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02-11-2015, 05:53 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He was just a ghost here.
Summer heat had thinned the Edge's mists until they were nothing but a thin memory swirling around his legs, echoes of something thicker, grander.. just like he was nothing but an echo of a memory. Once, this forest had been his, and he had strode through it with pride filling his heart, and visions filling his future. He had been at peace, content, even though his gaze had turned to distant horizons and he had mused on ways to conquer and enslave, but the way he remembered it, it had been more akin to daydreams to pass the time and less of an actual need.
Mauja had been the moon-touched King, and the world had made sense, and everything had been beautiful. The years since were the desolation left behind by a raging wildfire.
So it was with mixed feelings that he harkened to the gathering call. He had thus far managed to avoid everyone but Kahlua, much thanks to the wisdom of his owls, and frankly, he wanted it to remain that way—just him and her and the vast, misty forest. He was too fragile to meet others, too angry still. Bitterness would rise to mask the hurt, and he would bite before bitten, and nothing good would come of it.
But still, he was curious, and whether Kahlua had meant for it to happen or not, she had grasped the hilt of the blade that was Mauja, and held it in her delicate, soft hands. Until she either cast him aside, or he grew too restless, he was hers to command, and too loyal to abandon her now. No matter how happy she seemed, no matter how she sometimes glowed, he had begun to realize that her life was far from easy, and her existence far from perfect.
So he came drifting in with the mists, a ghost in his old home, something ethereal spilling out from a different timeline to haunt the present.
She stood side-by-side with a behemoth who had helped wrangle this very forest from him, and some other stallion he did not know. His mind searched through memories, found the name Kaj or somesuch, and figured that was him. And what was said was not news, but it was as he had known it would be: darkness seeped in the cracks of his glass heart, boiled in his blood until his mouth tasted bitter with defeat and bloodlust.
He hated them. He hated those who stood upon Kahlua's pedestal with her, hated them because they existed and they were not him, hated almost everyone gathered in the crowd, hated Ktulu and toyed with the idea of simply putting a stake through her heart here and now—he didn't want to care that Kahlua would never forgive him for brazenly murdering their new Captain but she was filth and unworthy of anything but a swift, silent end and a long, forgotten rest.
It burned in his mind.
He kept his mouth shut. Kept to the shadows, behind the trees, as much out of sight as he could.
He wasn't to be trusted, because his breath came in white puffs, and cold, sharp silver lined the darkened edges of his world.
He was a dethroned King back in his castle, and he was angry.
Summer heat had thinned the Edge's mists until they were nothing but a thin memory swirling around his legs, echoes of something thicker, grander.. just like he was nothing but an echo of a memory. Once, this forest had been his, and he had strode through it with pride filling his heart, and visions filling his future. He had been at peace, content, even though his gaze had turned to distant horizons and he had mused on ways to conquer and enslave, but the way he remembered it, it had been more akin to daydreams to pass the time and less of an actual need.
Mauja had been the moon-touched King, and the world had made sense, and everything had been beautiful. The years since were the desolation left behind by a raging wildfire.
So it was with mixed feelings that he harkened to the gathering call. He had thus far managed to avoid everyone but Kahlua, much thanks to the wisdom of his owls, and frankly, he wanted it to remain that way—just him and her and the vast, misty forest. He was too fragile to meet others, too angry still. Bitterness would rise to mask the hurt, and he would bite before bitten, and nothing good would come of it.
But still, he was curious, and whether Kahlua had meant for it to happen or not, she had grasped the hilt of the blade that was Mauja, and held it in her delicate, soft hands. Until she either cast him aside, or he grew too restless, he was hers to command, and too loyal to abandon her now. No matter how happy she seemed, no matter how she sometimes glowed, he had begun to realize that her life was far from easy, and her existence far from perfect.
So he came drifting in with the mists, a ghost in his old home, something ethereal spilling out from a different timeline to haunt the present.
She stood side-by-side with a behemoth who had helped wrangle this very forest from him, and some other stallion he did not know. His mind searched through memories, found the name Kaj or somesuch, and figured that was him. And what was said was not news, but it was as he had known it would be: darkness seeped in the cracks of his glass heart, boiled in his blood until his mouth tasted bitter with defeat and bloodlust.
He hated them. He hated those who stood upon Kahlua's pedestal with her, hated them because they existed and they were not him, hated almost everyone gathered in the crowd, hated Ktulu and toyed with the idea of simply putting a stake through her heart here and now—he didn't want to care that Kahlua would never forgive him for brazenly murdering their new Captain but she was filth and unworthy of anything but a swift, silent end and a long, forgotten rest.
It burned in his mind.
He kept his mouth shut. Kept to the shadows, behind the trees, as much out of sight as he could.
He wasn't to be trusted, because his breath came in white puffs, and cold, sharp silver lined the darkened edges of his world.
He was a dethroned King back in his castle, and he was angry.
