Freak On a Leash

Beyond the bifrost, a temporal spell magnetising travellers as they bled to coexist, northbound is where this deadpan-graveyard dared to lumber -- fall, eventually, mellows the scorching heatwave as it defrays atop earth’s dynamism. Soon, amazonian nuances juxtaposed against tones of amber-gold, brass, arylide and alizarin palettes; where there were once crumples of bistre flora, it’s sunbeaten dowdiness vivified into a cadmium-green wildfire, expunged by caribbean and celadon greenery. The soil that lay below felt dank, clammy, an omen of winters accost. An ever-changing regalia of colours expelled all aridness, bringing new life to its seasonal clinch; eyes of a midwinter nebula bore a congealed glare, frosty and impulsive, intrusive.

They’d lance every soul, if need be.

Of course, it wasn’t the gravelly plains, meres or fertile blades that offered antagonism, but rather a plucky and gambling contender that garlanded no maturity. Age, apparently, had few restrictions.

The sickly-sweet, gut-churning bouquet of iron, wilt, blood and tears infiltrated the hellion’s nostrils, soot squelching undertoe as it intermingled with secretions of scum, exiles, shilpits and, be it may, contemptible monarchs. Crisp canary, copper and citrine beads reanimated the battlefield’s pledges of dread and calamity –– a pungent zest flowered the wolf’s velvet tongue, skin itching, twitching, jerking –– oh, this was far too exhilarating. Lebraid caroused in the permeance of mortality, torture and putrescent cadavers, truly. Albeit, none of which could be savoured due to a gallant rouse, a challenge, a trial of teeth and tribulations, it seemed, yet a portent she could not ignore. There was no rhyme or rhythm, just epinephrine, baring naught emotions as an encore of weeps hollered in the void; ears taut, she’d assume a head-on position (8ft), crown low and defensive of her gullet. Well, it seemed even children wore a dire attire, but that mattered none. You see, Lebraid did not care for mass, augury or status, because it wasn’t carnality’s that won a war -- dark, deviant rumbles befell agape jaws, tucked and surmised to avoid injury, incite, as legs spread for permanence. The intoxicating reek of miasma galvanised a fetid snarl, beads of drool scoring from each tooth like some militant, ravenous ogre, almost cacodemonic and crookedly abnormal. No, it wasn’t often that she’d choose to participate in any superfluous combat, but today, there was no telling what she may or may not do. Behind those eerie, aloof, impassive eyes was a devil ready to be liberated. Webs of siam, heliotrope and lavender greys aerated into the air as if to appear elephantine, ghoulish, more prepollent than the fiery, madder-red and ivory boy. Bravery was one thing, but can they prove it?

She held no expectations, having been disappointed one too many times in the foregone –– so, what will they do? An ocean of silence broke in, cubing the very air they breathed.

Action. | “Speech.” | Skill.
“Wrong me once, I’ll kill you twice.”