[Endless Night] Green Wrath

[OPEN] [Endless Night] Green Wrath

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527

Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB

Heather

07-20-2013, 10:19 AM (This post was last modified: 07-20-2013, 04:19 PM by Deimos.)

The rumbling beguiled Deimos, casting a moth to the dangerous flame, an empowered being craving anarchy, hostility, animosity in the absence of tumultuous ether. Blood for blood, wound for wound, pressing and destroying, ruination caught in his core. He stalked the midnight oils like a starving cretin, thirsty and hungry for the tearing of flesh, the gnawing of bone from enamel, muscle and sinew, the ripping chords of insurrect beings. Forever a Reaper, chiseled and sculpted for the finery of death, demise and cruelty, silent, chilling opus pulsating, pervading, beating the vibrant, malicious chords of sedition. His splendor was the sharpened decadence of quietus, the slinking, silenced drum of hearts ceasing, of blood pausing, trickling from gaping wounds, of rampant, delicious, fervent wreckage. The beast yearned, desired, for the hollowed reverie of collisions, of annihilation, of discord wrapped, choking, smothering, across the vast plains, of violence shrieking and crossing, tangling and distorting, the vacant hallways and the Stygian dusk. A craving invoked, ignited, again and again by the awakened behemoth marching in his sights, laboring across the valley, stone, rubble and glade, misaligned, snarled, beckoning for the glory, the deliverance, the absolution of its untimely disintegration. Each bellow brought him closer, each discordant echo urged the statue onward, beckoned and enticed, a coaxing marvel asking for Satan’s grasp, Mephistopheles’s hand, the infernal ardor of a nefarious lancer. The singeing rapture of his magic called to him from the deep, shackled corridors of its restless rasps, restrained for so long in the midst and absence of incantations, curses and necromancy – begging for release. Seeking liberation, a victim, a focus, to plunge its knife, to score its dagger, to mottle and stain its swords, cast from the threads of an ancient, arcane reticence. His eyes caught the individuals positioned amongst the gathered armaments, a winged being floating towards the moving mass, the Time Mender bending the whims of whatever immersed creation billowed inside of him. He offered a mere, silent gesture to D’art, before proceeding further into the tainted parlors of entropy, murdering the field in his wake. The General molded his movements, sinuous, bending and serpentine, away from the others, because they fought for the same cause and to create more casualties would be a foolish notion, no matter how much blood he yearned to spill. Calamity sharpened and kindled within the resonating twist of his entity, rushed and gliding, finally unburdened from their rancorous shell, flowing in a twisting, curving, silent arch, towards the beast. A whisper of death, longing to strangle, suppress, restrain, and obliterate, unraveled from the core of his sinister upheaval.

[Seeing D'art and Merakerr nearby, Deimos concentrates on sending his death magic only toward the monster.]

Find