the Rift


[PRIVATE] Wolf in Wolf's clothing

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#1


It was getting harder to remember what life was like before the infection. He no longer remembered her, although somewhere inside he thought he still felt something about her... but feeling usually proved more arduous than thinking. Feeling anything other than hunger and hatred at least.

He hated her, that he remembered as clear as blood, but why, or for how long, or if it was deserved (as so much of his hatred wasn't), he did not know. It had become too difficult to try and know, and though for a time he had held onto that hardship as proof of his soul, he was tired of fighting. What powers had been given to him were glorious, and he relished them. He did not for a second regret them, nut he did fear the absolution of them. If he was to be a god, should he not be in control of his own hand (or more correctly, his own teeth?). Was it not his desire that governed whom he smite and whom he spare? Half of the enjoyment of power was not having it, but choosing when to call upon it. Dinner is only food when you eat it too fast, but it can become so much more when you take your time and play with your food, enjoy you company, taste each delectable bite with slow and comfortable ease. He was a gentleman after all, an intellectual. He did not just want to ravage, he wanted to gloat, to torture, to enjoy his wreckage both before and after it occurred.

Nothing about this power allowed that.

Growling behind closed teeth the massive wolf's head, punctured by a small, spiral in its center, swung over the snow of the northern lands. He lingered here most often, remembering even if he wasn't aware of it, that this was where his birthplace had been, in snow and ice and torment. He hungered, as he always did, so he followed the trails of the horses he hunted, his paws wavering easily over winter's fleece.

Behind the red eyes Öde's pinched shut, exhausted. Save me he beckoned behind the wolf, his pace deliberately slow and distracted. He could not control it for long though, especially not once a soul drew near.


EVERYTHING THAT KILLS- ME MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE


@[Lena]
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#2


Carnivore draped in ire: a piercing overlay crushed against her soul, whittled and slashed at the particles of the air, a familiar sensation of apprehension rippling, scarring, emboldening. Like ghosts of the past, trickling through the icy borders, whispering wraith concoctions and convictions, audacious, poisonous, toxic indulgences rampantly stowed away, flourishing again in the witching hour. Were she a more fearful essence, the nymph may have wandered deeper into the confines of her glaciers and walls, of the caverns and labyrinthine grottos, held away, drawn into mirrors and darkness, warning about a wayward lad lost from the days of underground chambers and blighted swords. But instead, recognition blossomed, became a residual core kindled and ignited; she remembered the dusky, haunting snippets spent in the gaze of a monster, of a titan, born and deluded into catastrophe, into entropy, through no fault, through no inclination of their own: scarred and mottled without memory of their broken worth. She recalled the beasts she’d served, the titans she’d assuaged, the fiends she’d soothed, watched and witnessed as they all became their true selves; some more damaged than others, sprouting remorse and rancor in the vile halls, in the uncontrollable haze. Somehow, the heathen wrapped amidst the shadows, drawn by thirst, drawn by hunger, had been missed, forgotten, one more isolated monolith set into stone, struggling to fly. Someone’s child, isolated and bleak in the mist, someone’s babe, slaughtered into remnants of wolves and barbaric requiems. The Mender shuddered all but once for the memories of pestilence and demons, breathed a low, hopeful lilt, closed her eyes and prayed for a dip into serenity, into tranquility: for luminescence, for brilliance, for radiance, to paralyze a feral grip, to extinguish a bestial flame. Then she and Imogen slipped from the shadows, strong, mighty, and stalwart, christened with a maiden’s valor and a soldier’s beneficent armor, humming a song as she procured petal soft steps across the rime.

The croon wound and wove throughout the scenery, building, flowing, sleek, elegant and graceful, streamlined effervescence, a keen rapture; an aria’s unwinding crescendo. Gilded tapestries and canvas, her own method of artistry, capturing and hindering the crushing wake of a feral toxin, yearning to defeat the bloodied mess of a once promising future, eager to pluck away the poison and serenade the potential. The symphony surrounded and pervaded, her mouth consumed and devoured by the passionate display of ardent tunes unfolding, unraveling, persistence and devout, nurturing nature, fostering hope and peace in sublime conjectures: not a word passed but the singular tone of carillon interludes, strung note by note, rote by rote. A carol’s tune, a composer’s wish, a mending, melding fortress obliged and bestowed in seraphic fables and harmonic tomes – each stride brought her closer and closer into the depths of ogres and barbarians, youths and lads, a colt fallen too far from the nest. Brave, and sometimes too intrepid, she gave over the bits and pieces of her song in a lingering orchestra, honeyed gaze persistent, piercing, upon the shackled colt, seeing past the horror, the terror, the torture, and hoping, through their sylph-spun reverie, he could be cured of the powerful plague ensnaring, entangling him. Only after a time did she measure the length of a whisper, a caress of the heavens, to ensure his existence was no longer controlled by the devil’s onslaught: “How do you feel?”



Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#3


SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP
GO BACK TO SLEEP
SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP


He smelled her before anything else.

The odor, like blood in the water, water full of sharks, wound through him like a drug. Instantaneously Öde was shoved back and the demon assumed full control. The colt could only vaguely watch, like trying to peer through an opaque window which had iced over in the cold. That was fine, except the windows were the back of his eyes.

Teeth chattered anxiously, fangs bouncing off fangs with a saliva-sleeked clack and click. Tiny hooves picked their way over ice and snow in a flurry of movement; muscle and bone wound tight beneath a black canvas of destruction. An ode to the common massacre, a tail streamed in the wake of the hunter's lope, a banner that billowed over frozen ramparts. Its tong tendrils spreading out and dancing against the wind like spider's silk jiggling against freshly caught prey. All the while it breathed, huffing, puffing, steam pouring through its nostrils as though a dragon slumbered inside.

Not a dragon, just me. Just a boy.

She already knew that though, her eyes a dazzling blade that pierced through the armor of the wretched beast that clung to him. She saw into those clouded windows drenched with blood and found him wandering in the shadow of the dark. She called to him, a sound so pure and filled with hope that he couldn't ignore it even if he tried. Öde stumbled, the wolf's head swinging like a wrecking ball and slamming into a pile of snow. His body, so frail and fragile under the shell of the wraith, collapsed, briefly.

In a last moment of rebellion, for they had been entwined so long, this power and this child, this beast and this mortal, this wold and this horse, the body rose once more. It seemed physically affected by the song which lilted from the dove in disguise, its pace slowed, but its rage engorged. It snarled and snapped, swinging to and fro, a demented pendulum that trick to hack its way through the barrier of her serenade with snout and growl. It almost worked too.

Step by struggling step, the demon encroached upon Lena's position, so close she might feel his breath hot upon her hide. His mouth split open one final time, so wide it towered above her, strings of spittle sliding down off the roof of its moist mouth.
Eat her! I urged with a strangled cry of outrage. I was back in my own mind, staring down the wrinkled muzzle of my wolf, feeling the power slip through like sand in the wind. That sensation rattled me. I forgot all of my fears, all of my helplessness, all of my slipping sanity. All I knew was that she was taking my godlihood from me, and I didn't like it. I wanted to harvest her soul - but I was at my limit.

God damnit.

With that final yawn of teeth her ending note blew over the broken body and sheared the darkness from Öde's being. It feel from him in smokey tendrils that writhed and slithered away, his cocoon shedding, but he was no butterfly born. Instead the child collapsed into the snow, shivering.



It was several minutes before he came to, eyes flickering back to life like old lights remembering how to shine. Cold he thought pensively, simply. He had been but a babe when he was consumed, and now, a yearling, but not one grown. His body had been stifled by the infection, but his mind more so. Words tangled in his mouth, emotions a livewire in his thoughts. Even now as he lifted his head, guarded gaze watching his savior, his heart beat with fear and anxiety because he did not know her. He did not know anything any more.

Only the teachings of his mother, so well mingled with that of the wraiths, stained his memory.

Her question washed over him like a cold wave. He understood her, but he wasn't sure how to answer. After a pause he told her what was at the forefront of his mind, what had been the last intention of the wraith that had split from his body like a bonded companion. "Eat," he whispered to her, his gut rolling with hunger. What other than souls would he sustain on?

