06-24-2019, 06:27 PM
jerisidie - the king !
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the old memories, fragmented and forgotten, where what kept the old blood demon awake. things he could and couldn't recall. but mainly it was the sounds, the sounds of armored feet crashing across flagstones and down the palace halls, the sounds of swords ringing and the dying breaths rattling in the lungs of the victims of war and rebellion. the sound of his partner's voice as he passed down the crown, a simple thing, but something that he could not recall for the life of him.
it was the heat of the day, when he would normally be asleep in his temple, having laid new vines over the old dying ones on the floor, courtesy of his plant magick. but here he was, the white heavily scarred hellhound wandering out in the shimmering heat of the sun. he was going through his memories as he often did these days, when a voice filtered through his cluttered thoughts.
ah, scent. that was ... a familiar scent? where. where was it from? his mind would work to go back through its categories of catalogues of scents and memories. something bright, something warm ... and something milky. child. a new child. a newborn. three of them.
the memory drifted just our of grasp, supplying a face that he could never forget. his. god-killer. life-giver. kindness-taker. no. wrong. husband. mate. love. father. forever a partner. king. yes. correct. nari. fallen. nari. nari? who was nari? ah, fallen. nari was fallen and fallen was nari. beloved.
his course had changed, the hellhound wearing only a tired yet solemn look on his face. sacred traditions. marriage rites. a kiss under a dying sky, before countless bodies. their marriage. their consummation. their children. their life. their kingdom. home. he wanted to be home. he wanted his husband, not the first, but the second who was the first casualty and the first king and the first to break him.
eons had passed and the children had grown and left home for their own families. he was alone again, left with an iron rusted crown. pain. anger. sorrow. grief. loneliness. neverending cycles. until, hope. brightness. love once more showed up. now.
his walk turned into a jog which turned into a canter which turned into a full-on pelt. he was angled towards that voice, that scent. his. theirs. home. family. mate. husband. love. happiness. companionship. paws skipping over the sandy turf before him, the hellhound panted as he flew across the ground in leaps and bounds, soundlessly aiming to leap at the liger once he came into his view. aiming to burrow into him and rub against him eagerly, greeting him wordlessly, small whines escaping the male.
nari.
it was the heat of the day, when he would normally be asleep in his temple, having laid new vines over the old dying ones on the floor, courtesy of his plant magick. but here he was, the white heavily scarred hellhound wandering out in the shimmering heat of the sun. he was going through his memories as he often did these days, when a voice filtered through his cluttered thoughts.
ah, scent. that was ... a familiar scent? where. where was it from? his mind would work to go back through its categories of catalogues of scents and memories. something bright, something warm ... and something milky. child. a new child. a newborn. three of them.
the memory drifted just our of grasp, supplying a face that he could never forget. his. god-killer. life-giver. kindness-taker. no. wrong. husband. mate. love. father. forever a partner. king. yes. correct. nari. fallen. nari. nari? who was nari? ah, fallen. nari was fallen and fallen was nari. beloved.
his course had changed, the hellhound wearing only a tired yet solemn look on his face. sacred traditions. marriage rites. a kiss under a dying sky, before countless bodies. their marriage. their consummation. their children. their life. their kingdom. home. he wanted to be home. he wanted his husband, not the first, but the second who was the first casualty and the first king and the first to break him.
eons had passed and the children had grown and left home for their own families. he was alone again, left with an iron rusted crown. pain. anger. sorrow. grief. loneliness. neverending cycles. until, hope. brightness. love once more showed up. now.
his walk turned into a jog which turned into a canter which turned into a full-on pelt. he was angled towards that voice, that scent. his. theirs. home. family. mate. husband. love. happiness. companionship. paws skipping over the sandy turf before him, the hellhound panted as he flew across the ground in leaps and bounds, soundlessly aiming to leap at the liger once he came into his view. aiming to burrow into him and rub against him eagerly, greeting him wordlessly, small whines escaping the male.
nari.
tags - white hellhound - the pitt