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01-13-2016, 04:23 PM
The boy lived a feral existence. It was primal, ferocious, predacious, and fiery, and he loved every nuance of it: the carnivore crag, the immoral platitudes, the brandished blades. Even when his pride suffered, even when his confidence faltered, the dreams, the aspirations, the ambitions were still alive and well, incensed and kindled and sparking within his infernal reveries, in his toxic indulgences. He wove silly little lies and played tiny jokes on the unassuming. He garnished information on a painted Colossus. He stoked strength and power through scars and sinew, grew and beckoned and chased down the remnants of all those broken days he’d spent contemplating the hows and whys. The prince was rarely idle, smiling, grinning, laughing, while he stoked the fine coals of tomorrow, and embraced the cruel, meticulous designs of the next rapture, the heartless fortitude crawling and slithering through his veins. Eventually, Erebos knew his plans would come to fruition. They’d slide down his carefully orchestrated wiles, his plotted snares. Someone would fall into a trap. A being would falter, stumble, at his feet. His dagger would be drawn across another’s barbaric throat, and their blood would pool in one soulless requiem.
What he’d do thereafter was anyone’s guess.
So while he chased down his audacious, brazen, stalwart intentions and fantasies, while he pulled and pummeled yearnings, desires, wanton, feverish, frantic upheavals, he maneuvered across the grounds of his home – willing the hours until a spark crackled, until an ember snagged, until coals became more than forgotten ash. He would’ve meandered from height to height, from ice to ice, from glacier to glacier, had a particular scent not caught his thoughts, not beguiled the charismatic foils, not lured him to embark down into the fringes.
Aithniel.
The beast hadn’t seen her since their spat amongst falling Gods, where he’d hoped, where he’d prayed, where he’d watched her walk away, angry and forlorn, tattered and brutalized, wondering how they’d all been torn apart so quickly.
She was a daughter of the Sun God – powerful and mighty, sworn to strength and flares and the immortal chimings he and Rikyn could never have touched. Perhaps she’d been too potent for them all along, winding her way through innocence and bedlam, until she realized how foolish they all were, how silly everything seemed. The flying femme had left them all behind – and no matter what he’d done to save her, no matter what he’d done to ensure her survival, it was of little consequence. She’d always be more than them.
His jaw clenched out of habit, out of frustration, out of that blinding, searing rage coveting his skull. Orsino chuckled throughout their connection, emboldened by the shift, by the change, in their movements, in their motions, in the sway of keen, blunt strides, in the art of his savage, sinister design. Erebos kept it in check, folding it beneath all those carefully practiced layers, all the lacquer he’d formed and calculated and embraced, even as he spied the Haruspex (who had beaten him too – he was surrounded by those eerie, bitter reminders of how worthless he truly was, and it was brutal) greeting her at their icy gates.
The lad maneuvered forward, abruptly, ahead of Ashamin and his painted wiles and his bear skull wares, granting him a quick nod out of habit, shouting over the vicious horizon,“Aithniel!” before examining Aithniel in a rush, in a haste, perusing in a vast swiftness, hoping not to find something out of place, a wound, a laceration. When he couldn’t find anything, when there appeared to be naught forcing her to the mountains, to the peaks, to the cold-blooded ways of their livelihood, he tilted his head and forced his breaths to slow. “Why are you here? Are you okay?”
What he’d do thereafter was anyone’s guess.
So while he chased down his audacious, brazen, stalwart intentions and fantasies, while he pulled and pummeled yearnings, desires, wanton, feverish, frantic upheavals, he maneuvered across the grounds of his home – willing the hours until a spark crackled, until an ember snagged, until coals became more than forgotten ash. He would’ve meandered from height to height, from ice to ice, from glacier to glacier, had a particular scent not caught his thoughts, not beguiled the charismatic foils, not lured him to embark down into the fringes.
Aithniel.
The beast hadn’t seen her since their spat amongst falling Gods, where he’d hoped, where he’d prayed, where he’d watched her walk away, angry and forlorn, tattered and brutalized, wondering how they’d all been torn apart so quickly.
She was a daughter of the Sun God – powerful and mighty, sworn to strength and flares and the immortal chimings he and Rikyn could never have touched. Perhaps she’d been too potent for them all along, winding her way through innocence and bedlam, until she realized how foolish they all were, how silly everything seemed. The flying femme had left them all behind – and no matter what he’d done to save her, no matter what he’d done to ensure her survival, it was of little consequence. She’d always be more than them.
His jaw clenched out of habit, out of frustration, out of that blinding, searing rage coveting his skull. Orsino chuckled throughout their connection, emboldened by the shift, by the change, in their movements, in their motions, in the sway of keen, blunt strides, in the art of his savage, sinister design. Erebos kept it in check, folding it beneath all those carefully practiced layers, all the lacquer he’d formed and calculated and embraced, even as he spied the Haruspex (who had beaten him too – he was surrounded by those eerie, bitter reminders of how worthless he truly was, and it was brutal) greeting her at their icy gates.
The lad maneuvered forward, abruptly, ahead of Ashamin and his painted wiles and his bear skull wares, granting him a quick nod out of habit, shouting over the vicious horizon,“Aithniel!” before examining Aithniel in a rush, in a haste, perusing in a vast swiftness, hoping not to find something out of place, a wound, a laceration. When he couldn’t find anything, when there appeared to be naught forcing her to the mountains, to the peaks, to the cold-blooded ways of their livelihood, he tilted his head and forced his breaths to slow. “Why are you here? Are you okay?”
Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in
@Aithniel
