10-27-2018, 02:27 AM
He is just a baby, but Carnage makes no exception in his broadcast; the image of the man and the message to kill him permeates the very being of the dim-witted creature, and, as any obedient well-meaning son ought to, he moves to obey.
Canrage - a name everyone seems to call him for some reason he can't understand, since his name is Egarnac, but they laugh when they say it so he does not mind - is slow in finding his way to Pangea from his mother's side somewhere else in Beqanna. He gets distracted along the way by the light coming off of his own forehead, following it around while cheerfully singing a song. Although he doesn't realize it, it goes something like this:
Kill the man, kill him good, kill for dad!
Canrage, Canrage, Canrage, coo!
Kill the man, he's gotta die, dad said so, don't ask why!
Kill kill kill, kill kill kill, killllll killllllllllll killllllllllllllll!
Eventually, he remembers his mission and finishes the journey to Pangea, the little tufts of teal mane and tail sticking to his sweaty body like algae as he goes.
When he gets there, everything is happening. Way more than he expected. But that doesn't stop him - when he sees a horse that looks like Rhonen (god knows the chances of it actually being him are slim to none), he squares his might(ily thin) shoulders and puts his magic to good use.
Breathing in the sky with the might of his Godly father, Canrage watches as the clouds and the dust and the trees make their way in a vortex to his lungs, swirling and twirling and mixing into something so powerful that none present would live to tell about it once it finishes brewing in his lungs. The sky darkens and he figures it must be him; there are sounds of screaming and he assumes it is in terror of his forthcoming doom.
When the last pebble at last finds its ways to the very bottom of his lungs, he grins; with the maniacally spinning eyes of any magician - or dim-witted child - he lowers his head to behold the chaos, and thus, expels all the rage in his chest.
Because he Canrage. And he Willrage.
(And so, upon the outskirts of a history-deciding battle, a tiny boy stands: breathing a little heavily in the direction of basically no one, kicking dust with his hooves and calling it a sandstorm).
Above the chaos, a shrill voice sings.
Kill the man, kill him good, kill for dad!
Canrage, Canrage, Canrage, coo!
Kill the man, he's gotta die, dad said so, don't ask why!
Kill kill kill, kill kill kill, killllll killllllllllll killllllllllllllll!
Canrage - a name everyone seems to call him for some reason he can't understand, since his name is Egarnac, but they laugh when they say it so he does not mind - is slow in finding his way to Pangea from his mother's side somewhere else in Beqanna. He gets distracted along the way by the light coming off of his own forehead, following it around while cheerfully singing a song. Although he doesn't realize it, it goes something like this:
Canrage, Canrage, Canrage, coo!
Kill the man, he's gotta die, dad said so, don't ask why!
Kill kill kill, kill kill kill, killllll killllllllllll killllllllllllllll!
Eventually, he remembers his mission and finishes the journey to Pangea, the little tufts of teal mane and tail sticking to his sweaty body like algae as he goes.
When he gets there, everything is happening. Way more than he expected. But that doesn't stop him - when he sees a horse that looks like Rhonen (god knows the chances of it actually being him are slim to none), he squares his might(ily thin) shoulders and puts his magic to good use.
Breathing in the sky with the might of his Godly father, Canrage watches as the clouds and the dust and the trees make their way in a vortex to his lungs, swirling and twirling and mixing into something so powerful that none present would live to tell about it once it finishes brewing in his lungs. The sky darkens and he figures it must be him; there are sounds of screaming and he assumes it is in terror of his forthcoming doom.
When the last pebble at last finds its ways to the very bottom of his lungs, he grins; with the maniacally spinning eyes of any magician - or dim-witted child - he lowers his head to behold the chaos, and thus, expels all the rage in his chest.
Because he Canrage. And he Willrage.
(And so, upon the outskirts of a history-deciding battle, a tiny boy stands: breathing a little heavily in the direction of basically no one, kicking dust with his hooves and calling it a sandstorm).
Above the chaos, a shrill voice sings.
Canrage, Canrage, Canrage, coo!
Kill the man, he's gotta die, dad said so, don't ask why!
Kill kill kill, kill kill kill, killllll killllllllllll killllllllllllllll!