04-29-2018, 08:30 PM
and lord, I fashion dark gods too;
There is pleasure to be found in the smallest of things.
He has no reason to be here. He prefers to haunt other realms of Beqanna, their mortal planes too droll for him. But he visits often enough, keeps the proverbial fields plowed with, well, his less proverbial seed, and this time he’s lingered. There’s no reason, other than the mind-numbing boredom that comes with near-omnipresence and definite immortality. He constantly looks for ways to entertain himself, their dark god, so sometimes, he watches.
He takes in the passersbys, touches their minds, sifts for amusement there the way men once panned for gold in the rivers. They don’t know of his touch, he is cunning and quick. Most of them are terribly mundane, full of feckless worries about their lovers or kingdoms or children, the kind of things he’s just so bored by.
One stallion piques his interest. Not much, but enough. The boy’s mind is rife with memories of a woman who Carnage once knew.
(He remembers her, still, a brief coupling in starlight. And she’d come back, later, answered his call; only to refuse the oasis.)
They’re together now, those two, and Carnage almost laughs as his delves further, realizes the boy’s not only his cuckold, but his own son. Furthermore, this is a fact unknown to him, and the boy has wondered who his father is, or was.
This will do.
There is pleasure to be found in the smallest of things – but the dark god also loves grand gestures.
He turns himself to clouds, keeping an equid shape, but grows larger, taking up the sky. The cloud swirl around the shape of him, framing, dramatic and drawing the eye.
“Warrick,” he says, pulling the name from the boy’s mind, “there’s been a question, in your mind. I’m here to answer.”
Gods must keep busy somehow.
c a r n a g e
@[Warrick] this is brought to you by cbox hubris and pomegranate vodka please let me know if i should change anything