01-16-2018, 10:31 PM
01-16-2018, 10:31 PM
01-16-2018, 11:10 PM
Death ... well. It wasn't what you think it would be. Gaucho had always believed that his death would result in the ascension of his soul to the great plains in the sky, where food would always be plentiful and his muscles would never tire. But even such a nirvana as basic as that wasn't what was waiting for the Wildfire when his flame finally died out. But that is a story for another time. On this night Gaucho found his soul not in its usual place, but tethered to something that for once felt firm and tangible. Eyes the colour of storm clouds just before a downpour over the ocean surveyed a desert-scape that sparked no recognition in his primal, but intelligent mind. Around his neck a serpent coiled herself, unworried about this change in scenery given that this new land was warm and kept her body at an appropriate temperature. Cheery as ever, the small pheonix who flittered near his antlers offered a small trill of trepidation but, given that she had died once already, was not all that bothered. Moving with an odd grace for a creature so large and bulky, Gaucho followed a pathway that seemed to lead directly into the setting sun. He thought perhaps he might glide away into the fiery blaze and see what might become of this bizarre reality, when his mind suddenly stuttered. "Gaucho know this place.." He said to the companions whose minds, though no longer tethered, still remained closely attached to his own. "Crocodile?" The Wildfire murmured almost rhetorically, for neither Vorsa or Mara could reply in his mind anymore. But yes, they seemed to agree, Crocodile seemed right. Had this been a place ... ..in Helovia? Had .. had he killed someone here? A scene of fire and illusory magic burst into his mind, but was veiled by the remnants of his death. Memories were slippery things, once you had died. A glint caught his attention - what he thought might have been a spark - and in the hush of the setting sun pulled his gaze towards it. This memory needed no prompting, but instead immediately entered into his mind. Iskra. The word bloomed like the cactus' of the Throat so long ago, and immediately the dun began to move towards the boy (for all of Gaucho's children would remain children in his mind, despite how large they grew). Just as distant as he had always been, Gaucho had perhaps been a better Father once he no longer lingered on the earth than he ever had in life. In death Gaucho had the opportunity to watch over his kin, even if he could not be with them. With flaming wings at his sides, the Wildfire advanced, waiting until he was only a handful of feet away before calling out. "Iskra." It was not a question, but a command of sorts. The Wildfire's voice was a low and reedy barritone that rumbled with the same volume and bass of an earthquake. Gaucho the Wildfire
If this is to end in fire Then we should all burn together |
01-22-2018, 11:20 PM
01-23-2018, 03:47 AM
There weren't many times in his life where Gaucho had felt hesitant or uncertain. That did not mean that there were none, for especially during his time as Sultan the dun had encountered many a situation which required deligent contemplation, but for the most part Gaucho followed his primal and primitive instincts, and rarely had they ever led him astray. Into danger and chaos yes, but never astray. And so as his youngest living child turned towards him, without thought for how potentially traumatizing this might be for Iskra, Gaucho stepped forward to embrace him. The dun's flaming wings seemed to roll open as if to block out the sky and its greedy star-point gaze from seeing the embrace which had never been allowed to occur while Gaucho was alive. As the dun took the final step which would bridge the gap between sire and son, the oddest thing happened. Should Iskra have remained where he was, he would have felt only the slightest stirring of air. Was it slightly warmer than it had been, or was that only his skin creating a phantom embrace where there was none? Had the boy moved back, he would have felt the non-existent rush of air that should have accompanied the closing of Gaucho's wings around nothing, or perhaps in that moment he might have noticed how the dun cast no shadow in the dying even light, nor did his hooves leave an imprint of the massive body they carried. Gaucho was a ghost. Gaucho, new to whatever astral projection or semi-reincarnation that this was, cast his stormy gaze downwards not with confusion, but something like resigned frustration, as if he had been expecting something like this to happen. Vorsa let out a small trill of disappointment , while Mara slithered down Gaucho's neck and spine, moving his mane to ensure that she could at least have an affect upon him, if not the surrounding environment. Gaucho sighed, and a deep penetrating sort of sadness creased the deep lines of his face. It was the sort of sadness of a Father who showed up too late to a birthday, one who despite his best efforts had brought the wrong gift. He was a man so far removed from his son before him, and now on top of a mountain of missed opportunities, he wasn't even able to hug him. The dun's wings folded deliberately against his side like two smoldering points of darkness. Gaucho wanted to apologize for dying, for not protecting the Throat better against Kisamoa, and for not being around when Ampere had needed him the most. But even after death, it wasn't as though Gaucho had been gifted with a wider vocabulary and more complex set of emotional tools. And so for a moment all he could do was look into a pair of eyes much more vibrant than his own, and long for something that he could not have. "Gaucho see you, even when not here." He rumbled finally, trying to string together some meager offering that represented the eclipse of pain and longing inside of himself. "Death ... it not like the stories," Gaucho continued, his speech, while a marked improvement from when he had first arrived in Helovia, still broken and lacking any sort of refinement. Still, his words were coloured with genuine affection and sorrow, a bitter sweet melody that even his barbaric sentence structure couldn't ruin. "- but Gaucho see enough. Gaucho watch Iskra grow. Gaucho proud." Gaucho the Wildfire
If this is to end in fire Then we should all burn together |