10-21-2018, 10:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-21-2018, 10:33 PM by Maleficar.
Edit Reason: pasted wrong freakin' post lmaooo
)
{maleficar}
My corrupt nature is empty of grace.He has always led a simple life, bothering no one and keeping entirely to himself for so many years. His sisters left Beqanna long ago but he opted to remain. Their mothers had always promised that they were made for greatness. Perhaps Malefica or Maleficente, but not him. A day with his raven friend and a nice hat were all he needed to be happy in this life. And now the leaves have begun to change to his favorite shade of orange. He lifts his chin and breathes deep the smell of autumn. The cold breeze brushes his forelock from his young face while he smiles with his eyes closed.
But then the message reaches him and yanks him roughly from his perfect day.
His hazel eyes open suddenly and his smile rots to a frown.
The message commands him and the first flicker of anger takes root in him. It grows from embers to a roaring flame as he bids his feathered companion farewell with a polite nod of his head. Then he runs, wind against his back, until the group comes into view. They have already gathered and begun their assault against their target while others try to simply keep him alive. But no one is fighting for Rhonen, he realizes.
Maleficar is not a warrior and he’s certainly not built for speed but his long strides carry him as quickly as they can. One is declaring her titles and her triumphs while the others wordlessly attack. The witch opens his mouth and gathers the rain drops on his tongue for a moment. He inhales deep and holds his breath until all his power gathers in his lungs. When he finally exhales, a jet of water bursts from his lips and he aims it at the offenders. His strength is only at its greatest when his sisters are with him but he gives it all he has despite the handicap.
His breath only lasts so long, though, and he must stop to catch his breath. Some of the rain remains in his mouth still and he’s quick to release it a few moments later. This time a thick mist rolls forth, hopefully lowering visibility enough to buy the defensive group some time. When his lungs have emptied what breath they have once more, he chokes out a simple command.
“Run!”
But he remains where he is. He waits with his head lowered and ears pinned against his head.
His mothers always promised he was made for greatness.
But then the message reaches him and yanks him roughly from his perfect day.
His hazel eyes open suddenly and his smile rots to a frown.
The message commands him and the first flicker of anger takes root in him. It grows from embers to a roaring flame as he bids his feathered companion farewell with a polite nod of his head. Then he runs, wind against his back, until the group comes into view. They have already gathered and begun their assault against their target while others try to simply keep him alive. But no one is fighting for Rhonen, he realizes.
Maleficar is not a warrior and he’s certainly not built for speed but his long strides carry him as quickly as they can. One is declaring her titles and her triumphs while the others wordlessly attack. The witch opens his mouth and gathers the rain drops on his tongue for a moment. He inhales deep and holds his breath until all his power gathers in his lungs. When he finally exhales, a jet of water bursts from his lips and he aims it at the offenders. His strength is only at its greatest when his sisters are with him but he gives it all he has despite the handicap.
His breath only lasts so long, though, and he must stop to catch his breath. Some of the rain remains in his mouth still and he’s quick to release it a few moments later. This time a thick mist rolls forth, hopefully lowering visibility enough to buy the defensive group some time. When his lungs have emptied what breath they have once more, he chokes out a simple command.
“Run!”
But he remains where he is. He waits with his head lowered and ears pinned against his head.
His mothers always promised he was made for greatness.