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10-16-2012, 07:44 PM
It is a Man's own Mind not his enemy, nor his foe, that lures him to evil ways Adrenaline - it charged through his nerves like heated bullets. Primal instinct swarmed his psyche, as if the Imp's virile musk, his piercing gaze, had provoked a demon within him which had long been dormant, yearning to be released from sobriety. Bloodlust and vehemence coursed virulently through his bloodstream, running in the hellion's veins like steroids through an athlete, incensing him. His muscles ached for movement, for exertion. Smoke furled from flared nostrils like a premonition - flexed wide, trembling in discomposure. In a fit of intemperance he began to pace, thrashing his chiseled crown about through the air, cries of battle leaking from his lips all the while. Beads of filth-ridden fluid became airborne with each forceful stride, streaking like rivulets of acid rain down the beast's sable skin. Swathes of soot clung to the stained alabaster of his legs and adhered stubbornly to the long follicles of his thick winter coat. His mane and tail - once a pale shade of maroon, now blackened and heavy - had become pregnant with sooty water, the sensation cold and enlivening as a billow of wind hied past without remorse. The fallen angel rose to his hind legs, hooves threatening to tear asunder the overcast sky. Ambrosius assumed a similar stance. Soulless eyes boiled with a sinister rage and a deep, stark hue of ebony as they held onto the other's crimson gaze. Blood circulated to the sinew of his aft legs, and they tensed, momentum building as he swiftly hurled his massive figure toward the winged perpetrator. He lashed out toward the brute's right shoulder, teeth bared and lips reigned back in a baleful snarl. Lobed ears became plastered against his nape, and from the depths of his chest there tore a fierce vociferation. Die, you worthless bastard, his shouted inwardly. _______________________________________________________________________ [ 1/3 — 301 word count — Setting: Spectral Marsh in late afternoon, no snowfall, directly succeeding this thread: death shall have no dominion. ] [ Summation: Ambrosius begins to pace back and forth, and then rears soon after Eligor, but instead of fully rising he lunges toward him, aiming to bite toward his face whilst his hooves lash out toward his right shoulder ] unless they kill in large numbers
and to the sound of trumpets
AMBROSIUS
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table by phantom
