Onward, to victory and glory! (3+)
There was a rustle of black wings at his side, and the serpent spared a moment to glance again at the creature who rode there. He was a terrifying sight, glorious, delicious enough to light the reptile's cold blood with heated flames. Their mission lay before them, the twisted path these two immortals had chosen, and they rode it now, side by side. Ezekiel's mount was a beast of fire and earth, the steed of War; Full of eager anger and dangerous pride, much as his master was. His own clawed hands held the faded black leather reins of a different beast - One spun from moonsilk and gossamer, one that floated above the ground with an ethereal and deadly grace. Perhaps, if they had both been seated atop stallions, the two would not have been able to ride so close. As it were, the pair moved as one unit - Forth into the black woods that awaited them, a strange specter that seemed to leap from the pages of medieval history.
The fire in his blood simmered, festering in his bones, in the raw cavity where a warm heart should beat. Eyes of acid seared the land, withering and fatal, filled with enough hatred to burn. His anger was not just the righteous anger of a god-given man, scorned; His was the fury of a wounded beast, a creature filled with unfamiliar, un-expressed grief. The emotion had eroded him from the inside, till all that remained was a cavity filled with acid, filled with venom. This was no plight for the righteous; This was the march of a damned man, seeking blood and cold, cold vengeance.
He released the reigns, using lean-muscled thighs to direct the mare; And from beneath the heavy pelt of a bear he withdrew two daggers, twisted and wicked in hands of cream. Bandaged arms flexed as the silver fangs twirled in skilled fingertips, the handled moving to rest in a familiar weight against calloused palms. Peagreen lifted to meet the sharp gold of his accomplice, his brother; He who was made from the same dark clay. And yellowed teeth mirrored that vicious, wicked green, sharp as the thin pin-points of his pupils. Black lips wrinkled back; the nose that had been tracking that vile scent quivering as it came again, fresher than ever before. War had come to his thistle-lined borders, and it was time that they eliminated this threat once and for all.
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