal, barbarous, and vicious, conducting, concocting, and cackling. Racing away from their tangle of limbs, from the range of hooves and daggers, the nefarious beast, the bestial cretin, ignited his own series of commands from beneath a bloody canopy. Fire, fire, fire! he sang in a noxious croon, a sinister, savage chant – Erebos pulsed and bade the request of his companion. As he kicked out behind him (struggled to ignore the ache, the bruise, across his hind), hoping, intending, yearning to strike the older, larger stag in the chest, he spread his invocations, his enchantments, his combustion magic through his veins, so the fervent zeal, the puissant ardor, was wild, unearthed, and ready for the fray. Would a touch of his hooves bring an inferno to the already blazing Cathun? Could fire be dealt to another being already encased, enshrouded, and veiled in its element? [1/3 posts. 642 words. Erebos tries to shoot forward to evade Cathun, but is bit on the rump, loses some hair, and suffers some bruising for his troubles. Orsino encourages him to use his fire magic while kicking out, aiming to hit Cathun in the chest and burn him at the same time.] |
@Cathun
