06-29-2017, 10:43 AM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
His mind is heavy, uncertainty still clinging precariously to the frayed edges of his thoughts. The evening had been another restless one, and though the sun had set beyond the horizon, taking its light with it, the darkness of nightfall had done nothing to sooth his rampantly churning mind. The gears were in motion, turning edgily within, as his son’s soft but rumbling confession echoes itself to him. He had always known that Levi held a darkness with him, not unlike himself – he had hoped that it would dissipate with age, that it would fade away in time.
But it had only grown.
The imagery of Hyaline burning was not easy to envision – he had never seen the land with his own eyes; not yet (he had been given little reason to yet – his kingdom was growing, settling upon its unsteady feet after a time of unrest and undisturbed quiet; it was too soon for alliances). Nonetheless, his imagination was enough to fill in the void of what he had not seen, and the image of a crystalline lake roiling and boiling from the sheer heat of his son’s fire is enough to stir ire within his chest.
There were rumors of an alliance between Hyaline and Sylva and Nerine – Sylva he did not worry much over; it was a namesake at best with no standing presence. Nerine, however, had seemed stronger than the rest, and he knew that harboring his son might stir the Queen into action. He cannot suppress the faint simper tugging at the corner of his dark lips, then – let her come.
Alas, he is drawn out of his quiet brooding by a shrill cry, echoing through the dense haze of morning. There is not a moment of hesitation – soon, the bulk of his behemoth form is being carried by the rhythmic pounding of his strong, muscular legs, as the breeze touches the heat that linger on his skin, weaving itself through his tangled, unkempt tresses. He can see Warrick long before he can see him; his heat signature is dwarfed by the towering beacon of molten lava before him, but his sharpened eyesight can see the concern etched into his features, and he feigns stoicism then, concealing any thought or emotion from the surface of his face.
He knew why he was calling.
A brief nod is given to Ellyse, and to Nymphetamine (it is good that they have come; they will need to know what might be coming – they will need to be prepared), but the entirety of his focus is upon Warrick.
”What is it?” he says quietly, his rumbling voice ragged from the heaviness of morning.
But it had only grown.
The imagery of Hyaline burning was not easy to envision – he had never seen the land with his own eyes; not yet (he had been given little reason to yet – his kingdom was growing, settling upon its unsteady feet after a time of unrest and undisturbed quiet; it was too soon for alliances). Nonetheless, his imagination was enough to fill in the void of what he had not seen, and the image of a crystalline lake roiling and boiling from the sheer heat of his son’s fire is enough to stir ire within his chest.
There were rumors of an alliance between Hyaline and Sylva and Nerine – Sylva he did not worry much over; it was a namesake at best with no standing presence. Nerine, however, had seemed stronger than the rest, and he knew that harboring his son might stir the Queen into action. He cannot suppress the faint simper tugging at the corner of his dark lips, then – let her come.
Alas, he is drawn out of his quiet brooding by a shrill cry, echoing through the dense haze of morning. There is not a moment of hesitation – soon, the bulk of his behemoth form is being carried by the rhythmic pounding of his strong, muscular legs, as the breeze touches the heat that linger on his skin, weaving itself through his tangled, unkempt tresses. He can see Warrick long before he can see him; his heat signature is dwarfed by the towering beacon of molten lava before him, but his sharpened eyesight can see the concern etched into his features, and he feigns stoicism then, concealing any thought or emotion from the surface of his face.
He knew why he was calling.
A brief nod is given to Ellyse, and to Nymphetamine (it is good that they have come; they will need to know what might be coming – they will need to be prepared), but the entirety of his focus is upon Warrick.
”What is it?” he says quietly, his rumbling voice ragged from the heaviness of morning.
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING