the Rift


[OPEN] we're stripped down to our skeletons again [bone collecting/cleaning]

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
#1

Once Kisamoa finished his declarations and intentions, the infidel pair wandered towards the Veins of the Gods.
 
Perhaps the boy thought just being near the deities and their shrines would awaken some clarity, indulge him in wisdom, make him see reasons for why his father has perished, why the earth wanted to swallow him whole, or why he never seemed to accomplish anything of worth without having it taken away from him. But he couldn’t go close enough to those sanctums without remembering the Sun God’s speech, telling him not to chase down the runes of his past (but how could he not – when it’d been everything for him, when those were the only facets of his life with Deimos still in them?), and the rage, the madness, sunk through his brow, along his vicious stare. He turned away from the brush, the mildew, the withered, decayed grass curled against memorials and monuments, holding back the crawling, grasping, clenching wounds making their way down his skull; he breathed, and the moment failed to go away.
 
All he wanted to do was grieve.
 
Orsino led him through the channels, along the flowing magma veins, down towards an outcrop of broken logs clogging a portion of the lava’s reign. Erebos stared at it, not willing to indulge in any other movement, glancing at the bubbling pool of heat and potency, struggling not to see the Reaper’s scythe dipped in infernal oil, in blades of steel and might, in waves of raw power, and the fresh, pathetic slate of tears began to roll down his cheeks. He felt his knees quake, his limbs buckle down to the ground, head hung low, nearly touching the soil, and the sable kitsune hissed near him, low and feral, frustrated and lamenting too. You must do something he proclaimed, focusing his gaze on the scion who was supposed to be more than just another figure, just another face in a sea of so many, but already consumed by one more death, one more vile twist in his life.
 
I don’t want to, the infidel said in return, for once giving over his bold, intrepid, daring valor for listlessness; trying to hear the sounds of his father’s voice again. You will be better had been his last words, and already Erebos had failed them.
 
The fox narrowed his eyes and threatened to wreak havoc, but the youth rose again, without fire, without passion, drifting over to the lake of morphed rock and savage calamity, maybe I’ll fall in it, he thought, and the kitsune stayed close by to ensure nothing of the sort happened. Slowly, the General reached forward and grabbed a stick with his teeth, wrenching it back towards him, and placing it along the shore, numb once more. Orsino watched him closely, taking miniscule steps, searching through nearby weeds for the ivory of a broken, whittled away bone, because he knew the warrior wouldn’t be able to do it himself.
 
Too much, the kitsune uttered in a silent, unholy sibilance. 

[Open to anyone! Erebos is cleaning out a bunch of broken logs clogging up an area of the lava flow and Orsino is trying to find some bones on the shore.] 

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we're stripped down to our skeletons again [bone collecting/cleaning] - by Erebos - 01-01-2017, 07:40 PM

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