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FIFTY WORDS FOR MURDER AND I'M EVERY ONE OF THEM So much has changed recently. He's lost his home, his crown, leaving him roaming and alone like he has been cast back to the furthest depths of his outcast life. His pride is a wounded monster, his rage a palpable weight in his chest as he contemplates all the ways he wants to destroy Kaos in a meaningless act of revenge. One thing he hasn't lost, though, is his desire to be involved in the lives of every child that comes from his seed - and now he is no longer a king, he has little else better to do than to track Sikeax as her sides swell fit to bursting. The time is upon them, and Volterra lunges across the land like an onyx ghost. His dragons trail him; Vadir is more subdued than usual thanks to the sudden realisation that she is no longer bonded to a Sultan, so she even deigns to join her black bonded and her red brother in approaching a mare that she really, really doesn't like. Vérzés rides high on his bonded's withers, his horned head poking around the stallion's neck so as to catch side of Sikeax as soon as possible. This isn't like last time. The similarities are there - Volterra in a very dark time of his life, a roving outcast with no responsibilities - but the scenario is very different. This time, instead of having the knowledge of Zhu thrust upon him, he embraces the birth of his newest child with gusto. This time, his son - or daughter - will not be a stranger to him, because he plans to be there every step of the way. He hangs back during the process itself, knowing that mares need space during this most painful of procedures, but when the foals - plural - slap onto the ground in a tangle of legs and fur, he's over to them in an instant. A quick assessment tells him that it's a colt and a filly, and he beams proudly down at them. The smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, though, because it's hard not to worry about what sort of world they've brought these foals into. A world where their sire is just a pauper, not a king; a world where the Gods themselves fall at the feet of a foul heathen. "Are you alright?" he rumbles to Sikeax, his voice as gentle as he can make it as he glances between her and the foals. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
