The Portal
Oh... there's a twig in your tail.
Vroskar was now convinced he was being made a mockery of. His anguish blistered into full-blown, seething frustration—a slow-bleeding volcanic ooze, red hot in his chest. He grit his teeth so the muscles played like piano keys in his cheeks, lips peeled back in a snarl. If he hadn't been so compromised, he would have bitten back already, but as it were he merely simmered in his chemicals, cursing the blinking, breathing shadows for sucking the life nearly out of him and not finishing the job.
The stallion answered his question—uninterested though it had been put forth—with self-absorbed enthusiasm. He was completely unphased by Vroskar's not at all amused attitude. It struck Vroskar that he was either dim-witted, mad, or a combination of the two. To avenge the women of Loorien, he said, as though it were so blatantly obvious. Vroskar snorted rudely. He wasn't aware the women of Loorien were in need of avenging. He was just about to say so, but then something caught his ear, and he flicked it forward attentively.
The Rift... Right on time a murder of crows ca-cawed just out of sight, wings buffeting the air overhead. Vroskar looked all about him, noticing not for the first time the way the shadows curled and dripped and twisted, and light seemed to pool like oil in the air in some places, as though the very fabric of space were melting; as though time had been pulled apart—rifted. Understanding lit up his mind.
Vroskar had heard of the "otherplace." The place between worlds, between seconds. He never thought it was real, much less that he would go there.
The gods certainly had a peculiar sense of humor.
The molten-flow of acrimony in his chest hardened into stones in his gut and laid heavy in his belly, steaming. Once again he sighed, a surrender. Dread and resentment twisted up his insides. On the outside, he trembled against the cold rain seeping into his bones and had all but forgotten about his strange company. He spoke past the lump in his throat. "Is that what this place is called... 'the Rift?'" He asked, questioning the open air as much as his company.
He hoped this stranger would show a bit of mercy and say something useful. It seemed about as likely the shades would hear him out.
@Valkyrie
Vroskar was now convinced he was being made a mockery of. His anguish blistered into full-blown, seething frustration—a slow-bleeding volcanic ooze, red hot in his chest. He grit his teeth so the muscles played like piano keys in his cheeks, lips peeled back in a snarl. If he hadn't been so compromised, he would have bitten back already, but as it were he merely simmered in his chemicals, cursing the blinking, breathing shadows for sucking the life nearly out of him and not finishing the job.
The stallion answered his question—uninterested though it had been put forth—with self-absorbed enthusiasm. He was completely unphased by Vroskar's not at all amused attitude. It struck Vroskar that he was either dim-witted, mad, or a combination of the two. To avenge the women of Loorien, he said, as though it were so blatantly obvious. Vroskar snorted rudely. He wasn't aware the women of Loorien were in need of avenging. He was just about to say so, but then something caught his ear, and he flicked it forward attentively.
The Rift... Right on time a murder of crows ca-cawed just out of sight, wings buffeting the air overhead. Vroskar looked all about him, noticing not for the first time the way the shadows curled and dripped and twisted, and light seemed to pool like oil in the air in some places, as though the very fabric of space were melting; as though time had been pulled apart—rifted. Understanding lit up his mind.
Vroskar had heard of the "otherplace." The place between worlds, between seconds. He never thought it was real, much less that he would go there.
The gods certainly had a peculiar sense of humor.
The molten-flow of acrimony in his chest hardened into stones in his gut and laid heavy in his belly, steaming. Once again he sighed, a surrender. Dread and resentment twisted up his insides. On the outside, he trembled against the cold rain seeping into his bones and had all but forgotten about his strange company. He spoke past the lump in his throat. "Is that what this place is called... 'the Rift?'" He asked, questioning the open air as much as his company.
He hoped this stranger would show a bit of mercy and say something useful. It seemed about as likely the shades would hear him out.
@Valkyrie
