07-06-2016, 05:27 PM
THE EARTH IS ALIVE, AND MAN IS A PARASITE.
AND HEAVENLY BODIES MAKE US FIGHT.
He has emerged from the icy confines in the shadows of twilight, his marred flesh glimmering beneath the pale moonlight. His lungs painfully sting with the stickiness of humidity, but he savors it for a long moment as his behemoth mass is enveloped in the warmth of a brisk summer evening. He does not often descend from the mountain peaks, but something lures him from the depths of the shadows and into the thicket of foliage. The soil is moist and pliable beneath his weight, and the Earth blossoms once more with life.
He remains still, breathless at the sight that bubbles and simmers before him, illuminating the otherwise impenetrable darkness of the forest. It takes very little time for the mass of rippling magma to reach him, and now it stands before him, a beacon for something far larger than itself. His crimson gaze bores into it as a sheath of ice crawls along his own body, and he observes the way that it wavers and sways with each thick overlay of its own product; rebuilding itself each time that it begins to melt into the terrain below it.
The heavy scent of sulfur is enough; to see it glaringly study him is the only message he needs. Without a second glance, he breaks away from its obscenely warm (and entrancing) allure, weaving his hefty weight through the various pines that line the forest. Once exposed to the open elements of the stagnating air and open, twinkling night sky, he breaks into a weighted gallop, fiercely pushing against an unseen force as he gathers forceful speed.
At last, with heavily lungs, flaring nostrils and gleaming red eyes peering up along the familiar (albeit charred) border, he draws his pace to a quiet lope, softly loping through the terrain. The scent of sulfur begins to infiltrate the heady scent of pine and he knows that he must be close to the border's edge. He has been called here; he has been beckoned and he knows what and who awaits his presence. Crushing dried leaves and twigs beneath him, he follows the gentle glow of a distant ember. Upon rising over the crest of a gently sloping hilltop, he sees him in his magma-encrusted glory, burning with a ferocity that Offspring has never seen before.
His own flesh bristles angrily with a dense encasing of ice and his shoulders develop a thick lining of sharped icicles, extending nearly a foot beyond the surface of his skin as he descends to observe what surely must deceive his eyes - but it does not. He stands in the flesh, eyes gleaming with mischief, as silver as the salty seawater beneath a ray of moonlight and stripped of his glorious wings. He reeks of something else, but the stench from Killdare overwhelms it. Tannor. Offspring nears the bubbling magma King, standing beside him but with a decent distance. His own body fights the heat radiating from his body and replenishes the ice covering his own.
"I now see why Killdare has sent for me. Topsail as well, I presume." He does not look towards Killdare for clarification - he knows that he is accurate; it is only a matter of time until the ferocious reptile makes a frightening appearance from the shadows of night. "You've returned. The audacity. You settled into the shadows and heeded the call of your own demons," (and oh, little does he realize the truth of this statement) "without returning the calls of those who sought your alliance. What do you want now? Why have you returned?"
He remains still, breathless at the sight that bubbles and simmers before him, illuminating the otherwise impenetrable darkness of the forest. It takes very little time for the mass of rippling magma to reach him, and now it stands before him, a beacon for something far larger than itself. His crimson gaze bores into it as a sheath of ice crawls along his own body, and he observes the way that it wavers and sways with each thick overlay of its own product; rebuilding itself each time that it begins to melt into the terrain below it.
The heavy scent of sulfur is enough; to see it glaringly study him is the only message he needs. Without a second glance, he breaks away from its obscenely warm (and entrancing) allure, weaving his hefty weight through the various pines that line the forest. Once exposed to the open elements of the stagnating air and open, twinkling night sky, he breaks into a weighted gallop, fiercely pushing against an unseen force as he gathers forceful speed.
At last, with heavily lungs, flaring nostrils and gleaming red eyes peering up along the familiar (albeit charred) border, he draws his pace to a quiet lope, softly loping through the terrain. The scent of sulfur begins to infiltrate the heady scent of pine and he knows that he must be close to the border's edge. He has been called here; he has been beckoned and he knows what and who awaits his presence. Crushing dried leaves and twigs beneath him, he follows the gentle glow of a distant ember. Upon rising over the crest of a gently sloping hilltop, he sees him in his magma-encrusted glory, burning with a ferocity that Offspring has never seen before.
His own flesh bristles angrily with a dense encasing of ice and his shoulders develop a thick lining of sharped icicles, extending nearly a foot beyond the surface of his skin as he descends to observe what surely must deceive his eyes - but it does not. He stands in the flesh, eyes gleaming with mischief, as silver as the salty seawater beneath a ray of moonlight and stripped of his glorious wings. He reeks of something else, but the stench from Killdare overwhelms it. Tannor. Offspring nears the bubbling magma King, standing beside him but with a decent distance. His own body fights the heat radiating from his body and replenishes the ice covering his own.
"I now see why Killdare has sent for me. Topsail as well, I presume." He does not look towards Killdare for clarification - he knows that he is accurate; it is only a matter of time until the ferocious reptile makes a frightening appearance from the shadows of night. "You've returned. The audacity. You settled into the shadows and heeded the call of your own demons," (and oh, little does he realize the truth of this statement) "without returning the calls of those who sought your alliance. What do you want now? Why have you returned?"
OFFSPRING
the ice king of the tundra