12-03-2015, 09:58 PM
Her eyes meet his and a stream of memories pass between them like a current of power, he was back – they were back. Atonement and retribution were weighty on his shoulders but he could not muster care enough for those today. Not when what stood next to him and lay before him were what impossibilities were made of, not when he could finally reach down and feel the warm heartbeat of his Golden Rose after such a long time of numbness. “When has it ever been boring between us?” He asks, stallion’s teeth raking softly across her golden skin, yanking a few of her silvery strands teasingly. But when her next words come, large black ears twist and then lay back against his lofty skull. Another war.
Vanquish’s first admission to the Deserts had been a quick and unceremonious one, hurried by the ongoing slaughter of the non-traited in the pits of the Valley under Queen Elite. It was there at the War of the Valley that he had received his scar (one that Yael had remembered to recreate, by the way) from a clash with the demon-god Carnage. But that had not even truly been the Deserts fight, as he is almost sure the war she speaks of now is not theirs either. For his first reign, almost ten years long, there had been no direct threat of war towards the Deserts – it had always been the sands rising to the need of others. A laugh passes his lips and scaled dragon-wings shift against his sides, not even the oppression that thickens the air at the talk of war could burden him today. “They must of heard I was coming,” he jests, bumping a ink-velvet nose against hers, “so, tell me,” he says, a tufted ear swiveling down to catch her words, “to who’s aid do we come to this time?” And then a smile breaks across his handsome face, “what better a time to break in new bones?”
The winds shift direction and a new scent causes the draft to turn his head to face the seemingly black stallion, a heavy head cocking in interest as the shadows move across his skin, revealing the marbled blue color beneath. “Whats your name?” He asks, thick neck arching over his lover’s as he regards the young stallion with a soft but calculating eye.
.
Vanquish’s first admission to the Deserts had been a quick and unceremonious one, hurried by the ongoing slaughter of the non-traited in the pits of the Valley under Queen Elite. It was there at the War of the Valley that he had received his scar (one that Yael had remembered to recreate, by the way) from a clash with the demon-god Carnage. But that had not even truly been the Deserts fight, as he is almost sure the war she speaks of now is not theirs either. For his first reign, almost ten years long, there had been no direct threat of war towards the Deserts – it had always been the sands rising to the need of others. A laugh passes his lips and scaled dragon-wings shift against his sides, not even the oppression that thickens the air at the talk of war could burden him today. “They must of heard I was coming,” he jests, bumping a ink-velvet nose against hers, “so, tell me,” he says, a tufted ear swiveling down to catch her words, “to who’s aid do we come to this time?” And then a smile breaks across his handsome face, “what better a time to break in new bones?”
The winds shift direction and a new scent causes the draft to turn his head to face the seemingly black stallion, a heavy head cocking in interest as the shadows move across his skin, revealing the marbled blue color beneath. “Whats your name?” He asks, thick neck arching over his lover’s as he regards the young stallion with a soft but calculating eye.
.
vanquish
black king of the deserts
