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04-19-2015, 04:04 PM
So it would take death to waken him. Well, nearly running into it. So dead were his senses he nearly walks into Ulrik’s machine. Jerking to a halt the invisible golden freezes, and in another second, awakens. Not though to himself or the live creatures around him. He awakens to the dead. There, right before him, on a platform was Midas. At least, it used to be Midas. Wings, though laying with a dignity at his sides were charred, feathers singed and rustled. Golden ends, not nothing but black. Body was laced with lacerations and gore which made even the golden’s stomach (having survived through battle), twist and knot. Worse of all, the smell of burnt flesh made every nerve tinge and shiver for his own mortality. Midas was dead.
Stumbling the golden backs away from the machine, just as Ulrik turns to him. Earth eyes shake away and body straightens. Ulrik had done this?! Now the golden was an enemy of the czar as frightful as any, but death. After crushing his homeland, and his family, it was too cruel- too- wait. A tremble in the dark engineer’s eyes, and a continuous awakening of the golden’s brain shows the emotion hitting the gold at his core. Sorrow. Pain. Shame? No, Ulrik had not killed him. Face wrinkles with confusion as he gazes back to the body, his own form, still loathing to be so close to the burnt shell of the king. Clues, began to connect, and theories to click. The storms. He glanced to the mountains in the north. Of course the storms were terrible through the night. The rumbling of thunder could be heard even from the battlefield. Lightening. A trembling rustles body, but a voice cracks through the ill sensation.
He could go? Body braced and head turns back to the dark engineer. Why was he saying this? Why-Then he sees those gold eyes look past him. And for the first time the gold looks down, and at last does not see his hooves, nor limbs. His brain checks on its rank magic, but finds it quiet and still. With a slow head he turns to the item that would have been on his back, had it been visible. Shaking his horned head the gold can not take it all in. Nor does he want to. The burnt body was all too much, the battle, the emotion, too much. Sleep. That’s what he needed. He was quick to find an excuse for letting his instincts grab him too strongly. He was just over reacting for lack of it. Suddenly his northern hide away, the cave, dark and still seemed like a palace. Turning, and brushing back the spy he knew only vaguely as Essetia he moves, still like a zombie, away from the scene.
"lieslieslies"
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