05-30-2016, 01:07 PM
W Y R M
All of them - so wound up in their own pointless little problems. Promotions and friendships, fucking and fighting. They think small so they see small, and none of them ever know that he’s watching. Time stands still for no man in particular (though he’s heard stories of magicians ripping time apart itself) but he realizes that instead of worrying about insignificant issues he should gather theirs instead - inspect them like oddities in order to remind himself that those things were the type of problems that dull the mind and lull the masses into some sense of normalcy. And Kimber? She was no different than the rest of the sheep Wyrm fed on.
Fleshy, aging, alone.
From the comfort of his perch he follows, a moth lazing against a trunk around one turn. An innocent fly the next. When she moves with liquid accuracy through the twists of their home, what is he but a beetle underfoot? Insignificant, easily overlooked. Eventually, she goes where they all end up one way or another; pondering silently before the everlasting flames. Her gaze is admiration, while others have shed sorrow, reverence, even hate. Where he clings, so high in the emerald branches, body indiscriminate so that he will go unnoticed, he looks to her without emotion. Cat-and-bigger-cat.
Lucky for her, Wyrm feels like talking. Down to earth he silently falls, some ways back from the opposite side of the tree she’s so intent upon. When he makes his entrance, meandering fluidly past the pines to stand some degrees away from her, he’s his birth-given green. A wash of blue has faded into his mane and tail and for appearances sake he is equine, a rather robust set of his own blue wings folded casually against him. Thus far he’d been drawn in by the fire, turning only to view her with feigned surprise, as if he did not expect to have company. A friendly smile twists his face and he nods once, slowly resuming his deadpan stare into the heart of the burning tree.
“They say a blood sacrifice reveals the future.” He comments casually, two-toned tail swirling gently at his hocks. “Do you believe it?” He wonders, eyes resting on her with mild curiosity.
Fleshy, aging, alone.
From the comfort of his perch he follows, a moth lazing against a trunk around one turn. An innocent fly the next. When she moves with liquid accuracy through the twists of their home, what is he but a beetle underfoot? Insignificant, easily overlooked. Eventually, she goes where they all end up one way or another; pondering silently before the everlasting flames. Her gaze is admiration, while others have shed sorrow, reverence, even hate. Where he clings, so high in the emerald branches, body indiscriminate so that he will go unnoticed, he looks to her without emotion. Cat-and-bigger-cat.
Lucky for her, Wyrm feels like talking. Down to earth he silently falls, some ways back from the opposite side of the tree she’s so intent upon. When he makes his entrance, meandering fluidly past the pines to stand some degrees away from her, he’s his birth-given green. A wash of blue has faded into his mane and tail and for appearances sake he is equine, a rather robust set of his own blue wings folded casually against him. Thus far he’d been drawn in by the fire, turning only to view her with feigned surprise, as if he did not expect to have company. A friendly smile twists his face and he nods once, slowly resuming his deadpan stare into the heart of the burning tree.
“They say a blood sacrifice reveals the future.” He comments casually, two-toned tail swirling gently at his hocks. “Do you believe it?” He wonders, eyes resting on her with mild curiosity.
she shall crush thy head,
and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel
and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel