| Subject: Lies |
Author:
Wyrd
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Date Posted: 08/31/04 6:08:49pm Tue
In reply to:
Ryiln
's message, "brief smile" on 08/31/04 5:08:53pm Tue
"We all had chances, and changes. Some of us more than others."
His voice drifted back to Ryiln as he walked away, then took a great leap and a powerful thrust of his wings, and he was airborn. A strong gust of wind passed through the sleepy streets of Hogoromo in the dead of night. The ringing of steel was staved off until the crack of morning.
Wyrd came to rest on the tallest tower of the castle, one that had no stair case to the top, but was just there for the asthetic quality.
A rippled passed over the Weave, and influx of life and death rippling passed him, and he looked to the south. Where the Escalvone dwelled. There was great death coming from there, and the ripple made his fur stand on end. He couldn't tell what had happened to cause this wave of souls to wash passed, but it wasn't natural death.
Nor was it honorable.
Morning would bring the word of terrible happenings in the Escalvone capital. The sound of metal was overthrown by news of a terrible massacre of the Escalvone in that capital. Wyrd's eyes narrowed, both sets. It was the gold set that glittered this time, while the red ones seemed to glow faintly. He listened to the scouts. Listened to what they found. The bodiesof the dead Ith'Dakar. The blood everywhere.
Wyrd snarled, vengence welling in his chest for this terible act. Vengence for a race he had nothing to do with, but was linked to in so many ways. He didn't wait for the first order to be voiced.
He tore off for the capital of the Escalvone.
Blood everywhere. Black blood.
"Magic...I don't smell. Manipulation soaks this place."
If anyone was watching, they would see an eighteen foot behemoth of a creature roaming the ruined capital, smelling and looking, and making judgements of his own.
Ith'Dakar didn't smell like Ith'Dakar..their blood didn't have the same smell either. Nothing here smelled the way it should. Not in the way it should. Any mortal nose would be fooled, mortal sight would be tricked. But the eyes of Law and Chaos were not so easily rused.
A dragonic paw lifted the limp corpse of an Ith'Dakar. There were no visible wounds on the creature, no way for any eye, trained or untrained, to tell how this creature had died. Surely not by any wound. All its limbs hung the way they should, but the neck. The neck was broken. The spine severed.
And yet it didn't smell of Ith'Dakar, no serpent musk lined this place in any inch. Gold eyes shined, and were shown nothing more than an Ith'Dakar that wasn't an Ith'Dakar by only smell. In all other ways, it was an Ith'Dakar. Sniffing the corpse even more, a silver lined maw opened and tore off a chunk of the side of the corpse, and it was quickly spat out, and the corpse flung to the side.
Wyrd wiped his maw with the back of his arm.
It didn't taste like Ith'Dakar, either.
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