09-10-2019, 08:29 PM
V u l g a r i S
He vaguely remembers Mary, lost somewhere in the haze of his first reign and his declarations of war against the world. She had been the leader of Sylva alongside Sinner and now that role had been passed down to Starsin, he knows. To say he was aware of the circumstances or the details would be a lie, though. This makes him all the more curious when she comes striding up to his borders after Castile had maintained radio silence. Not even his dear former advisor had come to speak to him since he was brought back to life. But then again, did they even know he had been resurrected from his own ashes?
Vulgaris ducks beneath a branch as he closes the gap between them, younger and much different from how he had left his homeland. His joints no longer ache with age and his broad shoulders are muscled and full once more. The fairies of the mountain had been kind enough to restore him to his prime and his curse was broken with his death. To put it simply, he has never been better or stronger than he is now, he thinks to himself.
(A lie – he hungers for his old venom and might.)
“I hadn’t expected an emissary from Loess rather than the king himself. Have you come to congratulate me?” he says, laughing softly as though he’s told some joke. “Or does the dragon emperor even know I’m alive again? Catch me up on all the Loessian affairs and I’ll return the favor.”
He watches her, sage green eyes eager to hear the latest news in their end of the world. In truth, he doesn’t intend to divulge much of what they’ve been up to in Tephra, but he supposes he could spare a few morsels of gossip. After all, their magicians and their witches have all been busying themselves with restoring their home rather than preparing for any second helping of war. They had little to hide from the southern realm, he supposes. Maybe they would be interested to know about the plethora of strange children born here in the west.
Maybe they would be interested in a little trading or betrothing.
Vulgaris ducks beneath a branch as he closes the gap between them, younger and much different from how he had left his homeland. His joints no longer ache with age and his broad shoulders are muscled and full once more. The fairies of the mountain had been kind enough to restore him to his prime and his curse was broken with his death. To put it simply, he has never been better or stronger than he is now, he thinks to himself.
(A lie – he hungers for his old venom and might.)
“I hadn’t expected an emissary from Loess rather than the king himself. Have you come to congratulate me?” he says, laughing softly as though he’s told some joke. “Or does the dragon emperor even know I’m alive again? Catch me up on all the Loessian affairs and I’ll return the favor.”
He watches her, sage green eyes eager to hear the latest news in their end of the world. In truth, he doesn’t intend to divulge much of what they’ve been up to in Tephra, but he supposes he could spare a few morsels of gossip. After all, their magicians and their witches have all been busying themselves with restoring their home rather than preparing for any second helping of war. They had little to hide from the southern realm, he supposes. Maybe they would be interested to know about the plethora of strange children born here in the west.
Maybe they would be interested in a little trading or betrothing.
In this shook-up, twisted world, I'm gradually growing transparent and vanishing
Don’t look for me; don't look at me
Don’t look for me; don't look at me
