Beqanna
you only get what you grieve ; any - Printable Version

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you only get what you grieve ; any - barebone - 02-02-2019

b a r e b o n e

even at the best of times i'm out of my mind

All he knows is that his father is in Loess.

He had left his mother with the illusion that he was still sleeping peacefully beside her, though he knows that the illusion will fade by the time she wakes up again. She is about as useful as a mother as a drizzle is for quenching a wildfire – a smidge useful, naturally, but in the long run there just isn’t much impact. He hasn’t quite mastered his powers yet, leaving a trail of dead and dying foliage as he travels, but he can’t help but wonder if Rowe will even follow him, or if she’s happier with the small illusionist leaving her side. It’s time.

She had told him things about his father – his name, for one – and the land that he lives in, ruled by the mad serpent king. Serpent king. The boy is curious about the horse that is also apparently a snake, and the motley crew that he has gotten to follow him so far. He wonders if his father is among the ranked, or just another stagnant member only there to bolster numbers. He hopes that Oxytocin is better than that, but he has never met the man.

It only takes him several hours to make the trip, and he isn’t even tired as he crosses the boarder carelessly, nibbling at the grass every few steps. His scales glimmer in the morning light as he bends a new illusion, abandoning the one he had left with his mother. It was too much of a drain on his energy – working one on himself is completely different and much easier. He ages himself in the blink of an eye, and adds small details here and there. To an outsider, a non-magician, he would look around two, perhaps three, and this scaled body – normally black – gleams with a hint of red. He has also added a pair of non-functional draconic wings, just to add to the glamour.




RE: you only get what you grieve ; any - Castile - 02-04-2019

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
The serpent king is no more.

What conversations and diplomatic transitions occurred in silence and solitude. With the Resort behind him, Castile’s attention funneled on Loess. He was to be General, to simply hold an idle rank, and horde his family within the borders, but it became so much greater than that. It was peaceful, the ascension, despite the adrenaline and rage still pouring through Castile’s veins. His hunger escalated. His thirst for power was out of hand.

But he didn’t have to attack or fight for the crown thrusted upon him. It nearly reminded him of his time tossed into the role as Regent. In reality, he was a glorified babysitter for Lepis.

His memory has not at all faded. Loess is easily recalled – from its wiry shrubs to the rocky outcroppings – and traipsed when another unfamiliar scent presses a soft kiss against the lining of Castile’s nostrils. An intense, predatory stare roves across the hills until determining the source. Keeping himself grounded, his wings nestled against his sides, he addresses the outsider in a languid manner that masks his skepticism and scrutiny. ”Welcome to Loess,” his voice is gruff, grating against his throat as he takes the final steps to place himself in front, facing him. ”The name’s Castile.” He is no longer known in these parts – hell, he may be very unlikely known anywhere – and yet tasting his own name in a mild introduction seems odd and displaced.

Soon, he vows to himself, he will be a familiar face to many. It may take time, but the world will learn not to tread on him.

castile



I'm so sorry my cocky pon has given you a poopy post :|