04-19-2016, 10:42 AM
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
The uncertainties in life begin to grow numbing after a while. Numbness that grows hardness in your mind and heart and a certain lack of care when you let it. Here it was though and always should be, expect the unexpected. Never did he think to find such a bruised, disheveled creature in the Meadow, certainly not one so swollen with child. Her sides protruded taught against the night sky of her hair, stretching to a limit that even he was impressed with.That made him even angrier come to think of it, the carelessness that had been taken with the clearly pregnant mare. No way you could miss that one, she was nearing full term if she was not there already. Not once in all his years had he ever fathomed a thought of hurting a woman with child, though he was certainly capable of such a heinous act, sure- once.
As it is that is not really here or there, no, that is past and past should stay buried. Most of it should anyways, at least all that occurred before Beqanna. Those were dark times, only as he grew did he take notice of the atrocious ways in which his father ran things. Even now though he can’t say he disagrees with all of them, he’s not certain he ever will. Maybe that is why he is still considered a dark thing and his home is labeled with that of evil when he knew for certain that he held plenty of light and dark within him. He, like many others, was capable of great evils but he was also just as capable of great good. It’s those mind numbing uncertainties that get in the way of which dose of morals one should have, you never knew what life would throw at you, nor how you would react against the cards dealt.
What he is certain of is his worry for the woman, of his anger at the defiler and murderer’s scent that still permeates her. He knows he does not wish to leave her here, not at the mercy of such wretched creatures when he had a realm in which to keep her from such harm. She belonged home if his world was hers and the way she perked at his own scent left him no choice but to believe it was the very same.
With her words comes the gentle patter of rain, droplets of moisture dancing in light specks across his sooty skin, leaving trails to burn up in sizzling, puffs of steam where they fall. He almost does not know how to process the thought that follows her response, she had died...she thinks? How does one think they might have died? She looked quite alive now, albeit banged up a bit, but she certainly was not dead even if she reeked of it. The comment of pain pulls him from the twisted path his mind had taken, trying to decipher what exactly she had meant and if she had really even meant that at all. Maybe it had just felt like dying.
“What do you mean, think you died? That can’t be right can it, or- do you have magic then or something?” The longer he thought on it the more he began to consider that maybe the woman was some sort of magician. They had surely let their powers run rampant and wild and it would be no surprise to him if they could even bring themselves back from the gates of Hell if they wanted to. Part of him hoped they couldn’t, some things were better off left dead, especially magicians but he dare not think it too loud less one might hear him.
She asks him of home and he watches carefully her expression, her tense stance had melted away and it appeared she was generally interested or hopeful. “Home is...changing, but it is much the same. The trees still forever smell of pine, the shadows still linger but it is quieter now, much quieter.” And it was, the desertion of Straia’s ravens had left the Chamber deathly silent, all save for the bickering amongst his Kingdom mates but that he could not help. “I’m trying to make it better, different even, give it a purpose aside from destruction. I’m Killdare by the way. What do they call you?” He realizes then he doesn't even know her name, she was still simply a stranger and here he was, some dark knight in lightless armor to the rescue.
As it is that is not really here or there, no, that is past and past should stay buried. Most of it should anyways, at least all that occurred before Beqanna. Those were dark times, only as he grew did he take notice of the atrocious ways in which his father ran things. Even now though he can’t say he disagrees with all of them, he’s not certain he ever will. Maybe that is why he is still considered a dark thing and his home is labeled with that of evil when he knew for certain that he held plenty of light and dark within him. He, like many others, was capable of great evils but he was also just as capable of great good. It’s those mind numbing uncertainties that get in the way of which dose of morals one should have, you never knew what life would throw at you, nor how you would react against the cards dealt.
What he is certain of is his worry for the woman, of his anger at the defiler and murderer’s scent that still permeates her. He knows he does not wish to leave her here, not at the mercy of such wretched creatures when he had a realm in which to keep her from such harm. She belonged home if his world was hers and the way she perked at his own scent left him no choice but to believe it was the very same.
With her words comes the gentle patter of rain, droplets of moisture dancing in light specks across his sooty skin, leaving trails to burn up in sizzling, puffs of steam where they fall. He almost does not know how to process the thought that follows her response, she had died...she thinks? How does one think they might have died? She looked quite alive now, albeit banged up a bit, but she certainly was not dead even if she reeked of it. The comment of pain pulls him from the twisted path his mind had taken, trying to decipher what exactly she had meant and if she had really even meant that at all. Maybe it had just felt like dying.
“What do you mean, think you died? That can’t be right can it, or- do you have magic then or something?” The longer he thought on it the more he began to consider that maybe the woman was some sort of magician. They had surely let their powers run rampant and wild and it would be no surprise to him if they could even bring themselves back from the gates of Hell if they wanted to. Part of him hoped they couldn’t, some things were better off left dead, especially magicians but he dare not think it too loud less one might hear him.
She asks him of home and he watches carefully her expression, her tense stance had melted away and it appeared she was generally interested or hopeful. “Home is...changing, but it is much the same. The trees still forever smell of pine, the shadows still linger but it is quieter now, much quieter.” And it was, the desertion of Straia’s ravens had left the Chamber deathly silent, all save for the bickering amongst his Kingdom mates but that he could not help. “I’m trying to make it better, different even, give it a purpose aside from destruction. I’m Killdare by the way. What do they call you?” He realizes then he doesn't even know her name, she was still simply a stranger and here he was, some dark knight in lightless armor to the rescue.
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
meh D: im sorry i can not accomplish the beauty you give to me ;-;