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10-18-2015, 07:53 AM
Erebos
There were so many things Erebos didn’t understand: why friends left and reappeared and why they were resentful about the whole thing when they’d been the ones to flee, why the Gods promised no ounce of bloodshed and renounced the oath mere moments later, why tiny girls were murdered for wandering into open lands, why his lungs had cracked and drowned his breaths in anarchy, then felt better instances thereafter…the thoughts trickled and convoluted and spiraled around his youthful mind – and it was hardly the end of the sentiments. They were rapid and fleeting, given no ounce or opportunity of study from one to the next, lacerating and puncturing before traversing in swift, keen speed to more annals and embittered translations. No wisdom granted, no salvation extorted, puzzles jigsawed, frayed, and torn apart. Perhaps the most piercing of all was what he was supposed to be doing: when his glory would reign, how he was supposed to obtain this monstrous power, and in between all the folds, spells, tales, and myths, where did he fit in? He was lost.
Not in the way of labyrinths or Perseus’ threads, huddled in the muck and mire of Minotaur vows or persecution, but to the fringes of his purpose. The beast knew what he wanted, but how to go about grasping, clenching, and holding it all was another matter: he’d fought, he’d stabbed deities, he’d struggled to maintain friends, he’d lied about names and nuances, and he’d grinned in the face of damnation and terror. He hadn’t fled. He hadn’t stumbled. He didn’t break across the floor when the world wanted him to shatter, shudder, or shiver. He was strong, he was bold, he was capable. Of what was the strange query cursing his essence.
But determining which path to cross, which trail to take, and which alleyway led to the Promised Land was one more tribulation. His father had risen from soldier to General to Lord, and his mother had delved into scholarly wisdom and polished sagacity; and the prince splintered, fractured, from thing to thing, never truly immersing himself fully into either vocation. He enjoyed fighting, and he cherished the art of pretenses. He was riveted to trickery, to deceit, to provocations, and was raptured in the nefarious nature of battles and bloodshed. Much like his magic, a blend of fire, water, and darkness, he was a combination of talents and desires – a jack-of-all-trades, but a master of none.
Though unlikely to hold any answers, he roamed across the pristine Steppe, encountering its overwhelming wind and flattened desolation with strength and determination, only lowering his skull briefly as the gales unwound their brawny filaments. Orsino, hissing behind his companion, presented naught of declarations or absolutions either: he preferred wickedness in whatever scope or regime. Together, they were untapped potential and scheming ruthlessness with nowhere to put their nefarious qualities to the test – and as they marched, bitter blue and black against the stark, summer snow, the two beasts left broken patterns of promises, of vengeance, behind.
[Open to anyone! ^_^]
I'LL SHOW YOU HOW GOD | FALLS ASLEEP ON THE JOB
Image Credits
Image Credits
