.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
04-19-2016, 05:32 PM
Perhaps we should have the delight of meeting the fiend together! - the words echoed in a massive throng, building through his ears in eerie, consuming sentiments. How grand it would be – to unite once more with his brethren, with his friends, and annihilate an enemy. A longing stirred in him again, quick and quiet, then ferocious, unwinding along his throat and down through his chest, sliding against his enamel and mind, until it seemed to wrap along his skull and settle there, a snake, an asp. He wished, he prayed, he always hoped things could’ve been the way they’d used to be, and no matter how fervent, bold, and ardent that desire, it could never truly transpire. They couldn’t return back to foals running rampant over fields and follies. They couldn’t return back to days spent beneath the bloom of a Basin spring and share silly secrets. They couldn’t be at the beck and call of savage, earthling vows and oaths, following the bitter wind and the wild, untamed brutality of their ambitions and aspirations. Too much had cracked and washed away, eroded from their swashbuckling cutlasses and their piratical interludes – Erebos was immersed in his quest for vengeance, Aithniel had been taken under her father’s wing, and Rikyn appeared to simply wander, sketching out mischief and being devout to nothing. Which was the better path? Should he have followed in the bay’s footsteps, thrown everything out into the rancorous edges and escaped into naught – no expectations, no sentiments, no nuances but fulfilling a moment’s whim? No, Orsino assured him – because then he wouldn’t be Erebos, the youth built on determination and fortitude, the little beast who remembered where he’d failed and promised not to falter, fall, and stumble so hard. Yet, he couldn’t still help but feel a pang of envy slither down his throat as Rikyn recited his tales (as he imagined what it’d be like to crouch and slink into the Edge’s fine mists; he’d been there once with his father and Enna, but on a mission, not with deceptive strings and duplicitous intentions). “I’m jealous of your exploits,” he proffered, because his friend always deserved the innermost truth, even when so many others had no idea, had no notion, of what contorted and conspired through his wicked webbing. Somehow, someway, perhaps his intentions had always been inadequate compared to Rikyn’s, too specific, not big enough to take on the whole world. He’d wanted power. He’d wanted magic. He’d wanted strength. Now, all he wanted was vengeance, and it was a long, cumbersome road with no end in sight – just enemies’ names lined up in a row.
The boy glanced at the other’s scars and wondered how many littered his frame now. He was far from pristine.
“All I’ve done is spar,” he sighed, then smirked, twisting himself around and around so that his boyhood companion could survey his marks and blemishes too – comparing those pinnacles of strength through bloodstains and disfigurements. The prince failed to mention how Ashamin had brutalized him within the dark, stormy labyrinth, how bear-like jaws had enclosed over his shoulder, neck, how he’d bled and bled and bled, fought and fought and fought, held onto convictions when there was nothing else to cling to (except Enna, and even then, she’d been so mad at him). Thereafter, he ceased his movements, donning the same satisfactory grin he wore through rage, through fire, through irritation, tilting his skull in obvious curiosity. “What are you doing here?”
The boy glanced at the other’s scars and wondered how many littered his frame now. He was far from pristine.
“All I’ve done is spar,” he sighed, then smirked, twisting himself around and around so that his boyhood companion could survey his marks and blemishes too – comparing those pinnacles of strength through bloodstains and disfigurements. The prince failed to mention how Ashamin had brutalized him within the dark, stormy labyrinth, how bear-like jaws had enclosed over his shoulder, neck, how he’d bled and bled and bled, fought and fought and fought, held onto convictions when there was nothing else to cling to (except Enna, and even then, she’d been so mad at him). Thereafter, he ceased his movements, donning the same satisfactory grin he wore through rage, through fire, through irritation, tilting his skull in obvious curiosity. “What are you doing here?”
Erebos
i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want
@Rikyn
