.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
07-05-2016, 06:37 PM
Another flame, another torrent, another gale of laughter erupted from the lordling’s throat as the seraph’s bonded, an actual tiger lunged out of the snow – not towards him, but Orsino. The sable fox’s immediate reaction was to hiss and spit, growl and threaten, hackles and fur raised, tails bristling, jaw widening to show his glistening ivories. When the large cat continued, sniffing and pawing at him, the indignant, wretched words and curses spewing over their connection were not worth sharing or repeating; a bit too harsh, grating, and horrendous. Erebos’ laugh was jubilant though, starting from a small chuckle to a wild, untamed guffaw, taking absolute delight and merriment in the kitsune’s misfortune. Make a new friend, Orsino? He ricocheted along their bond, looking away as the Stygian beast flexed his claws in the prince’s direction – incapable of keeping a straight face as his stare riveted back to the mare. “Quite the companion you have,” his words reverberated on another quiet sanction of sniggers, smirks, and snickers, not rude or demeaning, merely as if he hadn’t been amused in eons, as if he’d forgo all his menace, all his malice, just for a little more amusement and diversion in his life.
Already charmed by the predatory pursuits of her familiar, his scrutiny lanced back upon her, the stripes, the vivid hues, the wings, the halo – all beguiling, enticing curiosities. The lad still wondered if she was a piece of divinity, another fallen deity or half-god, like Aithniel, brought to mere mortals to provide them with providence, sanctuary, or blessings. Maybe she was luminescence, with gilded eyes and enlightening shards, elegance strewn and laden with lines and purity – or not that at all, but a deceptive siren, sent to lure creatures to their doom – the black marks a coating of predators and carnivores, a warning to those who embarked too close to her halo, devilish scratches and garb sanctioned in her gaze. Was she duplicity, scattered by specious remnants, honored by vicious intentions? Or merely wandering there, cast into snow and ice, haunting a field of desolation, and still harboring for it? He may have interrupted her singsongs or glow, traipsing where he didn’t belong (but that was always the way – burrowing a little too deep into wounds and lacerations, into barbs and nettles, until he found them stabbed into his hearts, his lungs, his soul, and then they stayed there, locked in the toils of his hate, his loathing, his contempt). His skull tilted this way and that, in general directions, in charismatic intrigue, watching the ghost of her smile appear, conducting his on a grander scale, pleasant and amiable, restless and youthful.
He presumed the next set of words would follow the necessary course – they’d share namesakes, herds, and then stumble on some new path – he could coax a few inquiries over her bonded, or magic, or invocations, gifts of the earth or why she wore a signal, circlet, of heaven. So he was struck, suddenly, eyes peeled back from where they’d followed Orsino’s route of escape, by the query formed out of thin air: are you lost?
Sometimes, he almost replied. Some days he spent too many hours whittling away at devilish contortions, at how and why and when he’d sink his vengeance into the ichor of the Goliath, watch his dragons falter, shudder, and fall along the earth. Some days he didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing with his life, playing soldier amongst ice and rime because he loved his family, because he was loyal to mountains, but all he really yearned, craved, wanted to do was annihilate and brutalize those who’d wronged his brethren. Some days he simply lived in the past instead of the present, imagining how things could’ve been if everyone hadn’t disappeared, left, or died.
But he didn’t tell her that. The steady, captivating depths of his eyes betrayed nothing; that he wasn’t fighting a losing battle with abhorrence and disaster, that he wasn’t sculpting his days with power and savagery. “No. I know exactly where I am.” But not where I’m going. He winked, then shook his head, inclining it towards the peaks in the distance, where the Basin toiled and stood, mighty and strong. “I live just over there.”
Erebos’ stare pinpointed back upon her again. “Are you?”
Already charmed by the predatory pursuits of her familiar, his scrutiny lanced back upon her, the stripes, the vivid hues, the wings, the halo – all beguiling, enticing curiosities. The lad still wondered if she was a piece of divinity, another fallen deity or half-god, like Aithniel, brought to mere mortals to provide them with providence, sanctuary, or blessings. Maybe she was luminescence, with gilded eyes and enlightening shards, elegance strewn and laden with lines and purity – or not that at all, but a deceptive siren, sent to lure creatures to their doom – the black marks a coating of predators and carnivores, a warning to those who embarked too close to her halo, devilish scratches and garb sanctioned in her gaze. Was she duplicity, scattered by specious remnants, honored by vicious intentions? Or merely wandering there, cast into snow and ice, haunting a field of desolation, and still harboring for it? He may have interrupted her singsongs or glow, traipsing where he didn’t belong (but that was always the way – burrowing a little too deep into wounds and lacerations, into barbs and nettles, until he found them stabbed into his hearts, his lungs, his soul, and then they stayed there, locked in the toils of his hate, his loathing, his contempt). His skull tilted this way and that, in general directions, in charismatic intrigue, watching the ghost of her smile appear, conducting his on a grander scale, pleasant and amiable, restless and youthful.
He presumed the next set of words would follow the necessary course – they’d share namesakes, herds, and then stumble on some new path – he could coax a few inquiries over her bonded, or magic, or invocations, gifts of the earth or why she wore a signal, circlet, of heaven. So he was struck, suddenly, eyes peeled back from where they’d followed Orsino’s route of escape, by the query formed out of thin air: are you lost?
Sometimes, he almost replied. Some days he spent too many hours whittling away at devilish contortions, at how and why and when he’d sink his vengeance into the ichor of the Goliath, watch his dragons falter, shudder, and fall along the earth. Some days he didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing with his life, playing soldier amongst ice and rime because he loved his family, because he was loyal to mountains, but all he really yearned, craved, wanted to do was annihilate and brutalize those who’d wronged his brethren. Some days he simply lived in the past instead of the present, imagining how things could’ve been if everyone hadn’t disappeared, left, or died.
But he didn’t tell her that. The steady, captivating depths of his eyes betrayed nothing; that he wasn’t fighting a losing battle with abhorrence and disaster, that he wasn’t sculpting his days with power and savagery. “No. I know exactly where I am.” But not where I’m going. He winked, then shook his head, inclining it towards the peaks in the distance, where the Basin toiled and stood, mighty and strong. “I live just over there.”
Erebos’ stare pinpointed back upon her again. “Are you?”
Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in
@Maren
