[open] A Pocketful Of Stones

[Hellbane]

hellbane

It's always the same, I'm running towards nothing again

The pointed declaration from the golden boy has Hellbane tilting his head, one shaded eye peering curiously at him as he spits venom over something as insignificant as a wavering light. There’s a familiarity about this one; something in those narrowed eyes and that curled lip that has the big bay’s mind churning. “And what can you do about it, Hmm?” He asks, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of that dark mouth. Hate and love are two sides of the same coin, violent in each turn, but forged to the same object. Doesn’t matter which side flips up, as long as you’re the one doing the flipping.

“Hellbane.” He tells the palomino, nodding softly before turning to face him. “Though I feel like we’ve met before.”

Regardless, he likes the vivacity the boy emanates, wishes that he could produce something as powerful to spur him through life. “You should put those feelings to good use.” He offers, wide ears tilting forward with eager interest. “Finally, there’s a place where we can raise a fist to slow the onslaught of Magic. Others like us are already gathering there, as we speak.” Hellbane tells him, eyes brightening beneath the hood of his green forelock.

“Come with me, see it for yourself.” He challenges, the light and its wielder forgotten. “You’re not alone in your thoughts.”