12-25-2015, 09:53 PM
Two winged giants strode side-by-side to the edge of the Deserts; one an inky black beast and the other an exact replica of the same – except made entirely of desert bedrock, down to the wings and feathers about his hooves. His kingdom was huge and housed only a few members at its present time, there was not even a verifiable army yet. He could not, in good conscious leave it, nor Yael (as if she needed such a thing) undefended. But perhaps the presence of his creation would quell the slight swell of anxiety that bulged his nerves as he stepped from his kingdom and into the unclaimed sky. And when the king’s shadow finally drifts from the sands to the sea between the kingdoms, he looks back to make sure the red stone leviathan has began his patrol of the Deserts borders.
The Jungle and Vanquish were no strangers to each other. His own son was once a true prince of both the Deserts and the Jungle, born out of political maneuvering by Nocturnal and the winged king. Tarnished had been meant to be an heir, a bloodtie between the two kingdoms. But the fruition of such an intent had not been meant to blossom. Nocturnal had left them and he had allowed Queen Quark to take their boy - their special, dark and twisty little boy. He had grown up within its depths, even carried its heavy loamy scent on his skin. Another of his favored sons even loved a mare that dwelled within its depths still today. The Jungle and the Deserts had been allies for many years beneath many queens – but this one, Lagertha, he did not know and a war had been brewing in the northwinds for many days now.
The Nightwalker had, truth be truly known, made his decision well before the true details of this war emerged. He was no novice to the deviance that dwelled within the breast of the Valley, but he was quite more surprised to learn of the Chambers initiation of the hostilities. He had once also held an alliance with the Chamber queen’s father, many years ago when the Deserts were vibrant and teeming and unopposed.
Vanquish drops from the sky beyond the Amazons borders, massive wings flailing irritably against his raven sides as his hooves sink into the suckling mud. The draft flings his heavy head as he makes his way towards the border, idling at its edge when he reaches the perimeter of the Jungle’s true beginnings. Large, black sides heave as he calls out for someone to come welcome him in and bring him to their queen, propriety was a lost fucking art, you know?
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vanquish
black king of the deserts
