[M] there's a fire starting in my heart

Sirius Revlis · 04-25-2012, 01:26 PM

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HAIL THE CONQUEROR WORM

WC (+5) Rar!

The fires burned in his eyes, sizzling in the depths of toxic acid. They had shone there, a reflection, as the dead man's pyre had burnt and burnt, and the black smoke had billowed up into the grey Northern sky.

He was no stranger to death, and yet, this felt like a robbery. Sirius felt as though he had been cheated in some way, as though he had been fooled by the omnipotent presence of death, fooled into a false sense of security that he should never have felt. Perhaps there was guilt, festering deep beneath the blanket of his unbearable fury, but for now it would remain hidden.

A good man had been taken from him, and although his reptilian heart might not have known what to make of it, he had felt the loss deeply. Larkspur had been one of the founding five - He had been a brother, a bearslayer. The only creature to have truly held all of the Revlis man's fictional trust. There was anger against the dead man, anger at the betrayal of his death, anger that his great size and strength had failed him at a time when Sirius had not been there to ward off the blow, to fend off the bear's wicked claws.

Salvia had returned to him, but her consciousness was bittersweet. The girl was currently little more than an echo of the Ruins she lived in - crumbling, unstable. Until her sorrow passed, she was useless to him.

He did not have much of an understanding of grief, of mourning. It was much easier to feel betrayal and hatred, and thus, the King turned to these furies instead.

His form was that from a nightmare, a gaunt silhouette of darkness slashed out of the surrounding foliage. In this shape, he was a creature made of terror and sharp angles; Lean to the point of disheveled starvation, but for the iron muscles that were slick over pale bones. Long legs moved in an effortless lope. He had maintained a composure of two-legged civility right to the end of the ritual - That much respect, at least, would be granted the unwise dead. But then the King had taken to this feral demeanor, unleashing the beast within, and had been running through the forest since.

Perhaps it had been an hour, two. He had found a doe, and with little grace at all, ripped out its warm throat. The blood remained on him, still, strange and grotesque for a male normally so fastidiously clean and handsome. The kill had not diffused enough energy, and patrolling the borders had seemed pathetic; the dark night called him beyond, and like an obedient servant, the serpent followed.

The sky was a pool of ebony ink, liquid and infinite as it stretched above him. No god laughs at me, from such a plinth, yellow teeth flashed in a snarl, acidic eyes rolling to the deep still heavens above, full of spite. Something sang to his blood, and the primal urges carried him onwards, onwards to the only other creature in these dark woods who might have understood the madman's plight.

He made no attempt to hide his approach from Ezekiel - The male would have scented his approach. Regardless, large paws held an unearthly silence worn well by the Hunter as he broke apart from the shadows. The other man held his contained form, and within, Sirius felt the shame and weakness at being seen in this shape - The monstrous beast revealed himself to the other, padding out into the open, his lips peeled back such that giant yellowed fangs could glint. Thick shackles quivered in the still, silent air, and the anger beat drums of war within his blood. Paranoia and suspicion warped within his ravaged mind, producing only copious amounts of fury, that glittered and oozed in the acid of his glowing eyes.

What trust he might have held within the other was shattered by the rawness of this unfamiliar grief. "Mercenaries? Do you reap gold while they tear at my borders?" His logical mind knew that the invaders were not kin of Ezekiel - They were wolves, all of them, and as far as he knew Inferni had never employed such guerilla tactics. Yet the suspicion eroded his temper, and his rationality, and suddenly the golden male was just as guilty as all the others who had allowed for Larkspur to die. "What right has your filth to venture so close to what is mine, but for treachery and warmongering?" His voice was a venomous, rasping growl, lisped slightly by being pushed around such elongated incisors. His muscles bunched, and released, and with the speed of a snake's strike the Salsolan King was hurtling towards Gabrielson, a snarl of exquisite death spilling from his parted jaws and out into the still, dark night.

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