01-17-2018, 10:32 PM
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<td><center><img src=http://i34.tinypic.com/141t5ja.jpg></center><font color=#000000 face=times size=2> His friend has returned to kill him. Faulkor is surprised at how gentle his blue companion is - even as that terrible thrumming grows until their forest cave threatens to collapse. There is magic between them, raw and pure, too much for any mortal to control. And yet his friend wields it carefully, pulling it from his chest. It is as bright as moonlight, chasing the darkness into contained areas of writhing shadow that animate the ferocity of dripping stalactites and stalagmites. These are the teeth that will shred his body to ribbons, but Balto and his magic will be the priest to bring the darkness such an offering.
<p>The light is too much for eyes accustomed to years spent in darkness, but Faulkor watches Balto through narrowed eyelids. He knows he is deserving of this fate. He has killed. He has lied. And now, he is too old to be of any use to either of them. From any other hands, Faulkor would have fought the fate they brought, but from Balto, he drinks willingly. From his friend, this is mercy.
<p>The magic essence is reluctant to detach fully from the blue stallion, but as Balto touches his soft muzzle to the angular point of Faulkor’s shoulder, the essence flares brightly, and Faulkor’s knees buckle beneath him.
<p>“It is yours, Faulkor. Can you feel it now?” says Balto.
<p>A ragged gasp escapes the star-strewn stallion, perhaps a dying breath. The light is now within him, and it glows ever brighter, peering through his eyelids and nostrils. His lips empart one last word to his dearest and only friend.
<p><b><i>“Balto…”</i></b> and the old, black beast crumples to the wet floor of the forest cave. But death is much brighter than he had expected - much to his chagrin.
<p>He is reluctant to open his eyes, for he can feel the heat of the light beyond his lids (as if he is facing into the sun). He ventures a tiny glimpse, only to be met with an aching pain in his head. For a time he stands on this pale plane with eyes clenched tightly, but a strange scent arouses his curiosity - ink, as black as he is. Again, he ventures a small glimpse, eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Beside him he reads a name.
<p>“Faulkor.”
<center><b>F A U L K O R</b></center>
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<td><center><img src=http://i34.tinypic.com/141t5ja.jpg></center><font color=#000000 face=times size=2> His friend has returned to kill him. Faulkor is surprised at how gentle his blue companion is - even as that terrible thrumming grows until their forest cave threatens to collapse. There is magic between them, raw and pure, too much for any mortal to control. And yet his friend wields it carefully, pulling it from his chest. It is as bright as moonlight, chasing the darkness into contained areas of writhing shadow that animate the ferocity of dripping stalactites and stalagmites. These are the teeth that will shred his body to ribbons, but Balto and his magic will be the priest to bring the darkness such an offering.
<p>The light is too much for eyes accustomed to years spent in darkness, but Faulkor watches Balto through narrowed eyelids. He knows he is deserving of this fate. He has killed. He has lied. And now, he is too old to be of any use to either of them. From any other hands, Faulkor would have fought the fate they brought, but from Balto, he drinks willingly. From his friend, this is mercy.
<p>The magic essence is reluctant to detach fully from the blue stallion, but as Balto touches his soft muzzle to the angular point of Faulkor’s shoulder, the essence flares brightly, and Faulkor’s knees buckle beneath him.
<p>“It is yours, Faulkor. Can you feel it now?” says Balto.
<p>A ragged gasp escapes the star-strewn stallion, perhaps a dying breath. The light is now within him, and it glows ever brighter, peering through his eyelids and nostrils. His lips empart one last word to his dearest and only friend.
<p><b><i>“Balto…”</i></b> and the old, black beast crumples to the wet floor of the forest cave. But death is much brighter than he had expected - much to his chagrin.
<p>He is reluctant to open his eyes, for he can feel the heat of the light beyond his lids (as if he is facing into the sun). He ventures a tiny glimpse, only to be met with an aching pain in his head. For a time he stands on this pale plane with eyes clenched tightly, but a strange scent arouses his curiosity - ink, as black as he is. Again, he ventures a small glimpse, eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Beside him he reads a name.
<p>“Faulkor.”
<center><b>F A U L K O R</b></center>
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