my shadow's shedding skin ...
The black demon carries along no particular path, bits of dust and shadows trailing in his wake as he moves sedately south. For quite some time, he walks alone. When he begins to angle slightly west and his shadow yawns impossibly tall, there is a shift. His shadow dips and swirls in a disjointed manner; it moves almost independently, bunching together, heaving apart, then reforming until it finally disappears altogether and his ever faithful Hound slinks at his heels. Her tongue lolls from between pearlescent canines in an oddly dog-like fashion, head slung low between shoulder blades that rise and fall sharply beneath a rough, oily coat. He flicks his tail, tipping his ear in acknowledgment, and ever south they tread.
A canyon stretches down to their right. At first he pays the flicker of movement no mind, but as she makes her way toward him - him above and she below - Ramsey sets off after a jackalope, a little horned thing bolting away from the brush it had been hiding in. The hellhound does not typically bother with mortal prey but can hardly resist hunting the mythical ones. He halts abruptly, the elegant sculpt of his head raised high to watch his companion and her prey in unreadable silence. When it's apparent she's not returning any time soon, he turns back the other way, looking for the chestnut mare he’d noticed just before, content to occupy his time observing.
She’s motionless now, staring down the mouth of the canyon as if she expects someone or something to appear there any moment. Rather than follow her line of gaze to find what she’s looking for, Niklas shuffles closer to the canyon walls edge, his breath sending up puffs of dirt, and he eyes her more closely. A curious crow indeed.
Some might assume demons, and certainly archdemons, would be drawn to flame like the analogous moth. But these assumptions would be wrong; even if he were a common archdemon. One's hell is a purgatory of their own creation - a worst-case scenario, if you will. While many do involve fire in some form or another, he’s visited many where flames are no factor at all.. It attracts him as much as anything does - that is to say, very little. Still, with nowhere to be, no one expecting him, he indulges. Red and orange, the fire sparks, rising and falling, then stretching, morphing … she loses control and it’s gone just as quickly as she had summoned it. She emphasizes her frustration with a stamp of her hoof and in that moment he disappears, a black column of smoke funneled swiftly down to the canyon floor.
Niklas blinks slowly, owlishly, in such a way one might miss the black cunning nestled behind the dull brown color his irises have adapted. There was one breath, an exhale, and now he walks alongside her with that same placid stride. “Are all children where you come from as inept as you are?” His tone is not unfriendly, though the delivery is perhaps dry and lacking. He pauses mid-step, head tipped again in that crow-like manner of his to eye her a moment … and continues on, eyes returned to the path ahead.
A canyon stretches down to their right. At first he pays the flicker of movement no mind, but as she makes her way toward him - him above and she below - Ramsey sets off after a jackalope, a little horned thing bolting away from the brush it had been hiding in. The hellhound does not typically bother with mortal prey but can hardly resist hunting the mythical ones. He halts abruptly, the elegant sculpt of his head raised high to watch his companion and her prey in unreadable silence. When it's apparent she's not returning any time soon, he turns back the other way, looking for the chestnut mare he’d noticed just before, content to occupy his time observing.
She’s motionless now, staring down the mouth of the canyon as if she expects someone or something to appear there any moment. Rather than follow her line of gaze to find what she’s looking for, Niklas shuffles closer to the canyon walls edge, his breath sending up puffs of dirt, and he eyes her more closely. A curious crow indeed.
Some might assume demons, and certainly archdemons, would be drawn to flame like the analogous moth. But these assumptions would be wrong; even if he were a common archdemon. One's hell is a purgatory of their own creation - a worst-case scenario, if you will. While many do involve fire in some form or another, he’s visited many where flames are no factor at all.. It attracts him as much as anything does - that is to say, very little. Still, with nowhere to be, no one expecting him, he indulges. Red and orange, the fire sparks, rising and falling, then stretching, morphing … she loses control and it’s gone just as quickly as she had summoned it. She emphasizes her frustration with a stamp of her hoof and in that moment he disappears, a black column of smoke funneled swiftly down to the canyon floor.
Niklas blinks slowly, owlishly, in such a way one might miss the black cunning nestled behind the dull brown color his irises have adapted. There was one breath, an exhale, and now he walks alongside her with that same placid stride. “Are all children where you come from as inept as you are?” His tone is not unfriendly, though the delivery is perhaps dry and lacking. He pauses mid-step, head tipped again in that crow-like manner of his to eye her a moment … and continues on, eyes returned to the path ahead.
@
Escence