this is the way the world ends [aw]

OOC: Mia 19, 81380

IC: Talons beaded with water edged closer to the brink of forestry that was cast in shades of twilight and sunshine. A bright pitter-patter of green hues, mingled with flowers and the glow of midday. A buzz of crickets and tall grass insects, chittering away. Another shift of appendage drew the large toe pads forth, arching high shoulder blades in a silken motion. A saunter to the edge of shadow twinges, pelage rippling against taut muscles and sinew. A poised body, slightly scrawny with lack of fodder; abnormal, though, for it was much larger than that of the regular pendragon, and yet still somewhat svelte. A frame of rippling musculature crooned beneath a pelage of raven- a powerful chest and hard stomach adding to to his dark beauty. Abs were ripped, though his frame was not overly sinewy. The mascu stood at nearly six and half feet, a powerful and foreboding beast. It was already beginning. Things were already beginning to change. Hesitant steps paused in their sway forth, tattered shorts trailing aginst blackened limbs, swirling around ebony form. Two fur bags were attached to a strap hanging tight from hip to shoulder, stuffed to their fullest, bulging and pregnant. A longsword, sheathed in black leather and studded with silver was attached also; small leather pouches filled with herbs, powders, syringes, and other medical equipment were fastened to a belt on his hip. Thin draconic appendage stretched from muscular hinquarters, ending in a flickering white and blue flame. A somber visage cast the forest ahead a sullen stare.

Hair was black and silky, falling to his shoulders in straight locks. Beneath his darkened tresses, a raven mane covered the bruteÂ’s shoulders. A single ebon Aktrieor feather was braided into his hair. His shins and forearms were covered in white bandages, hiding deep ridges of scar tissue. Triangular sonars dashed across his skull, the first sign that life even existed in those abyssal pools of haunting sky. Not the bright hues of sapphire and cobalt, but the pallid, eerie glow of turbalent seas and tanzanite. It had been that way since his birth. A birth he barely remembered. A past that had yet to sink its hooks in his shambled and shattered heart. A heart which beat weak like metal against his ribcage, cold and silent within his chambers.

Coat of purest ebony shifted as attention flickered abysmally towards the taiga that dotted the faraway skyline. Often his paw raced to the pommel of the long dagger strapped to his side, as if reassuring himself it was there. Charred limbs buckling beneath him, the ebonite brute sat among the illustrious medley of flora. Beneath left optic was the sky-blue tattoo of the healer, a shattered piece of the life he had left behind, a relic of the Sennai. Strangely enough, the pendragon had not been tattooed on the hindquarters, but instead, in other places. In the color of sky, twice - on the right shoulder, the shape of an inverted cross, on his left shoulder, an abstract, gothic, evil-evoking rendition of a cross- his personal tattoos, derived from human symbols. With a blackened swivel in crania, Attrius looked back to the stream, gurgling a symphony of crystalline tranquility. His jaws ached with hunger. His stomach roiled with lack of satisfaction. It had been too long since his last meal.

Some people could call it desecrating. Some people could call it wrong... but to Attrius, it was natural and normal as the sun rising and setting. And every time he had killed, it gave him a strange fufillment to mangle and twist the slaughtered creatureÂ’s corbse even more. He didn't do it out of maliciousness. At least... not yet. Poison of evil had yet to sink its claws that far into his heart as of yet. He was still free-willed and independant. There was no demon wrapping itself firmly around his brain. Curiously enough, something compelled him to stay seated despite every nerve willing him onwards. In a million billion years, perhaps nobody would ever understand Atti, understand the pain and darkness he had been through, the agony of living with his terrible secret. Perhaps even more time could pass before an understanding was met. Perhaps that was the beauty of it all.

Serpentine paw edged forth after its comrade at a slow pace, haunches prowling him forth with ease. He slithered at the edge of light and dark, allowing the shadows to play upon his coat as she went. Those eerie globes swiveled, casting an otherworldly glow across the failing sunlight. Their stare never wavered from the horizon, sending down-poured sky into a wicked display, much like the flight of fireflies. Sonars weaved, warily catching all sounds from every angle.

 

Tainted wind drifts tickled the soft curvature of leather nostrils, producing a slight twitch from the attentive appendage. Something was coming against his wind, his space, his area. Nasal cavities stimulated sonars to thrust forth atop slender skull, casting a sullen stare towards the bleak horizon. Where light still played at the fringes of shadow, a figure was writhing, entangled in straps of musty leather. Flickering lanterns of sky rotated as shoulders creased into action, folding slightly to bring him torwards the lone figure. Like a black tide to its ocean, any semblance that he was hissed from existence, melding freely with the surrounding darkness and caressing him in a pitch-black cowl.

Muscular stature was spurred into motion as the creature of chocolate hues happened closer still. A lithe swing of limbs, producing a slow jog, a lethargic and timely pace. Azure hues danced within the fading sunlight, brightly burning from pits of vibrant ebony. A lively blink was thrown the struggling Luoko, offering little to no clue as to who he was or what he wanted. Some plodded, some trotted, some strutted and some plunked. Attrius slithered like a serpentine shadow, exuding from behind one tree in order to flicker oddly behind another. As though to step foot within the light would singe his flesh. Eerie globes danced and bobbed, floating as though their own entity in the fading sunlight. He slithered like an eel from its cavern, coiling against tree bark and saplings before large paws slowly drifted to a stand still. Almost like smoke, figure writhed forth, hissing from the underbrush in a slow dance of motions. Almost as though a feline to its prey, creeping ever closer with regard to the male before him.

