11-16-2016, 02:34 PM
And so it goes. The wealth of the fairy that had stretched out a pathetic horn to renew the hapless heap of flesh knew what she was doing. But as she was bound by her word, she had had no choice. The bent and cracked black carcass had left the plains in pieces, torn asunder from the lack of magic to his bones, rolling over the dirt like a clumsy obsolete tank from a war gone by. He leaves a burning trail behind him as he heads to the meadow, the fairy shaking her head, knowing what she had just loosed upon the world.
The god of war had returned.
The smoke cleared and the darkness that made way for him was slowly enveloping the lump that had become his body. That trail that made scars upon the world pushed deep and cracked even further, producing a flame that wielded a strength that only comes from the bowels of hell. Deimos gathered to him the demons and memories from a land plunged into darkness, and he felt the recharging of his body--slowly, he would be as he was.
He was in the process of rebuilding himself.
His bones were snapping into place, the muscles reknitting themselves with the power that magic would aid them. He snarled then, when caught in his pathetic state, someone would happenchance upon him--perhaps unaware of who he was; or whom they were dealing with. The wings he sported were so familiar, and Deimos snorted, snapping outward enviously--though in his current state, it more resembled a stumble upwards than anything else. His mind was sharp and his eyes were keen. This fellow. He was not all what she seemed. "I bear a name that you would not remember. Though I think that must be going around."
The god of war had returned.
The smoke cleared and the darkness that made way for him was slowly enveloping the lump that had become his body. That trail that made scars upon the world pushed deep and cracked even further, producing a flame that wielded a strength that only comes from the bowels of hell. Deimos gathered to him the demons and memories from a land plunged into darkness, and he felt the recharging of his body--slowly, he would be as he was.
He was in the process of rebuilding himself.
His bones were snapping into place, the muscles reknitting themselves with the power that magic would aid them. He snarled then, when caught in his pathetic state, someone would happenchance upon him--perhaps unaware of who he was; or whom they were dealing with. The wings he sported were so familiar, and Deimos snorted, snapping outward enviously--though in his current state, it more resembled a stumble upwards than anything else. His mind was sharp and his eyes were keen. This fellow. He was not all what she seemed. "I bear a name that you would not remember. Though I think that must be going around."