Ö_D_E


Resurgere.deviantart.com & PochoAchondria.deviantart.com

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#4


The demonic interlude fused into fragmented pieces; a traipsing heathen besotted and lusting for flesh, a billowing, serpentine hold of carnivore heartlessness, a ferocious, plunging abhorrence, a gaping maw stretched over the sanction of her features, one snap away from sudden onslaught and peril. But where she sang, where she crooned, where she chanted and trilled, came the merciful serenade, and she stared, gazed, into the void of the beast’s jaws as they disintegrated from infidel and monster to lad and boy. There’d been no time to panic, no time to foster apprehension, no amount of moments to collect the tangled threads of her past instances, junctures, and seasons, and so her regal, gallant heart pierced through the dangling folds of nightmares and crusades, laid another cretin to rest. Amidst the delicate silence, the change, the morphing, the slide of devils into the unknown, she stood stalwart, deliberately poised, concocted, into a nymph silhouette, like an unmoving laurel, cast into boughs of pine and fir, persistent and endurable. The Mender witnessed the alteration, the beginning sculpture and structure of the colt, where wolf ended and child began all over again, stretched into the quiet, shed of pestilent avarice, left to the facets of his own persona and character. The sylph guard permitted one breath to slide through the air in a swift turn, watched the puff of tenacity linger and curl into the strange world with terrible creatures who ensnared babes, youths, the innocent and blameless, pulled her lips apart again to bestow a graceful hymn. Meant to soothe rather than scald, meant to assuage rather than bend him again into something else altogether, it dipped and swirled into the atmosphere, light, delicate, airy, a midnight breeze, a virtuous crescendo as she bent towards his form, nodded towards Imogen. The kitsune settled closer to the once-behemoth, waving her long, ivory tails, puffing out pockets of heat from the radiant texture of her heat, of her magic, of her incantations, as Lena composed her dulcet lullaby.

She paid careful restraint, his awakened stare rendered her flanked and at a distance, and she allowed him this necessity, bowing into the cross of snow and ice, smiling and peeking at the youth with her gentle, honeysuckle eyes and tender grin. “Can you walk?” His need for sustenance, and warmth judging by his shivers, the damp pull of Frostfall’s vestiges, required movement and motion; they would find no tender shoots laden and bestowed by the borders – only the silent, dangerous opus of the metal sentinels and chilling wind. The Songbird’s intentions were clarified as her cranium swung in the direction of the hot springs, wild, ghostly tendrils of dissipating heat coiling above the frozen sheen, hoping he’d be able to march over the length of snow and ice. If he was incapable she could provide assistance too, and generously kneeled, brushing her knees into the grasping rime, offering a shoulder if he couldn’t muster the strength to wander any farther. The compassionate regime continued as she turned to meet his eyes again, hoped not to see titanic exploits or molten, macabre desires, but innocence, somehow renewed amidst the loss of depravity. The lull, the lilt, of her mellifluous tunes sprung in amiability and affinity. “I’m Lena. What’s your name?”



Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#5


SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP
GO BACK TO SLEEP
SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP


Fog billowed from his nostrils, drifting up around his eyes before finally disappearing around his horn. Its stream was nearly continuous with his sides rising and falling with anxious energy. Sweat wrinkled against his 'brow, nervous and staggeringly cold against his temples. He felt all of these things, noticed them all with an acute perception he wasn't familiar with. It was like being huddled up in the dark for so long then being thrust out into daylight. It hurt because it was so glaring and he was so sensitive.

As cruel as the thought was, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the corpse of his wolf prison, rapidly forgetting the torment he'd felt inside it, donning instead rose-tinted goggles when he looked back upon those past experiences, ones quickly slipping away from him. His mind could not tolerate that existence and this one. Before long he would not remember what it was to be a wraith. Maybe flashes and fragments in his dreams, but the memories would sink into his subconscious, buried by plenty of other crap to think about.

Öde huffed - another burst of steam.

Lena kneeled then, her knees sinking into the snow beside him, the movement grabbing his attention. The dull sheen in his bloody gaze flickered with newfound recognition. Kneel he thought with a grin, remembering that word, that position, that sensation of ownership. Giddy he threw his head onto her neck, rubbing his chin against her winter wooled coat and pressing into her to hoist himself up. Eagerly his tail flicked back and forth at his rear, a small rear even thrown in as he tried out his legs after pulling them from the ice. He stumbled faintly, but his energy easily rebounded him, sending him haphazardly towards her flanks.

She spoke again, ears twitching at the sound of her voice, so gentle and calm, unlike most he had heard. He thought for a moment, but that word was one he would always know; it was one he meant to teach to everybody. "Öde," he croaked as he stood beside her, leaning against her slightly, partially for support on his unsteady limbs (were they always so long?) and warmth, but also because it comforted him.

Eat he reminded himself. A crown was worth nothing on a skeleton king. Relying on mechanical memory Öde dove under her bay garb, lips searching for the teats that ought to dangle by her leg, rich with the white gold of milk.

