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12-31-2015, 08:59 PM
 Perhaps today was one of the many times he played the fool or the jester, instead of the soldier or the Lord.
He lurked and slunk along the borders, composed and demonic, wicked and eerie, predacious, the pariah to continents and countries; whittling away time spent when he could have harpooned and relished before. But the Reaper didn’t tend to those muddled thoughts, merely waited, not daring to be spellbound by the clouds of ash and smoke and dust and debris, or beguiled by the haunting illuminations, by the strike of shoal and surf, by the riches of the world long since passed by. If his eyes were haunted around the rim, if they were flecked by daunting impossibilities, he didn’t notice, didn’t realize, listening to the drum of the earth and the sounds of past wars; where he devoured foes, where he drove his spear into sides, where he vanquished, but they couldn’t do the same as a whole. Where they lost. Another made an appearance from the abyss, and he turned toward the sound, the noise, expecting his former icy lord, rendering his features into something amiable, affable, plain but disheveled by time, control, and reticent, vile composure – but the creature admitted from thrones and castles and palisades wasn’t Mauja. The infidel’s brow furrowed a tiny fraction, confused, befuddled, by the foreboding nuances, by the strange, sweeping hands of fate binding them elsewhere, by how change had affronted and blasted him so quickly all over again. No spots, no adornments, no friendly overtures; only the appearance of one he scarcely knew, claiming the throne in Mauja’s place. He recognized him from the prior occasion, but was altogether too confused, too rattled, to recall his name – the questions miring his brain were coiling, sinuous and slinking, distorting anything and everything. How had Mauja been displaced? Had he lost a battle? Was he gone? Had one more fled into the skies, into the void, into the hollowed bits of hell without him knowing? Instead of standing there, soundless and mute, the menacing, befuddled cretin warranted a few words, attempting to possess the miniscule skills he had in conversing. “My apologies, Lord Tembovu. I presumed I would be speaking with Mauja,” and before he could get another word in, before he could clench his jaw in avid frustration, before he could ascertain the invitation bestowed upon him, one more arrived, a Pegasus, ivory and pure, chilling and smirking, one more creature he’d likely seen on a stray path but had no name to the plumes or crown she now bore. Was this the aforementioned Elsa? How? - was all that came to be, was all that came to pass through his schemes. He rendered no foot forward, no dagger thrown, no heathen, malicious plunge, granting only the solid, stoic provisions of his primordial predilection; a powerful immersion of nonchalance and recherché. To both, he hardened, he tightened, and he stiffened, bestowed a nod to fellow sovereigns (but how…), and tossed a rite of greeting that hadn’t been there in his preceding bellows, especially to the unknown flier. “Deimos, Lord of the Basin – I had arrived here previously to engage in discussion about renewing alliances between your herd and ours.” But was all that possibility gone now, with new layers, new forces, new beings breathing life upon their thrones? Was it one more barrier, one more obstacle, he would need to forge against? How much success would be comprised of his journey here, into the unknown, into the uncertain? His stare chiseled, firm and intent upon both figures, voice echoed, deep, resolute, and determined, despite the foreign entities strung about his head – he was heathen, infidel, and demon, and he wouldn’t dare leave this trial without some attempt. He forced himself back into discourse, away from shambles, away from shadows, for his herd, for his empire, for the chance at strength without something else clawing, draining, swallowing them from the sidelines. “We had formed an alliance with your prior rulers, and hoped to continue. We would like to proceed in trading crafting materials, herbs, and other matters.” DEIMOS
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone |
image credits
@Tembovu
@Elsa
