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06-27-2012, 12:41 PM
 [The song he's singing is David Guetta - Without You translated to his native tongue of Drow.] Usstan h'ros nez, Usstan h'ros lgos Usstan orn neitar nez nindol nibele Xuileb dos, xuileb dos Usstan tlun noamuth, Usstan tlun ist'a Usstan orn neitar tlu l' toha Xuileb dos, xuileb dos Wind steals away the song as Jaydan turns on steady wings in a directionless pattern. Below, the red land of the Dragon's Throat twists and turns as the thermals wheel the blue gelding further and further away from the earth. Usstan wo naut z'haan, Usstan wo naut tiu Usstan orn neitar morfeth ol a Xuileb dos, xuileb dos Usstan h'ros v'dre, Usstan h'ros malar Jal Usstan ssrig'luin zhah dos lu' Usstan Xuileb dos, xuileb.... Dos! Limbs kick over clouds and feathers whine in the atmosphere as the morose song lilts higher and higher while his heart sinks deeper and deeper. Nearly vertical now, Jaydan stretches out and climbs the heavens. Usstan h'ros tanook nin, nindol h'ros tlu ditronw Usstan h'ros plynn uss mzild sleepless isto Xuileb dos, xuileb dos Usstan wo naut soar, Usstan wo naut z'orr Ka dos phuul naut ghil F'sarn paralyzed Xuileb dos, xuileb dos Cold begins to press like a tight kiss against the pale knight. Eyes flutter against the barrage of ice particles but still his wings flex and pull across the air. He climbs ever higher - maybe up here he will break a threshold and cross between the mortal planes to find the evergreen pasture where Luin roams now. Just, higher! Distraught, his song continues, the tone nearly a scream of desperation as hooves claw desperately to shear away the veil between sky and land, heaven and earth. Usstan h'ros lor, F'sarn ji naut'kyn Noamuth ussta xukuth, Usstan noamuth ussta shar Xuileb dos XULIEB... DOS! The muscles seize and the joints lock. The cold has stolen all the warmth and ice coats the tips of unpreened feathers, burning the skin beneath. Jaydan shrieks and his body begins to plummet. It is not the chaos of the fall, frame spinning while wings grapple for purchase and legs buck subconsciously - it is the failure to breech the walls that tears the mouth of the gelding into such a horrific chasm of grief. His song closes with tears caressing his cheeks, whipped away by the cold wind like a slap against his muzzle. Mane and tail flutter in a frenzy against his tummulting body, but he is still now. As he falls he watches the door to heaven recede from his grasp. He can get there another way though. His wings stop fighting. His legs grow still. His breaths become short and shallow as eyes dare to flutter shut. He would rather not witness his own death, it will be hard enough to feel it...  |
