04-07-2016, 11:38 AM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
What we are, and what we become. Who we have been, and who we will be. It was an ever changing thing, wasn’t it? The Topsail of the Gates had almost been demure – young and brand new, a crown thrust upon her head in an alliance of good faith. What no one could have guessed, was the Topsail that would become. The Valley did dangerous things to her tenants – changed them in ways no one could know. She tamped the light inside of you and churned out something much darker, coloring you with shadows and calling to the dark side clamoring inside of you.
There was no question in Eight’s mind what would happen. The magic he thrust towards you, leeching towards the corners of your mind, feeling out for the equine inside you, had been met with a primordial barrier. He knew there was no way to touch that fortress inside you that had been built – you were reptilian now, intent on blood lust and fury. Your territorial vehemence rolled in waves off of you, and his lizard like eyes blinked rapidly, drinking in your agitation and trembling muscles. You were a spring about to snap, a tight tension of violence. And there, you went.
Your lithe body collided through the Valley’s lands with alarming velocity, and Eight followed after. As fast as he may have been, he knew there was no match for your speed – why, you were built for it. But he knew the monster inside you would win – he knew you would not back down from your land, and so he followed – knowing that soon enough, your defensive nature would kick in. This was fight or flight, and he knew you were not the latter. So onward he followed, his crocodile mouth gaping wide, his long tail lashing out to tear down tree and limb. He knew you would tire of fleeing, knew your raptor mind would be impervious to the thought that you were outmatched and undone.
Sure enough, the time had come. The precision in your stop was sudden and precise, and the velocity of Eight’s large moving body was too much. He slowed intensely, scraping large chunks of land to steady his body. He knew what would come next. He knew it was time.
He was easily three times your height, but the power and thrust of your muscles launched you with ease, your needle teeth outreached towards his skin, talons glinting as they sought for purchase into his leather armor. And indeed, you had found it. Your hands struck into his skin onto the heavy curve of his shoulder, your mouth latching upwards to gain purchase on his neck. He threw his head back in a peel of sound that split through the woods of the Valley. He whipped his body back and forth, attempting to shake you from your fleshy throne, hoping that your splicing talons on your feet had not dug too far in, that your mouth had not latched too tightly.
He threw his enormous body towards the closest tree, his shoulder aimed down to create an impact of tree and your body – a surefire way for you to release your grasp, regardless of the fury inside you. His intent was not to crush or kill (because how would that look, the death of his young queen on his hands) – but to free his body and prepare to fight again. There was no doubt that you would leave long gashes across his skin as you scrambled for purchase to stay on.
When you detach, he comes after you, blood flowing down the hide of his body – his mouth snapping out towards you – not to kill (which is almost a challenge, with how small your body is compared to his massive jaws) – but just to grab hold of your skin, any skin – to remind you that you are real, you are here, and you can still feel.
Well, better to attack him than an innocent – right?
There was no question in Eight’s mind what would happen. The magic he thrust towards you, leeching towards the corners of your mind, feeling out for the equine inside you, had been met with a primordial barrier. He knew there was no way to touch that fortress inside you that had been built – you were reptilian now, intent on blood lust and fury. Your territorial vehemence rolled in waves off of you, and his lizard like eyes blinked rapidly, drinking in your agitation and trembling muscles. You were a spring about to snap, a tight tension of violence. And there, you went.
Your lithe body collided through the Valley’s lands with alarming velocity, and Eight followed after. As fast as he may have been, he knew there was no match for your speed – why, you were built for it. But he knew the monster inside you would win – he knew you would not back down from your land, and so he followed – knowing that soon enough, your defensive nature would kick in. This was fight or flight, and he knew you were not the latter. So onward he followed, his crocodile mouth gaping wide, his long tail lashing out to tear down tree and limb. He knew you would tire of fleeing, knew your raptor mind would be impervious to the thought that you were outmatched and undone.
Sure enough, the time had come. The precision in your stop was sudden and precise, and the velocity of Eight’s large moving body was too much. He slowed intensely, scraping large chunks of land to steady his body. He knew what would come next. He knew it was time.
He was easily three times your height, but the power and thrust of your muscles launched you with ease, your needle teeth outreached towards his skin, talons glinting as they sought for purchase into his leather armor. And indeed, you had found it. Your hands struck into his skin onto the heavy curve of his shoulder, your mouth latching upwards to gain purchase on his neck. He threw his head back in a peel of sound that split through the woods of the Valley. He whipped his body back and forth, attempting to shake you from your fleshy throne, hoping that your splicing talons on your feet had not dug too far in, that your mouth had not latched too tightly.
He threw his enormous body towards the closest tree, his shoulder aimed down to create an impact of tree and your body – a surefire way for you to release your grasp, regardless of the fury inside you. His intent was not to crush or kill (because how would that look, the death of his young queen on his hands) – but to free his body and prepare to fight again. There was no doubt that you would leave long gashes across his skin as you scrambled for purchase to stay on.
When you detach, he comes after you, blood flowing down the hide of his body – his mouth snapping out towards you – not to kill (which is almost a challenge, with how small your body is compared to his massive jaws) – but just to grab hold of your skin, any skin – to remind you that you are real, you are here, and you can still feel.
Well, better to attack him than an innocent – right?
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in