09-02-2016, 05:49 PM
YOU CAN STAND ME UP AT THE GATES OF HELL, BUT I WON'T BACK DOWN.
The moonlight bathes his marred body, causing the puckered pink scars that litter his flesh to shimmer against the bleakness of his dark flesh, but there is little that shines more than his fiery red eyes. The uneasiness has not yet settled across the land, and yet there is a stirring within him that pushes him forward and urges him not to wait. There are boundaries to be pushed; the unknown beckons him forth with its own soothing siren's song that draws him deeper into the recesses of his mind. Though the embers no longer burn within him, his longing for stability remains simmering in the very marrow of his bones, and so with reluctance, he draws himself away from the comfort of rekindled companionship to seek out another familiar - an ally; a friend.
His powerful legs push him through the long, wavering tendrils of greenery that lap so delicately at his flesh, leaving hives along his sensitive skin and leaving him even more irate than before. He longs for the iciness of his mountainside; he aches for the frigid caress of his now desolate, demolished land of ice and snow - but it is nothing but a memory now, though he can still taste the pine and feel the brutal embrace of winter along his muscled body. One day, he promises to no one, not even himself, though the thought consoles his weary heart.
At last, his burning eyes of brimstone and fire find a familiar face - expression etched with raw tension, his ominous horn absent, though his heavy black plumage remains tucked against his sides. He does not pace himself; his limbs carry his burdensome weight with ease and soon he is so close to the bay, his breath can nearly brush against his flesh. His gruff voice rises above the fray, rough with emotion and disuse, his breathing heavy as he gazes away from him and across the reconstructed land that lay before him. The unknown awaits.
"Eight. I trust that you and Topsail are well - though perhaps as empty-handed as the rest of us?" He pauses, a dark, swiveling eye meeting his. "For me, this changes nothing - my alliance with you stands; will you traverse this new territory with me and unite once more?"
His powerful legs push him through the long, wavering tendrils of greenery that lap so delicately at his flesh, leaving hives along his sensitive skin and leaving him even more irate than before. He longs for the iciness of his mountainside; he aches for the frigid caress of his now desolate, demolished land of ice and snow - but it is nothing but a memory now, though he can still taste the pine and feel the brutal embrace of winter along his muscled body. One day, he promises to no one, not even himself, though the thought consoles his weary heart.
At last, his burning eyes of brimstone and fire find a familiar face - expression etched with raw tension, his ominous horn absent, though his heavy black plumage remains tucked against his sides. He does not pace himself; his limbs carry his burdensome weight with ease and soon he is so close to the bay, his breath can nearly brush against his flesh. His gruff voice rises above the fray, rough with emotion and disuse, his breathing heavy as he gazes away from him and across the reconstructed land that lay before him. The unknown awaits.
"Eight. I trust that you and Topsail are well - though perhaps as empty-handed as the rest of us?" He pauses, a dark, swiveling eye meeting his. "For me, this changes nothing - my alliance with you stands; will you traverse this new territory with me and unite once more?"
OFFSPRING