Solanis
08-19-2017, 11:36 PM
Volterra’s rage, evidenced by the pinned ears and twitching muscles and growling words, both intrigue and provoke the god.
He knows rage. He feels it burn from each of the four in his mind.
“Lost?" Kisamoa also knows loss. He knows the loss of physical form, this quartet from hell scream in his skull; he knows the loss of aland a world; he even knows the loss of a life—how many had he taken the day he sought to save multitudes more by opening the Portal?
He shrugged off those deaths, cervid shoulders suddenly slipping to lanky feline ones with the movement; and his neck became equid. They were unfortunate and avoidable, had these mortal creatures simply come to the Rift rather than trying to stop him.
“I wouldn’t understand?” One cannot miss the mockery in his baritone voice as he parrots the man’s growl. A dangerously amused grin crosses those shifting lips, “Try me.” Does he mean to provoke the very physical threaten from the man? Or does he mean to inspire confidence (hah)? It’s doubtful if even the god knows.
Shaking his head once more, trying to focus the many, ping-pong like thoughts that ricocheted with each new pulse of life through his Portal, his antlered head (—but wait, the antlers were gone, now—) refocused on the thing beneath his claws.
But gone were his claws, and removed were his hand, releasing the figurine once more. Oh. When had he done that? Teal eyes widen, studying the small bits of fire that leap out from the fissures his talons had made in the rock sides. Was he releasing it as an act of goodwill?
Did he have goodwill?
No. Maybe? Possibly. But probably not.
A sudden breath pushed out of his nostrils. It condensed into thick, black and teal-edged smoke that enshrouded the one-free golem. Though it didn’t seem to harm it—in fact, aside from clinging to the small thing, it seemed to have no affect on the creation at all. Yet.
Was this a test? A game? Who were the participants and what was the prize?
Or perhaps it was Kisamoa simply playing with all the magic the Rift had amassed. Even gods had to let off some steam.
He knows rage. He feels it burn from each of the four in his mind.
“Lost?" Kisamoa also knows loss. He knows the loss of physical form, this quartet from hell scream in his skull; he knows the loss of a
He shrugged off those deaths, cervid shoulders suddenly slipping to lanky feline ones with the movement; and his neck became equid. They were unfortunate and avoidable, had these mortal creatures simply come to the Rift rather than trying to stop him.
“I wouldn’t understand?” One cannot miss the mockery in his baritone voice as he parrots the man’s growl. A dangerously amused grin crosses those shifting lips, “Try me.” Does he mean to provoke the very physical threaten from the man? Or does he mean to inspire confidence (hah)? It’s doubtful if even the god knows.
Shaking his head once more, trying to focus the many, ping-pong like thoughts that ricocheted with each new pulse of life through his Portal, his antlered head (—but wait, the antlers were gone, now—) refocused on the thing beneath his claws.
But gone were his claws, and removed were his hand, releasing the figurine once more. Oh. When had he done that? Teal eyes widen, studying the small bits of fire that leap out from the fissures his talons had made in the rock sides. Was he releasing it as an act of goodwill?
Did he have goodwill?
No. Maybe? Possibly. But probably not.
A sudden breath pushed out of his nostrils. It condensed into thick, black and teal-edged smoke that enshrouded the one-free golem. Though it didn’t seem to harm it—in fact, aside from clinging to the small thing, it seemed to have no affect on the creation at all. Yet.
Was this a test? A game? Who were the participants and what was the prize?
Or perhaps it was Kisamoa simply playing with all the magic the Rift had amassed. Even gods had to let off some steam.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
@Volterra
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
