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11-18-2012, 12:08 PM
Supremacy, sovereignty, control; it contorted rigidly in their veins, a rancorous, brewing enchantment, scarring and scorching, livid, incensed, distorted to shambles in the wake of nothingness. Where were their infernal hearts now, silent, hushed, brambles of coiling, intrepid beasts? Where did they plunge, where did they strike, where did the glowing pride of their aspirations slink? Where was the promised havoc, the savage recoil? Where were the illustrious, heralded machinations? The lavished opulence, the bestial chords, had been rendered incomplete, broken, barbed things left to wither and decay with the passing breeze, the listless, latent air. The clamor, the din, sung lifelessly on the hymns of the wicked, of the requiems of the iniquitous, sullied, stolen and absconded. So he too was silent, this wandering, wayfaring Deimos, left to haunt the chilling corridors of his rapier brutality, of his soundless, treacherous wake, offering naught but the intangible twist of his sullen, lethal presence. No tidings fell from his lips, no ruffian delusion rang from his tongue, no dissolution, no façade. Late and listening, he strode into the frayed strings of their twisted, heathen, pariah interlude, piercing eyes catching glances and figures, that meant very little to him. Their names, faces, and snippets of conversation were mottled, trifle things; squabbles and quarrels meaningless flocks of triviality. Mauja was gone, the femme in his place. The once ice lord’s daughter had an equine slave. They wanted to strike fear into the hearts of lesser beings. The new, reigning banshee wanted to train them under her guidance (an almost laughable statement burrowed in his mind – he who could already tear foe limb from limb, breath from lungs, cease a heart from beating). But there they were, full of yearnings again, wanton, fleeting strands of newcomers, restless, simmering augurs from specious, elder members. What would become of them again, the bane and scourge of the earth?