Ö_D_E


Resurgere.deviantart.com & PochoAchondria.deviantart.com

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#6


Patience and vigilance strung tangible threads along the icy threshold, and the nymph and kitsune watched over the brooding youth, chiseled not in age or finery – seemingly lost without the touch of demons resting over his brow. They rose in tandem, flickering over the patchwork snow, mighty and valorous, ignoring wobbling strides or stumbling fortitudes; her eyes drifted elsewhere as he faltered, as if she’d seen nothing, couldn’t be dismayed or swayed from his certain prowess. The affable smile still remained floating across her lips, manifested in warm finery and beatific respites, fixating her honeyed gaze back upon the fellow as he murmured his name: Öde, proud and sagacious despite its barren meaning. She wondered over how he’d acquired the calling (would a mother hasten such a bleak, desolate term upon their child, like there was naught before them, no promise, no prowess?), but merely flicked her ears, assured her attention upon his small frame, didn’t compose the question into the air, held no wish to offend a once keeper of monsters. Besides, her fixation had to alter rather quickly, for as soon as both had risen, hunger must have gnawed at his sides, swiftly turning towards her flank, bowing beneath her, searching for the impossible. Imogen laughed in the background, a bright, chirpy chuckle, while the elegant nymph had to dissuade the boy from his futile attempts. “My apologies, you’ll discover no provisions there.” She shook her noble head, winked despite the comical circumstances, for she’d never given birth, never had her own child, never nurtured a creature of her own flesh and blood, and bestowed the lively, carefree tunes back across the rime, extending suggestions towards the lad before he asked for something else she couldn’t provide. “Perhaps we can find you some grass?” Her stare widened and searched for the curling fronds of the hot springs again in the distance, a hopeful hand, a guiding force, an inclined sanctuary settled into Siberia. The wiry, lithe vixen, with her ivory tassels and shifting tails, took the hint, dancing shallowly along the puffs of snow and mingling breaths, carving a path through the forest of white. Offering her frame as a means of warmth and support, the Mender began to move forward, following in the small footsteps of the fox, aiming to provide the babe with his own methods of consumption (wasn’t he old enough to no longer nurse? His size made it difficult to surmise). Quietly, intrigued and curious, she permitted one query to float aloft, dangling in front of the lad like a toy, a marionette, a waltzing warren in the endless paradigms, while they maneuvered towards deeper salvation. “Where is your home, Öde?” Certainly he had a family searching for his tiny frame, gallantly crossing over hither and yon for their precious babe adrift, taken from their sides – he should be returned to his rightful bearings.



Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#7


SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP
GO BACK TO SLEEP
SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP


Laughter rang in his ears as his lips eagerly searched for what was not there. His ears flattened, trying to hide the sound which came at his expense. Lena rebuked him and his head jerked away, dismayed and confused. He took a few steps back, wagging tail slowing, red gaze turning to fasten upon the auburn one she wore. She was kind in her refusal, but it was rejection all the same and it stung him in a way he was not familiar with. He could do nothing but stare at her, unsure how to react - mother had always let him suckle.

Mother he thought with a sudden pang of nostalgia and lost love. Though Lena was comforting, boys would always love their mothers. She was familiar at least, and he was sure that she would let him drink.

"Grass," he tried the word, the sound coming off awkward and syllables stressed incorrectly. He wrinkled up his nose at the sound, wondering if it tasted as poorly as it spoke. Mother had eaten it though... he remembered her always searching for it, especially here in this northern kingdom that wore its white covering. If she had eaten it, he could too. Not much could match milk in his opinion though, except perhaps, souls.

With his thoughts still tumbling over one another Öde only caught Lena's retreat in the corner of his eyes. His head jerked around suddenly, and though she had not gone more than a few steps he let out a mournful squeal and raced after her, tripping several times before roughly colliding with her hind end. His legs still weren't quite under control. Snorting in embarrassment he shook himself off and traipsed at her side, frequently bumping against her as he moved off rhythm with her strides.

As he walked his eyes focused on the stray tail of her fox, reminded of its laughter. Öde grew rueful, but the beast was safe upon her withers and her questions kept him occupied. Her final one was harder than all the others to answer though. For a long while moment the scrawny boy considered what exactly she meant. He'd never really had a home, not a permanent one. Mother had kept them moving often - he took that as meaning they owned everywhere that they stepped. Of course they spent the most time around here, his birthplace, the kingdom of snow and ice. He was surprised actually that it still existed, last he knew darkness had enveloped it, and him.

Maybe she meant where was his mother? Of all the places they had roamed she had been the constant, the dark pillars of her legs his arches to frolic under. Her chest, his roof to shelter under. Her sides, his pillows to slumber against. If anything had been home to him, it had surely been her and she was, "gone."

It was all he said on the matter.

