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10-21-2015, 04:43 PM
EREBOS The prince’s mind clouded with rage. It was distorted and consumed beyond all measure, clambering and wild and ferocious, beating and bleeding the same vehement, violent drum, wishing and yearning and twisting and longing for the coils of vengeance. He seethed, he smoldered, he simmered, intoxicated and driven to the godless, cold-blooded acrimonious strokes of an incensed, feverish declaration: funneled and channeled into more and more infuriated instances as the days drew on, staring, watching, for his chance, his opportunity to strike. Because that damned beast, that painted titan, deserved a taste of his own medicine, an arched ream of retaliation, reprisal, and requital for all his ridiculous, asinine crimes. Why should he be allowed to haunt the world and do as he wished? Why was he permitted to murder innocent children for no reason? Why was he granted the ability to steal from another? Why was he sanctioned to remain on this earth with no one stopping him? What made him so much better than everyone else? What gave him the right to take and snag and steal and massacre? Erebos hated him. He despised him. He abhorred his presence, his existence, and perhaps, given the moment, he would’ve lost control, would’ve fought against his composure, and would’ve unleashed a deplorable scheme, a bewitching taste of eradication. Instead, he waited, idle with the consuming plumes of promises, of oaths, of assurances of a time and a place to unfurl his devastation, his wrath, his bitter, twisted, rancorous contempt. As luck would have it, his acrimonious aperture, his ominous opening, came on the whims of a God. They were wrong again; no peace, no salvation, no sweet sanctuaries, just another monster, just another demon sparked amongst them. And he wondered, irritated and annoyed and so vexed at the series of cycling ineptitudes: why the gods never punished the truly wicked and corrupt? Why were these lands warped, and never the disgusting Colossus who took and took and took? The tiger appeared, springing and clawing and desecrating, and he almost gave into the notion of following its stead, unraveling and rejoicing in the essence of battle, in the splendor of danger and audacity, to rid himself of the gnawing, pulsing thoughts – But Orsino, wicked and depraved as the rest of them, pierced his way through their connection - He open, he open!, and the boy’s eyes swarmed to see the same painted monster, alone and waiting, without his dragons, without his fiends, without his allies clustered around him. It may have been his sole break to claim a portion of revenge for the fallen, golden girl, for the filly with the feather, for the winged femme who’d tried to solve the rash, ridiculous dilemma – they maneuvered as one across the island – bestial and despicable, a torrent of mayhem, of menace, of unholy, righteous anger. He saw the filly nearby. He witnessed the rising squall of her magic. He motioned carefully, slowly, towards the beast’s right and attempted to extend his rapier across the right side of his flank, intending to strike, intending to unleash fire and brimstone and fury into his touch, trying to unveil all his dislike, all his discord, all his brutal, bedlam essence upon the one who’d slain his friend. And still, it probably wouldn’t be enough. [Team Get Abraham: - Motions towards Abraham’s right and tries to lacerate the right side of his flank.] |
@Abraham @Vitani
