you can stand me up at the gates of hell; i won't back down. || eight

[Offspring]

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?"

OFFSPRING

[Eight]

Everything seems so unknown. A land which once was as intimate as Eight’s own soul, now feels like a foreign body. A stranger brushed against in the coffee shop, no longer a woman whom he curls around naked. Beqanna, the only place he had known, the mother he had never had, was now a thing he never knew before. But this new Beqanna was something no one knew. There was a restlessness, an insecurity that cloaked them all - what were they to do now? Now that their homes were churned into marred lands, their bodies besot back to something ‘normal', their people scattered across the land- now what?
Now, was to rebuild. Now it was to find where they fit in to all of this, where to call ‘home’. Could their homes truly be gone forever ? The cool stretch of the Tundra, the waving sands of the Desert, and his sweet mistress of valleys and pines.
It is not long until you find him in the Meadow, the only familiar place that seems to still exist. It seems the denizens of Beqanna had finally crossed down the mountain - confused and lost souls acclimating to the wrath of the fairy. Eight had been one of the first few down, and had returned to the Mountain for Topsail. It had not been the most heart warming reunion- as he carried the devastating news that down here, in the real world of Beqanna, she was in a prison of silence.
At the sight of you, relief washes over Eight. A familiar face, an ally, seems pertinent in this time. Yes, Eight had found Topsail and others of the Valley, but the Valley was not the only land dashed to ruins, and it was a relief to know that prior acquaintances were still around and well. Once, you had fought side by side, and now the unknown awaits- another thing to fight together.
He nods in greeting, a brief smirk of a grimace crossing his face on your first intonation. “Barren as a bitch. But well enough. “ The nakedness of it all was startling, but it could always be worse. ”Of course, Offspring. We have proven well enough in the past, and it seems that now more than ever is a time to stay close. “ He throws his head slightly towards the inner parts of the Meadow where familiar faces waited. ” Shall we start?” The unknown awaits them.

[Offspring]

YOU CAN STAND ME UP AT THE GATES OF HELL, BUT I WON'T BACK DOWN.

  A low, rumbling chuckle emerges from his throat at the dry sense of humor that his inquiry is met by; he should have expected no less. Having weathered violence, war and its dire consequences together, there is little to question in the aftermath of the world's untimely and yet unnervingly serene reformation - the Earth had moved beneath them once before; nothing could break the ties or tear apart the bond that had long ago become a staple in their quiet, yet stable companionship.

  His heart longs to see Topsail said, to know of her well-being, but the winged male's words will have to suffice for now - if rumor is to believe, she would be without a proverbial voice again, stripped of her ability to communicate. It causes a pang of discomfort within his heart to know such a creature of self-esteem and pride to be left penniless at the bottom of the barrel, incapable of the most basic need.

  Alas, she would triumph - she had never been one to be kept at bay for long, and mere words would not cage the glowering beast that hid away within her feminine breast.

  His gaze falters, following his as he peers out into the darkness that is illuminated only by the sheer generosity of the broad moon above - there are too many bodies, too much uncertainty and the unknown leaves each and every soul weary and wrought with worry. With a heavy, solemn nod, and a dreary sigh that empties his lungs of all remnants of carbon dioxide - an alliance is not created - no, but renewed.

 "Let us begin."

OFFSPRING