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02-14-2016, 03:16 PM
The golden, riding high on the clouds of his success, was never as quickly brought down. Having stood still for a moment, the rush of it all calmed. As the other laughed the golden went to shift his weight, settling back with eas-then he body screamed. The whole of the dun’s frame went ridged as nerves from his underside down to his leg screamed bloody murder. The massive guest and all sense of bravado was left as the Wildfire hissed in a breath. Burned. The smell of burnt flesh reached him and his whole body shivered. Gods he hated that smell. It was one of the few things that could ever make the golden feel sick to his gut. “It didn’t miss.” Came a more annoyed and threatening hiss.
His leg ached worse of all. It had been the shift of weight onto that woken it up. The paper thin flesh had been little protection for muscles and nerves within. It (and a couple of things on his underside hurt worse of all). Each nerve pricked and speared him, and though the other may have been successful at hiding it, the gold was not so much. Especially as he struggled too to keep his illusion together and not exhale again on accident. Normally pain would be easier to hide. Not this pain. His mind rolled for relief. Anything. Everything. And to its plea, and curious, but very foggy memory came forward. On the cliffs, fevered and mad, through the fog a flaming wing with a healer’s touch cleared his vision. The annoyance on the dun’s face stilled into concentration.
Before it had been unintentional, the rush of adrenaline and fight had brought it forth. Now though he was searching for it. Ignoring the other for a moment he focuses on his own side. A dark flaming wing slowly reaches down and wraps its tips behind the tattered limb. What should have been a rough, agonizing feeling though, was nothing more than the warm caresses. Now for the interesting part. He had theorized this power, now time to see if it existed. Deep inside he reached, and there he felt it. An orb of energy pulsating. A share of the very magic that others could feel revolving in them. Carefully the golden took hold and evoked the powers inside. At first it would not come. No relief. Nothing happened. He pulled at it more forcefully, less carefully, and the orb released. It was less tame than under its master’s hand, but it came just the same.
A warmth washed upon his wounds, but then sided away, leaving him with a heavy sigh. Tentatively the hind was placed down, and weight tested on it. It was not solid, but no pain answered him. The wild grin began to rise up on the dark dun’s face once more. In actually Thranduil probably could have had a cow he was so happy. A rush of possibilities and ideas blew through him, and windows flung open on every side. Brilliant.
He gave little thought to the one still in front of him. After all, a good portion of his body still screamed with the molten fire. Wings carefully wrapped under him, the warm flames like the sun on a cool winter’s day. Again he pulled deep inside, reaching for the pulsating orb, and this time he feels others alongside it. Yet he knows what it is he wants, and reaching deep inside again it is pulled forth, and relief, seeps through.
It was only as he finished that the deep voice of the other caught his attention again. Flaming wings tuck back, and for the first real time, he looks at this creature before him. Or, as he just revealed, King. The golden wanted to laugh, and he nearly did, the wicked grin twisting devilishly on his face. Yet he keeps it together. Standing close now, the height and statue of the other kept the humor away. Not to mention he noticed the King had not escaped unscathed either. He wondered if this creature would be humble enough to ask for the warmth of the flames…or if he was too proud. What a wonderful test so cleverly and perfectly posed.
Still it was his turn to speak. And for a moment he thought of returning in kind. Thranduil, the Laurelin, Lord of the North. A few weeks ago he would have said it without thinking, without hesitation. But now….the words brought a most sour taste in his mouth. This day had been all about escaping the view of the mountains, so he was loathe to call them home. He also did not enjoy being just a shadow, some unnamed thing. No, the threat his gift brought, the power, it should have a name. "Thranduil, at your service.” The old familiar greeting rolled off easily and smooth, even in the dark voice of Gaucho. And yet for all the titles the golden could have called on, that one felt to be the best answer.
OOC ::
Identities: Erebos, Archibald,
"speech"
Posting Poetics
@Tembovu
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
