02-21-2021, 08:26 PM
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All it had taken was a simple projection - a thought, so broad and careless as it had been whisked across the forefront of his mind - and the young stallion simply had melted into the darkness without even so much as a breath of hesitation.
He doesn’t know how long the darkness has consumed him. Months, maybe? There are fractiles of her at the edges of his consciousness, golden and bright and burning, but they are merely glimpses and nothing more. He roves the foundations of the earth with the beasts that have come from another world, mimicking them in all sense of their likeness and wickedness. He has cloaked himself <i>(and thankfully so, for what would happen to him if they were to know he did not truly belong?)</i> in their skin, sometimes shadow and sometimes solid. He has torn flesh from bone as they had, thrown strangers into the depths of the groaning earth, swallowed bones. He is amongst them as if he had always been there, hidden in his ability to mimic them.
It was marvelous, freeing; delectable. Time was no longer a constraint nor a concern as he became more and more like the creatures who now roam Beqanna freely, and often times he would lie awake and try to remember who he truly was <i>(for he is not these beasts, not at all)</i> and a smile would find his terrible face when he realized he couldn’t.
But then she would then burn against the backs of his eyes furiously and a hiss would slither through dark lips. His camouflage would tatter and flicker, threatening to expose him. It was a simpering reminder of his true form, bright and bold and undeniable.
It was all the more so when a weary, tired voice warbles into his subconsciousness and for a moment, he wonders if it is Aela.
Skandar <i>(but he is not really himself, remember)</i> snorts, lifting his shadowy head in curiosity. The Aela he knows would never cry to him in such a manner. The sound strikes him again, forlorn and with the tiniest brush of magic. The creatures he has roamed with in the last few weeks - the monsters themselves - begin to writhe in response, so he does as well. But even the simplest tendril of magic that reaches out from the tiny voice begins to cause his own disguise to falter, bringing attention to the once shadowy figure that now has rippling skin amidst the darkness.
Anger thrums within him, pulsing and rabid as the eyes of the would-be monster flash a deep scarlet. He would not be discovered, not this way, and before he could be found out by the nearby creeping shadows, he follows the sound of the voice.
When he arrives at the mountain, he is no longer wearing the mask of the monsters he had accustomed himself to beneath the morbid light of the eclipse. He is merely the darkness that hangs terribly thick across the mountain’s base, hidden as his body-less form watches the collection of horses grow before him.
Something groans in him - and perhaps it is only something he can feel - but the shadows that once stray across the ground collect and grow against his will, creating his equine form in a shattering, jagged effect. Whatever magic that had brought him here now pulls back the curtain and reveals his true self to those who care to look - a violet and orange stallion, strewn with galaxies across his body and those pulsing scarlet eyes that threaten to burn anyone who dares to throw their eyes in his direction.
Skandar’s lips unfurl, revealing fangs that he had grown accustomed to when parading with the monsters, ensuring that those around him would keep their distance.
He will not help and he is only here to be sure that no one will succeed but him - even if that meant no end to the darkness that plagues them all.<BR><p align=right><font size=4 face=times color=#cc5500><i>skandar</i></font></font></font></p></div></center>
All it had taken was a simple projection - a thought, so broad and careless as it had been whisked across the forefront of his mind - and the young stallion simply had melted into the darkness without even so much as a breath of hesitation.
He doesn’t know how long the darkness has consumed him. Months, maybe? There are fractiles of her at the edges of his consciousness, golden and bright and burning, but they are merely glimpses and nothing more. He roves the foundations of the earth with the beasts that have come from another world, mimicking them in all sense of their likeness and wickedness. He has cloaked himself <i>(and thankfully so, for what would happen to him if they were to know he did not truly belong?)</i> in their skin, sometimes shadow and sometimes solid. He has torn flesh from bone as they had, thrown strangers into the depths of the groaning earth, swallowed bones. He is amongst them as if he had always been there, hidden in his ability to mimic them.
It was marvelous, freeing; delectable. Time was no longer a constraint nor a concern as he became more and more like the creatures who now roam Beqanna freely, and often times he would lie awake and try to remember who he truly was <i>(for he is not these beasts, not at all)</i> and a smile would find his terrible face when he realized he couldn’t.
But then she would then burn against the backs of his eyes furiously and a hiss would slither through dark lips. His camouflage would tatter and flicker, threatening to expose him. It was a simpering reminder of his true form, bright and bold and undeniable.
It was all the more so when a weary, tired voice warbles into his subconsciousness and for a moment, he wonders if it is Aela.
Skandar <i>(but he is not really himself, remember)</i> snorts, lifting his shadowy head in curiosity. The Aela he knows would never cry to him in such a manner. The sound strikes him again, forlorn and with the tiniest brush of magic. The creatures he has roamed with in the last few weeks - the monsters themselves - begin to writhe in response, so he does as well. But even the simplest tendril of magic that reaches out from the tiny voice begins to cause his own disguise to falter, bringing attention to the once shadowy figure that now has rippling skin amidst the darkness.
Anger thrums within him, pulsing and rabid as the eyes of the would-be monster flash a deep scarlet. He would not be discovered, not this way, and before he could be found out by the nearby creeping shadows, he follows the sound of the voice.
When he arrives at the mountain, he is no longer wearing the mask of the monsters he had accustomed himself to beneath the morbid light of the eclipse. He is merely the darkness that hangs terribly thick across the mountain’s base, hidden as his body-less form watches the collection of horses grow before him.
Something groans in him - and perhaps it is only something he can feel - but the shadows that once stray across the ground collect and grow against his will, creating his equine form in a shattering, jagged effect. Whatever magic that had brought him here now pulls back the curtain and reveals his true self to those who care to look - a violet and orange stallion, strewn with galaxies across his body and those pulsing scarlet eyes that threaten to burn anyone who dares to throw their eyes in his direction.
Skandar’s lips unfurl, revealing fangs that he had grown accustomed to when parading with the monsters, ensuring that those around him would keep their distance.
He will not help and he is only here to be sure that no one will succeed but him - even if that meant no end to the darkness that plagues them all.<BR><p align=right><font size=4 face=times color=#cc5500><i>skandar</i></font></font></font></p></div></center>