Atti’s scent, unlike others, held the twinge of ash and sulphur. Something he was used to and hadn't attempted to rid himself of. As though his very paws had stepped from molten fires. This male, however, held mixtures of strange values. Assessment at first glances did not wield any answers. He watched as the ‘dragon still struggled, wavering in and out of shadows as paws stepped to and from the blanket of shade provided by the frost-coated trees above.

A scream rang from the depths of the forest.

He paused, slightly enveloped by the shadows, sable coat brindled with snow, salmon tongue swaying from spliced jowls to brush against the contour of maw. The leather strap stretching from shoulder to hip was tight against his chest, His thighs and posterier hidden by a pair of tattered black shorts. Strapped across his hip was a belt, supporting a llong dagger, sheathed in black leather. Shins and forearms were wrapped in white bandages, hiding thick ridges of scar tissue. Triangles brushed forth before fanning back against his skull. Yet those pools of liquid tanzanite did not waver from the pelage of dusted brindle, hollow and vibrant all the same. Supple waves of grass loomed from the gloomy roots of gnarled trees, prompting a sudden pause from the black devil's form. As though cessation of limbs were never present, he continued, slipping easily from the shadow-riddled trees and into the open. With ever step, muscles rippled, making it appear as the sky blue tattooes on his left optic and shoulders were upon a flowing obsidian sea. Waves of emerald stroked his sides, as though welcoming, yet aloof to his presence.

The clouds above were obviously pregnant with oncoming snow, as was clear by drooping bellies of grey and the alluring scent of moisture in the heavens. Attrius didn't mind the rain. Slowly, ever so slowly, did crania slowly swivel back to the Luoko. Nothing but a little black splotch against the sea of foliage tickling his thighs. Like a crocodile in its nile, looking to the zebra on the shore. His blackened, shoulder-length tresses were uplifed by the wind. Spheres slowly locked on his own as more sound permeated from the pendragonÂ’s maw.

And yet, as he stared, the wind began to whisper. As though fingernails on a chalkboard, spindley fingers unfurled to curl and beckon. A slow billow churned the leaves, swayed the fronds at her sides, spoke of scents somewhere far off. A sprinkled ting haunted the sound of branches swaying. Louder and faster. He remained fixedly mute, bright orbs searing through the weaving strands of green. The pendragon burst into laughter as he watched the male before struggle ever more. "Iyo vyyl!" he cried in Ramathian, sides heaving with laughter. “Nuira ev iyo'p tsui tsell, E kyolp das iyo pyfm!" Jawline creased open, somewhat of a ragged grin whispering across his features. He approached the writhing creature, and began his ascent to the top of the tree. When he reached the green-topped crown, he reached out to grasp a strap of the harness. Atti unsheathed the long dagger at his side. “I’m going to cut off the harness, and then you can fly to the ground. Sound good?"

 

ooc: Short.

ic: There was no assault. No brute hostility. Yet something within him spoke of hatred. Of fathomless hate, boiling and burning as though alcohol within his blood. An intoxication that was not easily cured as a good nightÂ’s rest. It came as easily as blood licked across the nose of a shark. A signal from brain to stomach, from stomach to brain, from brain to tongue, from tongue to brain. Stomach acids crooned for substance, straining within the confines of his innards, spoiling a tranquil mood with the desire to feed. A sharp stab within his gut, beckoning to be fulfilled.

It was the same predatory response every time he came into conrtact with that of the prey species. It was not planned, nor was it all together rational. Like a junkie to its fix, his body simply responded with hunger. Had Apollo been searching for something within his eyes, it would be a struggle to find anything of worth. He was like the living dead. A zombie, neither alive nor slumbering, but merely there to breathe and be. He had once been, and he would perhaps be once again. Like a closed window to the storm, nothing came in and nothing went out. A source for viewing, and no more. No hidden emotions rested in their depths, and no latent meaning roiled within their chambers. Empty. That was all the orbs of liquid sky would speak.

A croon of action whispered him forth, as though smoke had been blown in a seperate direction. A flicker of action once more which sent him coiling around a tree. Quick this time, yet lithe and deadly silent. Was he moving? Or was he standing still? Only bits and pieces of fur tufted through the quake of shadow, showing fragments of motion, of cessation, of motion once more.

Then, without warning, he paused anew, hissing forth on nimble paws. A careen of weight, shifting, coiling, breaching a high shoulder bone across silken pelt. Lips coiled dangerously, yet his actions were not hostile. Brutal. He exuded with brutality. Warning? Or was it? No hackles flared, no ears flattened to his skull. No white and blue tail-flame flagged nor did muscles stiffen with a predicted incursion. It was born of instinct and memory. Something within the creature oppisite him had triggered memory. Perhaps most important of all... it was emotion. A raw one, primal and unintended, but emotion none the less.

Ebon-taloned paws wrapped against the coarse rope of the pulley; muscles crooned and rippled beneath a coat of obsidian silk and sky-tattooed pelage. Arms corded with sinew as Atti pulled the taut rope, and slowly, the leather-tangled figure was lowered to the leaf-carpeted, shadow-marred loam. The black Yki-‘dragon extended a white bandaged arm to the Luoko. “The name’s Attrius. Attrius Infernus. Need some help getting out of there?"