She despises the sun.
Months of captivity in the endless sand-sea beneath the relentless sun has birthed her scorn for the heat that sears her dark skin and strips her lips of moisture. The sand is everywhere. She never feels clean and for one who is always immaculately groomed, it is a form of torture that somehow seems far worse than when she consumed horse-flesh at the behest of the once-king Raum.
While the taste of the flesh of her kin is seared into her memory like a hot iron brand, it doesn't linger physically and ever-present in the same way that the sand coats her tongue and scrapes her throat like swallowing glass. At least the horse-flesh had gone down easily and there had been a starched napkin to dab the red pearls of juice that had beaded her chin. How had she fled one mad-king only to land in the grasp of another?
There was no escaping this empty, endless expanse of the great sand-sea and yet she was more than willing to die trying. She had spirited away in the middle of the night during the chaotic aftermath of Raum's death. Her usual guards had been too preoccupied with the death of their king to be bothered with one of his irrelevant, captive toy song-birds taking her usual evening stroll in the palace gardens. She'd snatched her scythe and belongings and the darkness had swallowed her whole.
But now, seemingly countless days later, the sound of the keening, howling wind was enough to drive anyone mad and dreams of serene Denocte seem distant and hazy. Had Raum spent too much time in this empty place of death? I could very well be on the verge of madness... How many days had it been? Three? Thirteen? She had lost track of how many times the sun had risen and fallen once her water supply had been depleted and that was some time ago now.
She staggers to a halt and lowers her head against the onslaught of the wind and sand. Breathing in the hot air burns like a scorching wildfire that sears her lungs. Her bones ache and her legs tremble beneath her and she is all too aware of the sand that grasps at her ankles...waiting for her to sink into its embrace. The desire to close her eyes for just a few moments is all consuming. And she almost does.
If it had not been for the earth-shattering howl raised even above the screeching wind she might have surrendered to the desert. At first she does not dare believe what she hears...surely it is a dream of delusion and fever and madness? But it is a good dream, nonetheless. And what is the harm of entertaining a delusion before Death rests his final claim upon her as she wastes away into sand and nothingness? She stumbles forward and falls to her knees. She squints and strains into the veil of billowing dust. The wind carries forth her name and a desperate, pleading cry...
Erebos....
She throws herself forward, adrenaline spiking her veins with an invincible sense of strength. She can see him now; a massive black hole hurtling across the desert, his captors hot in pursuit. She hears the chains trailing behind him like metal serpants and the collars on his three necks glitter cold and metallic in the hot noon sun. His eyes are bloodshot and wild; there are sores around his neck and ankles. Something cracks inside her; something breaks.
They will pay, my darling... she promises him silently.
Her wrathful scream intertwines with his blood-curdling howl. They are reunited.
The weight of the scythe is comforting and reassuring as she draws it forth from her back. The blade glimmers like moonlight overhead and the flash of Erebos's fangs are like lightning as they rain down upon the soldiers like Death himself.
Months of captivity in the endless sand-sea beneath the relentless sun has birthed her scorn for the heat that sears her dark skin and strips her lips of moisture. The sand is everywhere. She never feels clean and for one who is always immaculately groomed, it is a form of torture that somehow seems far worse than when she consumed horse-flesh at the behest of the once-king Raum.
While the taste of the flesh of her kin is seared into her memory like a hot iron brand, it doesn't linger physically and ever-present in the same way that the sand coats her tongue and scrapes her throat like swallowing glass. At least the horse-flesh had gone down easily and there had been a starched napkin to dab the red pearls of juice that had beaded her chin. How had she fled one mad-king only to land in the grasp of another?
There was no escaping this empty, endless expanse of the great sand-sea and yet she was more than willing to die trying. She had spirited away in the middle of the night during the chaotic aftermath of Raum's death. Her usual guards had been too preoccupied with the death of their king to be bothered with one of his irrelevant, captive toy song-birds taking her usual evening stroll in the palace gardens. She'd snatched her scythe and belongings and the darkness had swallowed her whole.
But now, seemingly countless days later, the sound of the keening, howling wind was enough to drive anyone mad and dreams of serene Denocte seem distant and hazy. Had Raum spent too much time in this empty place of death? I could very well be on the verge of madness... How many days had it been? Three? Thirteen? She had lost track of how many times the sun had risen and fallen once her water supply had been depleted and that was some time ago now.
She staggers to a halt and lowers her head against the onslaught of the wind and sand. Breathing in the hot air burns like a scorching wildfire that sears her lungs. Her bones ache and her legs tremble beneath her and she is all too aware of the sand that grasps at her ankles...waiting for her to sink into its embrace. The desire to close her eyes for just a few moments is all consuming. And she almost does.
If it had not been for the earth-shattering howl raised even above the screeching wind she might have surrendered to the desert. At first she does not dare believe what she hears...surely it is a dream of delusion and fever and madness? But it is a good dream, nonetheless. And what is the harm of entertaining a delusion before Death rests his final claim upon her as she wastes away into sand and nothingness? She stumbles forward and falls to her knees. She squints and strains into the veil of billowing dust. The wind carries forth her name and a desperate, pleading cry...
Erebos....
She throws herself forward, adrenaline spiking her veins with an invincible sense of strength. She can see him now; a massive black hole hurtling across the desert, his captors hot in pursuit. She hears the chains trailing behind him like metal serpants and the collars on his three necks glitter cold and metallic in the hot noon sun. His eyes are bloodshot and wild; there are sores around his neck and ankles. Something cracks inside her; something breaks.
They will pay, my darling... she promises him silently.
Her wrathful scream intertwines with his blood-curdling howl. They are reunited.
The weight of the scythe is comforting and reassuring as she draws it forth from her back. The blade glimmers like moonlight overhead and the flash of Erebos's fangs are like lightning as they rain down upon the soldiers like Death himself.
Thank you for the beautiful quest post of hulking Erebos, it was perfect! @Katherine!
