And they would say that passion derives pleasure. That anger builds upon violence. They would say that with great responsibility comes great power. Who would we be to call them out? To call them wrong? We would be opinionated. We would be independent. We would think for ourselves.

Such beauty is adorned his steps, there is a torque to it, a confusing, grace fueled by power. His perfect muscles curving repeatedly beneath his taut flesh, his remarkable essence divine, his entity falling hardly short of the blood which flows through his veins, and that was perhaps, what had become most irrelevant to him. Blood. It was a fickle thing. Flowing. That was all it was. Liquid. Blood constantly fled bodies, and ironically, he could call it nothing more than liquid. Like water, it was a life source, and it too disappeared. It too was taken in by the environment, and yet, where blood soaked into the Earth, water rose into the atmosphere. Producing rain. It all just came back around. A sickening little cycle. Where was this sense in it all? Some natural calling that turned it into something purposeful? Why was blood so essential? Why so...desirable? It didn?t stay. Nothing did.

He had not been in the mindset he thrived in for long, no, something had changed within? his heart. There was something far more carnal flowing through his mind. Something more ravenous. It was all Maverick Tahir?s fault. He decided he was some arrogant force. Something that had a right to his sister? Foolish bastard. A low growl resonated in his throat before he collected himself. Why? Why was this something moving through his mind? Why did he hold such an endearing anger in his heart? Why had he allowed himself to fall so short? He could admit, while there was a part of him that told him no, that told him to rise above it. He was far too excited. Far too pleased by what was happening in his youthful mind. He was becoming stronger. He was becoming a man that would usurp his brother and reign over Valhalla.

Such a fresh, beautiful, night. If there was indeed something he put value in, it was the view of the world. Not the opinion. Not the drowning, failing, ideals of it, but the aesthetics. The elegant, regal design. Even he could not turn down the enhanced regality of it all. Even he could not look to the heavens and scowl upon the stars, no matter how much they looked at him with displeasure. Muscular thighs pressed against the Earth and the great Lord would rest himself before he fell into a state of oblivion. Introversion consuming him as silence befell the environment and he became a motionless hull.


Speech!

The banshee had paced the eerie borders of the tangled forest for what seemed like far too long, the heavy blurs of fog that enveloped the trunks of shedding trees far from the ladies idea of alluring. Chanting night creatures sent shudders of pleasure through the pits of her stomach, a counterfeit sense of hazard rising within the caverns of her chest, war-songs echoing through hollow chambers and drowning in pulsing arteries. The ecstasy of unknowing dared her to move forward, limbs seeking out secure footing as a decaying carpet seemed to squirm beneath her gliding chassis, alive with the presence of death.

His presence lingered somewhere unseen, the coming and going of his tell-tale cologne enough to drive her forward with a prevailing fortitude, each stride more convinced than the last. She knew not what to expect, and yet it didn?t seem to matter. Ropes of vegetation threatened to avert her success, the straining and cracking of fibres the only cause that would give away the vixen?s locality; her mind far too preoccupied to worry for stealth. It was strong now; his scent invaded her nostrils, over powered her senses, and yet it was hardly satisfying.

She paused.

Limbs ceasing beneath her spine, towers flicking attentively as she attempted to locate her brother amidst the obstructions of the forest floor. It had been so long, so long. A half-hearted howl threatened to caress the midnight sky, though it tapered quickly, a brief and harmonious christen, secretive in its manners yet aching in its yearnful drawl. There. Movement stirred, muscles twitching, nostrils quivering; an impatient whimper skimming the fragile rims of her gullet. A separation in the canopy exposed the vixen?s location, a momentary river-bend of luminous silver dancing across the tawny slopes of her spine as she waited, searching desperately for an unremitting view of her siblings elusive form.

<3

OOC: [ ]



What were they if not animals? Ravenous creatures focused solely upon their desire which were of far more carnal desires. They were failures upon a judgemental Earth. An Earth that only had the design in mind to screw with their head. To ravage their youth. There was no subtlety in the way things were done and there was sure as hell no payment in any of it. They were a lost cause. Something akin to a flame that has stopped burning, and perhaps he was one who saw the glass as half empty, but the thought did many great things for him, see, regardless of how little, or plentiful, the abundance of liquid in a cup was, eventually you would be trapped by glorious thirst and you would drink deep. Even if the substance was unknown.

He was not nearly as aware as his sister, no, he was far more oblivious to the fact that she lurked in the shadows, her fine corset drifting along and trying to taint the world in it?s own mess. Eos, no, he didn?t know where her heart lay, but, if it was anything like where his was...they had both failed their father, and what a loving man he was. Syrinx, himself, could not deny the fatherly instinct that Cairo had, and he would not try, but it further upset his mentality that he could not be the perfect son the King needed. He never would be the perfect heir. He never would be the perfect Adravendi. He was going to make mistakes, and admittedly, at least to himself, some of his mistakes would be quite purposeful.

His skull would rise to the night sky as his sister?s lyricals danced across the Earth. Breaking such a finely crafted resonance, and the russet Valhallan would waste no time in coming towards her. His figure would deviate from the shadows much like an apparition. He had not seen her in so long, and she had not seen him, surely the additions to his body would be noted all too quickly. His head would raise, pull back, and turn to the side exposing the grotesque scenery that was his apparent mishap. He would not talk about it, so much was out, fact of the matter was, everyone could see the lacerated flesh, the burbling scar tissue, and the milky white bone. He hated it. Yet, he loved it.

Silence would become him as she stared at the woman in the same area as him. Are you truly Eos his thoughts. What teasing little demons they were.


"Speech!".