07-07-2020, 01:36 PM
GHAUL
And ye shall overthrow their altars, and break their pillars, and burn their groves with fire
Like her, Ghaul has never tested just where his limits lie in regards to his strength. Just how hot can his fires burn? How many miles of land can he lay to waste? When do his scales become like paper? He was wondered these things, but he has never had a reason to exercise his full might. Prey is weak and his enemies require only so much of his effort before he is content.
But Craft is far from content. He is not wise, but he knows well enough to understand that much. Ghaul offers only a small shrug when she expresses her condolences. His childhood shaped him into what he is now. Perhaps greater kindness would have tamed him and persuaded him from his conquests. That is not how the story went, however, so he does not dwell on these things as others may.
“All parents harm their children in some way – even the greatest,” he finally says as he pauses to consider how he has raised his brood thus far. Will they come to the same conclusions when they mature and begin nests of their own? A sharp exhale marks his concern before he continues on. “Asphyxea, Cirilla, Yadigar, and Virgil. The triplets are a year older than Virgil, but they are all strong in their own right.”
The stars across his cheekbones glimmer a little softer when he thinks more directly of them. They are each wildly different from their siblings and yet equally remarkable. There will come a day when he cannot watch them as they sleep, all piled into their nest and snoring gently as babies often do. But for now he enjoys admiring their tiny bodies as they grow and change each day.
“Do you have children, Craft?” he asks, suddenly realizing he has mostly talked of himself. He does not realize, of course, what a loaded question he has asked.
But Craft is far from content. He is not wise, but he knows well enough to understand that much. Ghaul offers only a small shrug when she expresses her condolences. His childhood shaped him into what he is now. Perhaps greater kindness would have tamed him and persuaded him from his conquests. That is not how the story went, however, so he does not dwell on these things as others may.
“All parents harm their children in some way – even the greatest,” he finally says as he pauses to consider how he has raised his brood thus far. Will they come to the same conclusions when they mature and begin nests of their own? A sharp exhale marks his concern before he continues on. “Asphyxea, Cirilla, Yadigar, and Virgil. The triplets are a year older than Virgil, but they are all strong in their own right.”
The stars across his cheekbones glimmer a little softer when he thinks more directly of them. They are each wildly different from their siblings and yet equally remarkable. There will come a day when he cannot watch them as they sleep, all piled into their nest and snoring gently as babies often do. But for now he enjoys admiring their tiny bodies as they grow and change each day.
“Do you have children, Craft?” he asks, suddenly realizing he has mostly talked of himself. He does not realize, of course, what a loaded question he has asked.