12-12-2006, 06:20 PM
Catalyst: A reinvigorated prowess that had been tucked away within the carefully secluded hierarchs of his competence, and released within a roar of bestiary instinct.
With his crown elevated in a newborn glory he stood, his arms folded before his chest and his gaze set across Dante?s plains. The battle for that tower?Aztec or something or another, Cold didn?t have the time to recall?It had definitely been quite the shove that they needed. Now, they were knee deep in the recesses of the enemy territory. And the shove that they?d received, had set forth under the philosophy that energy isn?t destroyed, just transferred. From the outskirts of Outcast homeland they came upon a village, and within the village were the exiled. A smile had decorated lord Colda?s smug visage as they took their leave, leaving a village to fend for themselves.
It would have seemed kosher to apply Dante?s superiority to the term infamous, though Cold knew better than any other they were far from a widespread renown. In fact he felt as though they were setting themselves up for a common ruin, in the lower recesses of conscious thought.
?So what do you say before you die changeling?? A hoarse voice had whispered into his ear, the threat of corroded steel pressed up against his throat. A syntech assassin had paraded up the tower and chosen him as its bull?s eye.
?That I won?t.? Cold sniggered in immoral delight, a tunneling wave of violet entity bursting forth from his underhandedly directed palm. With his roar of failure still ringing in the changeling?s ear he was reduced to a blood-spattered and ruined glorification. Cold breathed heavy, his life having just left the hands of a man who harbored ill wishes against it. There was a tension in the air that he didn?t have the nerve to describe, although the only words that came to mind were survival and unfit.
It was in the heart of a battle four days prior that he realized he was unfit for this war. It was four days prior that he decided there were truly no other options but to survive. It was also four days prior that he changed. Not the shedding of a cocoon either, mind you.
An assassin had fallen, pressed backwards under the raping pressure of the estranged changeling, breaking him through the barricade that kept the night watch from slipping to an unneeded accident. And Cold peered over the ledge, his resolution to revolution evident, yet he remained over the rest. A skeptical smirk had joined his features. Its intentions were masked and his eyes had yet to betray his thoughts. His prominence as king had shaken him with an unexpected arrival. Bitter, was its entry.
With his eyes never losing sight of the village that lie before them, Cold questioned his commander. The one they looked to with admiration for his decisive pursuit. The one they called Burori. ?Commander, do you think they?ll join as willingly as the rest?? Mere curiosity never killed the cat, just the pursuit.
With his crown elevated in a newborn glory he stood, his arms folded before his chest and his gaze set across Dante?s plains. The battle for that tower?Aztec or something or another, Cold didn?t have the time to recall?It had definitely been quite the shove that they needed. Now, they were knee deep in the recesses of the enemy territory. And the shove that they?d received, had set forth under the philosophy that energy isn?t destroyed, just transferred. From the outskirts of Outcast homeland they came upon a village, and within the village were the exiled. A smile had decorated lord Colda?s smug visage as they took their leave, leaving a village to fend for themselves.
It would have seemed kosher to apply Dante?s superiority to the term infamous, though Cold knew better than any other they were far from a widespread renown. In fact he felt as though they were setting themselves up for a common ruin, in the lower recesses of conscious thought.
?So what do you say before you die changeling?? A hoarse voice had whispered into his ear, the threat of corroded steel pressed up against his throat. A syntech assassin had paraded up the tower and chosen him as its bull?s eye.
?That I won?t.? Cold sniggered in immoral delight, a tunneling wave of violet entity bursting forth from his underhandedly directed palm. With his roar of failure still ringing in the changeling?s ear he was reduced to a blood-spattered and ruined glorification. Cold breathed heavy, his life having just left the hands of a man who harbored ill wishes against it. There was a tension in the air that he didn?t have the nerve to describe, although the only words that came to mind were survival and unfit.
It was in the heart of a battle four days prior that he realized he was unfit for this war. It was four days prior that he decided there were truly no other options but to survive. It was also four days prior that he changed. Not the shedding of a cocoon either, mind you.
An assassin had fallen, pressed backwards under the raping pressure of the estranged changeling, breaking him through the barricade that kept the night watch from slipping to an unneeded accident. And Cold peered over the ledge, his resolution to revolution evident, yet he remained over the rest. A skeptical smirk had joined his features. Its intentions were masked and his eyes had yet to betray his thoughts. His prominence as king had shaken him with an unexpected arrival. Bitter, was its entry.
With his eyes never losing sight of the village that lie before them, Cold questioned his commander. The one they looked to with admiration for his decisive pursuit. The one they called Burori. ?Commander, do you think they?ll join as willingly as the rest?? Mere curiosity never killed the cat, just the pursuit.