Ö_D_E


Resurgere.deviantart.com & PochoAchondria.deviantart.com

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#8


Nestled in Frostfall’s ornamentation, the Time Mender and present company ambled through the snowy vestiges, listening, mulling, gently prying words from the babe’s tongue: grass, and then, gone. The final token of shambles, of nothingness, of drifting, juvenile delusions and fiend embraces, was a beleaguering admission, for while she’d taken him from heathens and pestilence, he’d also been taken from his family. The colt, like so many of them before, had been rushed into the wilderness before given opportunity, given chance, to furnish wisdom, employ strength, drift amongst the gallows and the shrines, piece together the collection, the artifacts, of their future compositions. He’d been stoked for violence at a tender age, and as she glanced upon him, young, fragile, delicate, she was saddened he’d been absconded into the granules of rage, of villainy, of abhorrence at such a tremulous time: what did he know, other than the rush of ire, the spit of exasperation, the keen, sharp edges of knives and swords? The thoughts pricked a little deeper, bled into her mind, images and memories of days spent beneath the wooden boughs, counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds, before escape, or the illustrious banners floating in the distance, war songs, crusade hymns, bloodshed beats wrapping and warping the fabric of the evening sky; they’d all been melded, molded, or groomed into some strange anomalies, and she’d buffeted against it too many times, then folded under the pressure. The nymph knew what it was like to fight, fight, and fight against something unseen, a pulling, a tugging, a thread snapping and snagging, until no matter how determined, how tenacious, one still ended up embracing the overwhelming lilt of bravery, bravado, and barbarity. She closed her eyes, blinked hard, scattered the thoughts away, attempted to marvel at the boy’s survival, and furrowed her brow at how to ensure he continued – taught something beyond the wiles of relentless ferocity or immoral capriciousness (and whether or not the aurora peaks would provide him such things; it was his choice, not hers). As they strolled, he bumped, collided, she waltzed, slowed, ensured her strong, stalwart form bent towards his, eyeing the closeness of the hot springs, ceasing movements and motions when they reached the brimming, foaming warmth. For a few moments, she merely dug into the patchwork of snow and rime, chiseled away at the frost beneath her feet, seeking out a few nimble blades of grass for him to try and devour at his leisure, calmly, carefully, stoking a small flame with her singsong tunes. “You could stay within the Basin, if you’d like.” No force, no compulsion, no coercion; the child had seen, felt, enough already: this decision to stay amongst a herd, a brethren, would be of his own volition.



Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#9


SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP
GO BACK TO SLEEP
SLEEP SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP GO BACK TO SLEEP SLEEP


[OMG I SUCK SORRY]

They walked in silence. For some it would have been awkward, but Öde was accustomed to the company of quiet, with nothing but his own thoughts rattling around, each strand a different voice muttering in the dark. It gave him better focus too, for walking, and gradually his balance improved enough that he wasn't teetering beside her with every footfall. Still, he was weak, and he hated it. Maybe if she'd let him drink he would have been stronger.

He pouted, thought about running off, but decided against it. He would fall surely, and that would only garner another round of laughter. Besides, she was not mother, what did she care if he left? Not even mother had, not really. He hadn't left, she had, but it was still something of the same. He'd stay. He'd stay because she was strong and he needed her now.

I found that Lena seemed rather smart too, and gentle. I could learn something from her, something different than what Mother had to say. She spoke of gods and kings and blood, but she was...different, even I could tell that. It didn't make me love her any less, or heed her every word, but I was sharp enough to recognize that several teachers were often better than one. Afterall even that gray colt had taught me something about clouds and dams.

Lena could prove more useful than a pair of warm legs and dry teats (not that those were useful at all...). She could help refine me. Kings needed to be groomed, mother had even said as much. I never told her, but I always thought that was why she had failed, why He had always disliked her. She was wild, she was ugly, she was no better than that whom we ruled over - dirt and plants and scum. I would not be that.


They came to a stop at steaming pools. Öde's red eyes kept wary watch on them, unfamiliar with such a bubbling, warm oasis among the deathly cold. He looked to Lena for guidence and found her at ease, so he willed his bones to settle too, managing something by the time she spoke.
He looked up at her, a ripple of darkness against the white world. The Basin. This word didn't mean much to him at face value, but he interpreted the heart of it; she was inviting him to stay. He had almost forgotten he had to consider her choice in this matter. He had already decided to keep alongside her, but she offered more than herself didn't she? A home, a herd. He had never had a herd. He was excited and nodded vigorously. "Stay in Basin," Öde agreed just before slipping into the pools.

He found them incredibly relaxing and invigorating. He had trusted her, and she had brought him this. His loyalty blossomed, though it would always be overshadowed by his selfishness, loyal first and foremost to himself and his god.

[We can just end it here if you want?]

Ö_D_E


Resurgere.deviantart.com & PochoAchondria.deviantart.com

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode


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