make them think they ever stood a chance

[OPEN] make them think they ever stood a chance

Erebos Posts: 474

Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE

Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather

11-24-2016, 07:20 PM

He hunted.

In days before, he would’ve haunted the walks of life for schemes and scholarly pursuits – an inkling of sagacity, of wisdom, to drink his fill of knowledge and understanding, to comprehend how he fit into the folds of the earth. He would’ve stalked the foundations, the walls, the halls, for excitement, for rebellion, for a vicious taste of the unknown, enigmas flushed against his eyes, against his chest, against his mind until he laughed, smirked, snickered, and splintered. He would’ve jumped, leapt, bounded across countries and empires for an opportunity, for the relish, of curiosity and discovery, to grin with friends and drown out the rest of the world with mischief and devilry.

But the earth changed, altered, and Erebos had to with it – so instead of wearing a Cheshire smile, instead of donning a fleeting glimpse of contentment, a quick reminder of juvenile indifference, he wore a furrowed brow, a maddening outlook, a devious set to his eyes he didn’t bother hiding. The boy in him was nearly gone – crooked and disappearing, and in its place settled a nefarious, iron-born beast, choking on hatred, suffocating on menace, smoldering on revenge and vengeance he couldn’t have, couldn’t reach, couldn’t grasp. He’d walked those lines before, and they seethed, grated, against his mind until there was nothing else there – seditious and molten, crawling and clawing their way through his valorous efforts, his gallant intentions, poisoning them with the depth of their cold-blooded reverie. Orsino didn’t have to say a word, didn’t have to brandish a single demand, didn’t have to polish any sinister commands; Erebos was already consumed with the taste of treachery.

His strides seethed and consumed the raw temples of loam and meadow; searched for something he knew he wouldn’t find (but persisted nonetheless, because stubbornness wore its enamel into his soul and he couldn’t give in, couldn’t admit defeat), wandering past outsets of snow and dirt, of frost and pinnacles, of thistles and thorns. The warrior lifted his maw to the sky and widened his nares, tried to snatch bits and pieces of unfamiliar scents; but there were too many, too few, too overwhelming to break apart and unravel. When this didn’t work, he merely raced along the outer fringes, paced the grounds, dragged his nose along the aperture of the Heart Caves nestled nearby and tried to ignore the lingering trail of Enna (evading his pleas, escaping, gone before granting him permission to massacre those who’d dared to harm her). Orsino followed, silent during his bonded’s heartless pursuits, feeding on the diabolical intentions as they scoured for strangers, as they chased down invisible opponents and enemies, as they persisted in stretching across the plains and yearning to triumph over injustice. It would’ve been enough to see someone, anyone, across the isolated, desolate stretch of land, a beast he could flay and tear apart, ask why they’d done that to her and what their last words would be, what they saw as their life was scattered before their eyes, drawn and quartered, defiled and left for birds to scavenge.

But there was nothing again, and he’d failed before he’d truly even started.

They eventually simmered, smoldered, beneath a snow-laden branch of a towering oak, breaths curling and coiling against the chilling backdrop – and still, the child in him did not reappear.

[Continuation of this thread. Open to anyone.]