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01-23-2016, 06:45 PM
He wanted to laugh the moment they arrived. The prince had been here so many times – once, feral and silly with Rikyn, basking in the glow of haunted, strange, monstrous things. Once, they’d chased after Cathun and his cowardice, posturing noble qualities and refined taste, when they had no idea what the world laid out before them. Once, when Gods beckoned and twisted and ignited, and they fought like valiant, honorable soldiers (when all they’d wanted, all they’d craved, was a taste of bloodlust, a hint of violence and scars to wrap around their hides). Once, when he’d followed an ivory Pegasus and employed his tricks, his schemes, his wiles, shrouding their world with dreams and delusions, snares and follies, wondering what it’d be like to cause someone pain, instead of it always being placed upon him. Now, they were committed to patrolling, to wandering and wondering, to perusing and exploring the vast avenues of red, like spilled blood, like avaricious, soulless whims, and his eyes kindled, incensed, over the brutality sure to be left in the augured wake. He said none of these things to the starry Corporal, who appeared enamored by the sheen and sheer of temptation – ordinarily, he might be too, basking and staring at the remnants of shields and swords, of pearls and rubies, of gems left to rot and wither and decay just like the bodies of the fallen. Instead, he simply watched, like a sentinel, like a blackguard, hovering along the brink of destruction and tyranny, a careful shadow as the mare dared to inch closer to the trickling falls and the rapid, bloody water. Orsino, petulant and wraithlike, chose a few boulders to clamber along, while Erebos conquered indiscretions and licentious whims. Ever the charmer, ever the swindler, he maneuvered along the trace of the embankment, a few yards away from her (wondering what she’d do, what she’d remember, from their days of ripping each other apart, of kicking and bludgeoning and searing in this strange, strangled battle-haze), peeking his head over the fringe, glancing at his reflection ensconced in ichor; chuckling at the smirking, snickering form rippling in response. “Do you want one?” He leaned out over the abyss, as if he was going to jump into the crimson-laced forces and become swallowed, devoured, by the scarlet highlights and the carmine poison for the ambience of a trinket, then reeling his head back towards the warrior, arching a brow, delving into a hint of mischief, a thread of devilry. OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] |
- table by Niki -
