Illusive shadows hung in the area to which the banshee and dove would come in order to foolishly court a brute. Autumn let in its dreary clouds and the needed precipitation fell pounding against the topography, the fallen foliage would decay quicker once the Solar orb returned to lay its forskaken golden rays ‘pon the earth which I stood, but for now, the air was lulled and chilled. Eerie sounds unsettled from the shrubbery as petite creature huddled among them to escape the rains wrath. It was an unusually harsh rain for the season but it was something I did not particularly detest, the blazing inferno that the Summer months had brought were finally ended, my deep crimson coat would no longer attract unneeded radiation from the Fire in the skies above me. Soon, winter would breathe a breath of ice ‘cross the lithosphere, and the alabaster powder would drape from the withering oaks and anything that remained stationary for to long. Many deaths would arise from this month, although many, perhaps more then half, would occur not from bloodshed unfortunately, no, these deaths would come from the lack of the ability to adapt to the harsh frost which will for over your body as you take rest, the bitter cold numbing your body as you pray for a source of heat. The malnutrition many are overcome by due to the lack of vegetation still growing. First to go are the elders, then the unfortunate spawns, to weak to defend themselves from Mother Nature’s wrath. In truth-none of us can defend ourselves against her mighty powers. But enough dwelling, autumns rains hath just begun, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Like a placid phantom I continued to flow over the lithosphere, daggers left miniscule indents ‘pon her top, which were soon after my passing, erased by the fine chocolate mud which sloshed beneath me. My slender pedestals splattered with a the earthen mixture as the carried me forth, impulsion arriving non stop, my gait rang tri beated. A salt crystallized upon my serpentine and barrel. Harks melted on my flame kissed cranium as I maneuvered through the dank and dreary place. The wind and precipitation whipped at my hide like stones beating on my pelt. My dreads tangled in another as the wind made them dance like vipers upon my arch, my banner flying high behind me as my gait increased smoothly. My iridescence a snow licked crimson, my hue drawing me from the background. I was not now in my most desirable phase, mud had clung to my underside and my stalks, my plume was not silken, most would think I was undesirable, But I quite enjoy my chaotic state in which I assume and I will not go out of my way just to make another brute grovel at my beauty, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it matters not what the outside portrays, My withered aorta beats faintly of its own persona and If you feel so such strong loathing then turn your sorry ass to leave me be. I will fair fine without the likes of your stupidity. Thank You.
Night choked at its surroundings, the stars shrouded but the unbreakable rain fall which poured down on me and others who still remained on the claiming delta. The sleepers fled to the covered areas of the lands to maintain there “Beauty” for the shallow brutes they wanted to intoxicate. Stupid little tramps, I would love to rip out there Jugulars and watch them choke for their breath as crimson filled their lungs. That my dear, is beauty, beauty in the battle. All is fair in Love and war bytch. Get over yourselves…
I finally slowed my haste to a halt, no, I didn’t attempt to enter a crevice or plea for protection from a tree. I simply halted, not far from where the land met a murky bed of aqua. In my solitude, my crimson pelt bore the marks of the many I had thrown into the underworld, the many strings I had cut. They shone a silver hue, healed with time. I simply adored them. They spoke without words of my past. They told stories to the paths I crossed.
I stood, not far from the edge, I could still see the ever growing darkness within the aqua of the minor crater in the earth. I let no sound but the passing of oxy from my paper-thins echo through the wind and rain. I stood simply admiring the chaos in the scene I was unintentionally a part of. If a Hellian came so be it, but I was not in search of one so to speak, I simply gazed at my surroundings, A slight sense of Fatigue filled my veins in boredom almost, as the fall of the drops lightened a bit, the sky remained a deep navy as the sun didn’t dare emerge from the horizon, scarred off by Mother Nature’s fury.
The hard lashings of the raging rain and sleet beat on a dulled and scarred alabaster canvas, but the brute to who it begonged paid no heed to the biting pain that may make others flinch. 'Is stalwart frame was as hard as 'is stone cold heart. 'E races through the violent downpour, 'is daggers making a sharp four beat rhythm on the sodden earth, each stride digging in hard to hold 'is ground, and kicking up soft clods of terrain as 'e bolts o'er the topography. 'Is pools, grey and dangerous as the stormy heavens above, were focused directly on 'is path, nares flaring as 'e draws cold breaths that burnt 'is throat, but that also filled 'im with the scents of a seductress who had caught 'is senses, and who had induced 'is wild run from the other side of the ground. Too long has it been since 'e had felt the touch of a femme, too long has 'e missed the one that 'e had let 'imself love, and now that 'e had caught the aroma of a nymph so strong, 'e was ready to take the chance again.
'Oh wench, I can sense ye are near... I will find thee, rain or no...' 'E thinks deviously, crescents eagerly devouring more of 'er scent from the oxi. 'Is keen sight took in the sight of other mares sheltering themselves, maintaining their looks for some young back that may pass them by. 'E was not young, not did 'is desires run that shallowly, a pelt was just a pelt, until it was scarred and tarnished, then it was a story of epic battles, and a reminder of honours past commited. 'E smirked at this thought and instantly knew that the wench 'e wanted stood not under an outcrop or a tree, 'he stood in the storm, 'er banners and coat drenched, 'er form chilled to the bone though 'he would not show it, and 'he would not seek 'im out. 'E was to come to 'er. Suddenly the brujo's pools catch the crimson hued carcass of a fae through the sheets of rain still attacking the earth, and from how 'he held 'erself, and from 'er sheer presence, 'e knew 'he was the one 'e was after. With an imperious flick of 'is crown 'e skids slightly in the mud to change direction and heads to 'er, and cran held high 'e addresses 'er in a coarse hiss,
"Seductress who savours the storm, I am Dark Wrath of Hell's Core. I was drawn to ye, your strong auror, and wish ye to accompany me back to my terra." 'E growls shortly, never one who was good with words. 'E steps closer to 'er, pushing 'er slightly with 'is barrel and half rearing to brush 'er blade with one of 'is fores, darkened and splattered to the knees with dark mahogany mud. 'E instictivly tried to get 'er to face in the direction of 'is terra, 'is primal desire to have 'er too strong for 'im to control.