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06-15-2014, 06:35 AM
Like a ruin, like an abomination, he slipped, slid, slinked through the corridors of the chiseled, icy walls, soaked and sought the chilling opus and oeuvre of its carnivorous veneer, predatory, voracious menace. Cloaked in daggers, veiled in decadence, he roamed with clear predilection; announcements beckoning on the horizon, driving him towards keen siren wails – another summons, another assembly, another gathering of minds and mouths along his borders. Though the call was not dripped and lathered in the incandescent glow of war, or the hot, burning, scalding essence of vehemence, he still drove through the cold empire with the same apathy, the same reticence, the same calculated air of prowess, precision, and might. Rigid, taut, an ever-unyielding, inflexible foe, bounty of the stone and rubble, sculpted and molded from a rapier’s edge, a cutlass’s blade, unattainable, demonic lacquer: an onslaught, a fury, awakened on the brambles of his periphery. He knew violence, carted and harpooned it into his character, and any heathens drifting into his sovereign were measured in the art, the platitude, the masterpiece of vigilance. Beasts, from his piercing sight, loitered beneath the sentinel’s outreach (and the statue didn’t react, maul or mutilate; a mildly disappointing sentiment), and he sketched, maneuvered closer, outlined the world in his malevolent grasp. He recognized none of the creatures, companions or equines, but the scent lingering from their hides was a tell-tale art of the same smell his members had exuded on their return from alliance gathering (the Falls; not of the Edge – because he could brew the drifting of the breaking water against the cliffs anywhere, conjure pieces of the tides, of the mist, of the lost alms). The derisive slant of his mind incited, kindled, the unmistakable purpose of the day, of their arrival, and the puncturing slate of his glare locked onto both occupants, the crisp, cool, blunt ax of his voice chopping at the looming atmosphere. “Deimos, Lord of the Basin.” His introductions completed, the bestial torrent of his ruminations twisted, clenched, contorted into infernal decrees and queries: would this union, association, be melded and fused together, or would they be once more on the helm, on the cusp, on the end of broken affinities, torn and frayed by the past? Where did the Hidden Falls lie in their constitutions and alignments, threaded and pieced together from ramshackle wares, from the same rock, rubble, and ruin they’d squandered and sat within? Some avenues altered, and some never changed at all – the identical happenstance of invariable constituents.
