Vanquish could taste the coming of magic like metal on his tongue, feel the familiar delicate tremble down his spine that he had grown so accustomed to living and lusting amongst magical beings. And so he pauses as he builds his wall, sweat like an oil sheen across his black flesh and he waits for it to come.
The pair appeared before him - smelling of blood and hunger. There was nary a mark on the pearlescent filly but he could smell the malnutrition on her breath and see her ribs protesting out against her delicate skin and he frowns deeply - such was not meant for a child of his lineage. “For you, grandfather”, the amethyst mare says and a smile replaces the displeasure on his lips when he recognizes that it is her that smells of blood, that it is her that smells like Woolf had. The pair shared the same cold reservation about their gaze, the same emotionless tone in their throats – but Vanquish smiles nonetheless. “You are my granddaughter as well,” the dragon says, reminding her as he closes the gap of space between them, although he does not press the matter. There are more immediate concerns that begged his attentions.
These were children built of Tarnished’s blood, he could feel Nocturnal’s presence especially poignant in the twins that smelled of blood, Woolf and Bright. Memories start to slide through his thoughts before they are steadied by the filly that had begun to change before him. The titan chuckles out loud as she changes from black to blue and then finally resting on purple – like her siblings, he notes.
A dragon’s wing branches out from his side to envelope the girl – still shifting colors in his embrace. He peers down at her, “You aren’t just part of any family,” he admonishes softly, “you are of Nightwalker’s blood,” he says – voice hard and heavy, “of Dragon’s blood,” he says, gaze reaching out to Bright’s now as he spoke of Nocturnal. “And your name is Faultline,” he reinforces the purple mare’s christening of his grandchild, dipping his head down to rub against her small cheek, “this is your home.”
Vanquish’s gaze lifts to catch Bright’s, it was obvious that bringing them here had taxed her powers which were still growing in their youngness. “You should stay for a moon or so, rest yourself,” he says and his voice lacked the usual authority it held – replaced instead by hopeful suggestion.
.
vanquish
black king of the deserts
