there's no religion that could save me
no matter how long my knees are on the floor
i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding
if that'll make it right
Gods in heaven and devils in hell be damned, he returned.
(And surely they would burn, or at least, they would wish they could once they realized what this meant).
The Ischian landscape was one that utterly, passionately, irrevocably pissed him off the moment he realized that it wasn't changing the closer he got to the kingdom. What the damn hell was Beqanna thinking when it created this place? That horses like to fry to crisps? Or to take baths in ocean-wide hot tubs?? Where was his ice kingdom, his perfectly stereotypicalized and categorized bachelor kingdom, made explicitly and unquestionably for him and everyone of his ilk? What was with the diversity, the openness? There were no lights, neutrals, darks?! How the hell did anyone know where to go?
It was fucking hard to be a cranky recluse if there was no where to be one. Jeez. (I'm Looking at you, fairies. Have no doubts: I, Nihlus, hate thee).
The ankle-deep, low-tide waters playfully lapped at the stallion's bark-lined legs, and he viciously kicked back at it, splashing dramatically across the border as only he knew how. Storm clouds brewed at head-level and poored - literally in sheets - ice cold water into the sea, but it made no difference. There was too much sea and he would NEVER be able to make it a cold one, even if he spent forever making it rain ice-water.
The clouds disappeared inexplicably: there one moment, gone the next.
"What the fuck was Brennen thinking. Brother of the Tundra? My ass."
And so, dripping went and in his usual huff of pain-in-the-ass-ness, Nihlus returned to Beqanna.
Already, high in their holy thrones, the gods burned.
(And surely they would burn, or at least, they would wish they could once they realized what this meant).
The Ischian landscape was one that utterly, passionately, irrevocably pissed him off the moment he realized that it wasn't changing the closer he got to the kingdom. What the damn hell was Beqanna thinking when it created this place? That horses like to fry to crisps? Or to take baths in ocean-wide hot tubs?? Where was his ice kingdom, his perfectly stereotypicalized and categorized bachelor kingdom, made explicitly and unquestionably for him and everyone of his ilk? What was with the diversity, the openness? There were no lights, neutrals, darks?! How the hell did anyone know where to go?
It was fucking hard to be a cranky recluse if there was no where to be one. Jeez. (I'm Looking at you, fairies. Have no doubts: I, Nihlus, hate thee).
The ankle-deep, low-tide waters playfully lapped at the stallion's bark-lined legs, and he viciously kicked back at it, splashing dramatically across the border as only he knew how. Storm clouds brewed at head-level and poored - literally in sheets - ice cold water into the sea, but it made no difference. There was too much sea and he would NEVER be able to make it a cold one, even if he spent forever making it rain ice-water.
The clouds disappeared inexplicably: there one moment, gone the next.
"What the fuck was Brennen thinking. Brother of the Tundra? My ass."
And so, dripping went and in his usual huff of pain-in-the-ass-ness, Nihlus returned to Beqanna.
Already, high in their holy thrones, the gods burned.
Nihlus
Every day it will rain
(soo.. Volcan didn't want to play. Nihlus did. OOPS).