burning cities and napalm skies
fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes
fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes
“You look just like her.”
Tarnished isn’t sure when it happens, just that it does. A dark veil lifts and the world spreads out before him again, marvelous—magical. Wicked. He might have been disoriented by it all if the colors here weren’t so dull. The sun, a silver sliver, hides behind the miserably gray clouds. He glances up, just long enough to spy a lonesome sort of large scavenger circling overhead, then lets his yellow-gold eyes slip back down to the bleak brown beach. It’s dotted with jots of white. A sun-bleached skull here, a set of ribs picked clean jutting up out of the sand over there. There’s a group gathering nearby over a fallen loved one and it sends a shiver down his spine. He recognizes this place, knows its purpose well, as everyone who has ever lived in Beqanna should, but that leads him to wondering what series of events led him here.
“Did I… die?” The shifter muses aloud, but he’s much too eager to leave once he gathers his bearings and forgets the question.
(At least, for now.)
He follows the brackish river inland, stopping only long enough to snatch a fish from the water when his stomach begins to roar in protest. It aches when he eats, as if the fish is the first thing he has eaten in a very long time (’Not true, I went hunting with mom—I went hunting with mom, I was supposed to go to the Deserts, and then I fell asleep…’), but he still scarfs it down quickly despite the discomfort.
Blood running from his mouth and dribbling down his chin, it dries and crusts along his skin as he eventually makes his way towards a forest he intends to explore, at least, until he hears someone moving through the brush. The clouds are less dense here, the air less chilled despite the shade of the trees; she looks bewitching slithering between the patches of light bleeding through the leaves, surreal—her scales shining like jewels, a murderous little glint in her eye. She carries herself like the predator he fancies himself to be and Tarnished finds himself conflicted on what to do next.
Fortunately, he opts to simply approach her. It’s not as if he knows where the fuck he is anyway and she might have that nice little tidbit of information he needs. Besides that, he finds her enjoyable to look at. Interesting, if nothing else. “How’d that happen?” Tarnished grins, motioning towards her broken horn with a nod of his head. It’s a rude question, sure, but he knows what he’s doing and has always liked making strangers feel uncomfortable. It weeds out the weak ones. Besides, he’s a mural dedicated to violence itself; his body is littered with scars, big and small. The most notable one being the scythe-shaped one he’d put on his own face to remind him of why he existed and what he was supposed to be.
Tarnished isn’t sure when it happens, just that it does. A dark veil lifts and the world spreads out before him again, marvelous—magical. Wicked. He might have been disoriented by it all if the colors here weren’t so dull. The sun, a silver sliver, hides behind the miserably gray clouds. He glances up, just long enough to spy a lonesome sort of large scavenger circling overhead, then lets his yellow-gold eyes slip back down to the bleak brown beach. It’s dotted with jots of white. A sun-bleached skull here, a set of ribs picked clean jutting up out of the sand over there. There’s a group gathering nearby over a fallen loved one and it sends a shiver down his spine. He recognizes this place, knows its purpose well, as everyone who has ever lived in Beqanna should, but that leads him to wondering what series of events led him here.
“Did I… die?” The shifter muses aloud, but he’s much too eager to leave once he gathers his bearings and forgets the question.
(At least, for now.)
He follows the brackish river inland, stopping only long enough to snatch a fish from the water when his stomach begins to roar in protest. It aches when he eats, as if the fish is the first thing he has eaten in a very long time (’Not true, I went hunting with mom—I went hunting with mom, I was supposed to go to the Deserts, and then I fell asleep…’), but he still scarfs it down quickly despite the discomfort.
Blood running from his mouth and dribbling down his chin, it dries and crusts along his skin as he eventually makes his way towards a forest he intends to explore, at least, until he hears someone moving through the brush. The clouds are less dense here, the air less chilled despite the shade of the trees; she looks bewitching slithering between the patches of light bleeding through the leaves, surreal—her scales shining like jewels, a murderous little glint in her eye. She carries herself like the predator he fancies himself to be and Tarnished finds himself conflicted on what to do next.
Fortunately, he opts to simply approach her. It’s not as if he knows where the fuck he is anyway and she might have that nice little tidbit of information he needs. Besides that, he finds her enjoyable to look at. Interesting, if nothing else. “How’d that happen?” Tarnished grins, motioning towards her broken horn with a nod of his head. It’s a rude question, sure, but he knows what he’s doing and has always liked making strangers feel uncomfortable. It weeds out the weak ones. Besides, he’s a mural dedicated to violence itself; his body is littered with scars, big and small. The most notable one being the scythe-shaped one he’d put on his own face to remind him of why he existed and what he was supposed to be.
tarnished
are you not entertained?
equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity