05-17-2016, 01:41 PM
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
He doesn’t burn today, not in the usual since, not against the dried and brittle grasses and lichen covering the expanse of forest floor. Sometimes the seasons left things that way, dead, dying, it was a surprise that she allowed the Chamber to thrive at all. He doesn’t burn, not as it crumbles as he steps heavily against the fragile filaments, adopting instead the hard, black outer shell that he seemed so fond of. Black plates set in jagged, uneven patterns against the roiling, liquid heat beneath them. Sometimes the pieces shifted, pushed against one another in a horrendous sound and it is luck that he did not suffer pain from it- not anymore. Now this second skin was as much a part of him as the wings of dragons had once been, somehow everything fell into place that way with the gifts the fae saw fit to bestow.
Was it though, luck? Was he lucky at all? Often he thought not, instead he would decree himself outright unlucky and thank the Gods anyways for the opportunity to be anything. Killdare was man and beast and King and countryman and servant, he was many things wrapped terribly tight into one body and set ablaze as consequence.
The squall greets his ears and though the voice is not the one he is most familiar with the smell was known enough. One of the recruits, a soldier named Arthas called, beckoned him from the copse of trees and of course he should go and see what was the matter. Truly he thanked Arthas for being there when Dacia was in need, when the twins were spilling from her womb, fresh and bloody against the Chamber floor. He was a good man to stay, a good help and many would have fled that scene in a heartbeat. “Arthas, what is it?” he asks, simmering against the backdrop and pulling up close to face the other and his request. “Oh please do not say it has something to do with Kimber.” Sometimes he worried the woman was too hard on the men, or was it too nice with them and already she had snared Arthas into that trap?
Was it though, luck? Was he lucky at all? Often he thought not, instead he would decree himself outright unlucky and thank the Gods anyways for the opportunity to be anything. Killdare was man and beast and King and countryman and servant, he was many things wrapped terribly tight into one body and set ablaze as consequence.
The squall greets his ears and though the voice is not the one he is most familiar with the smell was known enough. One of the recruits, a soldier named Arthas called, beckoned him from the copse of trees and of course he should go and see what was the matter. Truly he thanked Arthas for being there when Dacia was in need, when the twins were spilling from her womb, fresh and bloody against the Chamber floor. He was a good man to stay, a good help and many would have fled that scene in a heartbeat. “Arthas, what is it?” he asks, simmering against the backdrop and pulling up close to face the other and his request. “Oh please do not say it has something to do with Kimber.” Sometimes he worried the woman was too hard on the men, or was it too nice with them and already she had snared Arthas into that trap?
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
