07-03-2017, 02:29 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
He is quiet.
Stoic and seemingly indifferent, a façade sufficiently veils the uncertainty and discontent stirring within his own mind – his own progeny had wreaked havoc elsewhere, and it had found its way to the shoreline of Tephra. He is uneasy, and carefully, his sharpened gaze is averted towards the looming, rumbling volcano, contemplating the heavy plumes of smoke and ash blooming from its gaping crest. The sulfur, at one time, had burned his lungs, but now it felt as if it were as much a part of him as the marrow in his own bones, or the scarring of his inky flesh.
The volcanic island had become his own, gifted by an unseen but immensely powerful force – not to be taken granted for (and he would not; he would sacrifice himself into a watery grave if it meant keeping it from falling into the endless abyss of the ravenous sea).
He could not imagine how he, himself, might feel if fire were to come, to ravage it – to singe the wavering grain, to transform the speckling of wiry, dry and brittle foliage into little else but ash. His heart might be filled with fury; his bones aching for vengeance – he did not know, nor could he even begin to know. Alas, it was not Tephra that had been a victim, but Hyaline – its innocent and oblivious residents rendered helpless and harmed by a band of reckless, power-wielding imps with nothing better to do.
He is quiet.
Listening.
He carries the burden of knowledge that none of the three have, but would soon find, and he could only speculate as to their ire. He knew that Warrick held a piece of Hyaline within his heart (why else would he travel there without diplomatic necessity – why else would he be in contact, if not for personal reasons?). He had watched the scaled King of Hyaline wash upon his shore from a careful distance; he had watched their terse, anxious conversation, and he had watched him wade away again. He knew that the secret he carried would not go over smoothly, nor would it with either the Head of War, or Nymphetamine.
There is talk of a guard, of preparations, and his voice rises up, sharp and curt.
”Enough.”
There is a heaviness in the air – a tension he cannot stifle; he cannot suffocate.
”It was not another kingdom; it was my son.”
His gaze is finally drawn away from the volcanic mountain, searching the planes of their faces, one at a time.
”My foolish, reckless son Levi. He is young, as were the others – children,” he muses, though there is an underlying bite to his tone. Children. But old enough to know better.
Reckless. Thoughtless.
Careless.
”Amet should look no further than his own sister, Iset, who had a hand in it as well.” He pauses then, his gaze boring into Warrick’s. ”She is the Queen, so I’ve heard.”
”It was a group of heedless children, wreaking havoc where they do not belong. I am dealing with my son, personally. He will be staying here, under my watch – should he cause any further issue, I will handle it.”
A pause, then, and a deep sigh – a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. ”I agree that we should have a guard; we are too unprepared – if this has shown us nothing else, it has shown us that.” He pauses then, observing Nymphetamine. ”In any other circumstance, I would agree – but I think that it should be Warrick and I that visit. He is most familiar with Hyaline and thus, more welcome than any other, and I should like to speak with Amet and see the devastation myself. If nothing else, he and his kingdom deserve an explanation.”
Stoic and seemingly indifferent, a façade sufficiently veils the uncertainty and discontent stirring within his own mind – his own progeny had wreaked havoc elsewhere, and it had found its way to the shoreline of Tephra. He is uneasy, and carefully, his sharpened gaze is averted towards the looming, rumbling volcano, contemplating the heavy plumes of smoke and ash blooming from its gaping crest. The sulfur, at one time, had burned his lungs, but now it felt as if it were as much a part of him as the marrow in his own bones, or the scarring of his inky flesh.
The volcanic island had become his own, gifted by an unseen but immensely powerful force – not to be taken granted for (and he would not; he would sacrifice himself into a watery grave if it meant keeping it from falling into the endless abyss of the ravenous sea).
He could not imagine how he, himself, might feel if fire were to come, to ravage it – to singe the wavering grain, to transform the speckling of wiry, dry and brittle foliage into little else but ash. His heart might be filled with fury; his bones aching for vengeance – he did not know, nor could he even begin to know. Alas, it was not Tephra that had been a victim, but Hyaline – its innocent and oblivious residents rendered helpless and harmed by a band of reckless, power-wielding imps with nothing better to do.
He is quiet.
Listening.
He carries the burden of knowledge that none of the three have, but would soon find, and he could only speculate as to their ire. He knew that Warrick held a piece of Hyaline within his heart (why else would he travel there without diplomatic necessity – why else would he be in contact, if not for personal reasons?). He had watched the scaled King of Hyaline wash upon his shore from a careful distance; he had watched their terse, anxious conversation, and he had watched him wade away again. He knew that the secret he carried would not go over smoothly, nor would it with either the Head of War, or Nymphetamine.
There is talk of a guard, of preparations, and his voice rises up, sharp and curt.
”Enough.”
There is a heaviness in the air – a tension he cannot stifle; he cannot suffocate.
”It was not another kingdom; it was my son.”
His gaze is finally drawn away from the volcanic mountain, searching the planes of their faces, one at a time.
”My foolish, reckless son Levi. He is young, as were the others – children,” he muses, though there is an underlying bite to his tone. Children. But old enough to know better.
Reckless. Thoughtless.
Careless.
”Amet should look no further than his own sister, Iset, who had a hand in it as well.” He pauses then, his gaze boring into Warrick’s. ”She is the Queen, so I’ve heard.”
”It was a group of heedless children, wreaking havoc where they do not belong. I am dealing with my son, personally. He will be staying here, under my watch – should he cause any further issue, I will handle it.”
A pause, then, and a deep sigh – a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. ”I agree that we should have a guard; we are too unprepared – if this has shown us nothing else, it has shown us that.” He pauses then, observing Nymphetamine. ”In any other circumstance, I would agree – but I think that it should be Warrick and I that visit. He is most familiar with Hyaline and thus, more welcome than any other, and I should like to speak with Amet and see the devastation myself. If nothing else, he and his kingdom deserve an explanation.”
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING