Post by Endrit Iasael on Sept 25, 2010 21:24:49 GMT -5
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He knows breath first -- panting, breathing, fire so hot it scalds the water of his coldness. It pushes and pulses in the air, dancing, like little demons playing amidst the currents of life -- so despised, so hated. Broken wheels crumble to a halt, grinding, screeching as thought breaks and he begins again. He knows teeth first, sees them first and foremost so close to his face, so terrible to behold: knives that glimmer and move, part of flesh, and yet wholly apart of it. Tangible this bone jutting out of blackened gums -- poison: Endrit knows poison. He dines on venom, sucking at the black liquid to sustain the hatred in his unbearably empty heart. Breath comes second, no -- it comes first, manifesting before his face, a caress as hot as a forge as if by breathing the giant creature before him moves the very earth, urges the very blood in his veins to flow. He does not smile: he does not need to.
Instead, he is consumed by red and oranges, fur shifting and moving as muscle writhes and existences clash. There is life before him, but it is not life that he has ever wanted to lay his eyes on ever again. Breath sucks in and out: lungs heave forward as the chest expands and contracts, so thin and malnourished but the creature is built on such a scope that Drii's head is only reaching that wide, broad heart, pounding behind a wall of fur and bone. He reaches out -- he touches, he knows, he lives, he breathes, he dies, yes, yes, dying again, following that broken thread he had once had. Alive, he had once been, with companion, with love and warmth and loyalty --- so much loyalty. She had given her life for him, and he grieves, but it is passing: it is a child that remembers a woe when it is brought before them, but is quickly distracted by another adventure on the next hill.
No smile. Only his face lifting up as that muzzle descends, as those teeth slip forward out of their sheathe and lips are pulling back. There is only fire before him: oranges and reds struck through with white and black. He could stand underneath the arch of the creature's hips without bending. Memory teases at him, mocks him -- but he does not want to know what it is he has lost, does not want to know what grief will torment him -- his fingers are buried in the fur, burning, as if the heat of it's pulsing blood is surging into his own cold hands. Endrit is never warm. Yet this creature lives on it.
It breathes, and it reels it's Rider in, tempers the insanity with it's own soothing croon -- it knows how fragile, how terribly broken he is. But there is no fear in it, for the commingled flesh of Wolf and Dragon have melded together in a perfect harmony: it is fearless, and does not fear the death that lingers like poison in it's Rider's heart. It's jaws are open, it's tongue is sliding out, black as night, as the venom his Rider lives on -- there is no voice he speaks with, for there are too many voices within Endrit's head for him to hear the plaintive cry of a creature he wants nothing to do with. He had killed his last beast, and now has been gifted with a new one. He should smile, should be proud and in awe of the might that lays before him -- but there is only cold emptiness in his eye.
It's heart is pounding, it's wings are unfurling, spreading out as if it would prove that it exists, would forcefully carve a place in it's master's vision as long as he would see him -- so it fans it's wings, wind stirring and pushing back Drii's hair. Whipped back, his sunken, blind eye stares outward, ever outward, unseeing -- but so clear that vision truly is. A moment of truth hidden amidst the lies: he sees not fire and hell, but a creature of flesh and blood, sees fire surging through veins of dust; a moment of clarity surfaces amidst the confusion of this sight: I will forget you. He thinks.
I will remind you. The answer once given opens the door where magic sleeps: threads once torn cannot be made whole again. Instead, the Maned Wolf Dragon takes those threads and knots them together -- taking that broken man as Rider and Friend, as Comrade and Master. It's tail lashes, black and corded tightly with scales; the tufted end slithers around to tickle Drii's vision.
There are no more need of words - just sharp wolf claws digging into dirt, a man's fingers reaching into the flame of that fur, his eyes dissimilar and broken; one clouds and sees beast, the other focused, pupil shrunk to a pinpoint, seeing only motion, only heat and in the midst of it all: a heart. You will be mine, he thinks, "You will burn my heart" he says instead, as the line between thought and tongue are severed and he speaks misguided, broken words. Not what he meant to say at all -- but the beast accepts it, with pleasure, with challenge, thrilled to take on this hurtle.
Ealei . It whispers.
I do not know you, Drii tilts his head as if listening to a world that the creature could never reach. Patient, it stalks it's prey with grim determination.
word count|| 928
tags|| No one Dx
OOC|| Let's begin this madness! ^/////////^