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01-02-2016, 08:08 PM
 Maybe they thought he meant condemnation, danger, and treachery. Perhaps they perceived him as naught more than a minstrel of doom and decadence, one more straining against infernal existences, a wandering wraith, a blade of annihilation and furor – and they’d be correct, astute in such a regard – but he meant no peril, no friction, no fury on their pelts or entities. He was here, back in the confines of a haunted world, of a sea he could hear in his sleep, in his dreams, simply for his herd and no one else; to ensure their safety, to snap and clench and grasp a value of sanctity. The Reaper was only one beast in a world of thousands. All of them had their own desires, their own ambitions, their own yearnings and longings and deep, dark, chiseled hankerings for coveted pieces, but all he wanted was for his empire to be secured, protected, from the other humming behemoths, from the other avaricious infidels. How was he to know if there was another Confutatis waiting in the wings? How was he to defend them all if another Empire lurked amongst the mountains, peaks and valleys? How could he alone twist and destroy and condemn? (By God, he’d try. He’d die trying – but if he was gone, if he was perished and fallen and decrepit on the cold, hard ground, who else would take the plunge into an enemy’s heart? Who else would stand before the Basin, wretched and vibrant with disdain, eager and fervent and ferocious, menacing and consuming?)
They wanted more. More information, more facts, more figures, and he understood their concerns – the Basin held a loathing, pungent reputation (and he cherished it, truly, for the wild, untamed, savage things they all were, because devilish croons carved them vicious, made them seem immoral, unattainable, high in their frozen chambers, scathing and recoiling, mutinous and seditious – but it hadn’t stopped everyone, and that’s why he was here). He could see the questions on their faces, he could note the indignation in their voices, he could register the bits and pieces causing them wariness. Had the Forsaken had issues contemplating alliances? Or had she come about it easily, stringing everyone along with capricious hopes and answers? He’d give them blunt, bare honesty – keen notations, rapier dictations – because he was a man of candid, direct, forthright notions. They deserved more than a scathing sibilance or his brutal armaments. The winter King’s eyes glanced from one to the other, still cold, still nonchalant, but his mouth parted, building a gap between the days of old and the wiles of renewal. “We had a similar alliance with your predecessors. We aimed to trade herbs, information on shared enemies, craftsmanship, and defense of one another’s herds.” Oh, and they had – marched upon the Hidden Falls’ grounds, masked in deception, in terror, in horror, grasping for bloodshed when the order, when the plots, when the plans had dictated. “We were called upon for assistance in invading the Hidden Falls after the leaders no longer wished to live in the Moon Goddess’ land.” The explanation cycled, curled, coiled, knotted and gnarled, and he nearly snorted at the abyss, at the way the earth shifted in such strange, spellbinding ways – pondering over how a powerful being such as Gaucho had ever come to be possessed, wondering if he ever thought of defying the Gods over and over and over again, beating them down like they had in those other worlds. “It was a success – and new leads were administered to the Edge. Mauja was one of them.” He ceased then, never pressing his stare elsewhere, remaining firm, fixated, and riveted upon them. “Are these terms sufficient?” DEIMOS
delivered from the blast
last from a line of lasts and now the kingdom comes crashing down undone |
image credits
@Tembovu
@Elsa
