Post by littlekreen on Jun 12, 2020 17:29:17 GMT -6
Astrophel had few leads to go on in a territory for which he was unfamiliar. This place proved itself entirely beyond the bound. He'd thought the people here caricatures of the broken souls common to Losthome that Flynn traveled through. Later exploration closer to the city than the distant forest he'd arrived proved the establishment's residents merely rural. Charitable, he thought, with their ragged clothing and smelling of animal dung. The sunrise, however, caught him by surprise in an open field. Losthome, by way of his arrival, was a place frozen in some distant memory as their dreaming plane. Struck by the light of their primal motive engine or mired in the endless dark. This one showed progressive change over a vanishing horizon.
One familiar to a world that has no horizon ended stock-still in the middle of a distant grassy glen for nearly twelve hours as the sun rose over a dark forest. The High Iron's body affixed by the sun is a thing of harsh and sharp metal though smoked wisps as it paralyzed the dead hearted. Able to see under the smolder effected only frustration by the burning light rather than damage. Too strong to burn it gave him more than enough time to understand what happened.
The mechanical Orrery reachers made from Losthome frequented studies of the researching ones they called Twitch. In a world devoid of cycle one developed an acute sense of time, however, and it did instead give him an idea of when the day would turn again. Suffered patience and the single blinding reminder ensured he would not make this particular mistake again. The light started to rotate away to turn everything a pleasing shade of red with the brightness of this world's fire.
Though a curious hunter wandered out of the forest with a tube charge weapon as the light faded. One gloved, dirty finger poked his steely forehead with the creature's mealy-brained curiosity. Rooted to the spot while very much indistinguishable from a statue, Astrophel just fumes from unmoving onyx eyes until he left. Freed of the indignity of that blood-filled man's fingers, the sky flashes green once as the light dies from this world. The sluggish motive surface of his metal feathers fluttered once alarming the bird roosting upon Astrophel's head.
A stupid thing indeed as the cloth arm fluxed for a feather-shaped sea to part for his large muscled arm to flash up to it in mid-air. Head shook and sloughed as the skin distended slightly to cast away the bit of nastiness the creature left on him. Cleaned of insult but not wrath the false wrinkled cheeks split feather by feather into a maw. The bird panics at two rows of long thin teeth as he bit down into the living thing. The soul drinker sucked the creature dry of blood and natural energy as if the bird some deflating sac. A withered pale husk of dried flesh and bone discards to one side as the bird is truly emptied. He needed little to continue his existence, for he took everything, but would need to bother catching something soon.
A ring of moving of feathers fluxed from temple to shoes as he stretched from prolonged immobility. Absently pushes to his tie about the shifted surface for a good position. Dead and dusty soil shook off his false leather footwear; the grass underneath him rotted by extended contact. An innate corruption broke the immediate quintessence down though life would recover.
He certainly now had a better appreciation for twitch theoretical cosmology. The wrinkled scowl returned with his color Astrophel started walking toward the tall buildings of the city. Flynn may stash whelps in the wilderness though needs would lead her to civilization. A cane shot out of his hand as he walked down the long road. Slow, but less obtrusive to passing cars than running if there were hunters abound. Losthome had far fewer sapient eyes among the green than he saw trundling from corners of the road.
One familiar to a world that has no horizon ended stock-still in the middle of a distant grassy glen for nearly twelve hours as the sun rose over a dark forest. The High Iron's body affixed by the sun is a thing of harsh and sharp metal though smoked wisps as it paralyzed the dead hearted. Able to see under the smolder effected only frustration by the burning light rather than damage. Too strong to burn it gave him more than enough time to understand what happened.
The mechanical Orrery reachers made from Losthome frequented studies of the researching ones they called Twitch. In a world devoid of cycle one developed an acute sense of time, however, and it did instead give him an idea of when the day would turn again. Suffered patience and the single blinding reminder ensured he would not make this particular mistake again. The light started to rotate away to turn everything a pleasing shade of red with the brightness of this world's fire.
Though a curious hunter wandered out of the forest with a tube charge weapon as the light faded. One gloved, dirty finger poked his steely forehead with the creature's mealy-brained curiosity. Rooted to the spot while very much indistinguishable from a statue, Astrophel just fumes from unmoving onyx eyes until he left. Freed of the indignity of that blood-filled man's fingers, the sky flashes green once as the light dies from this world. The sluggish motive surface of his metal feathers fluttered once alarming the bird roosting upon Astrophel's head.
A stupid thing indeed as the cloth arm fluxed for a feather-shaped sea to part for his large muscled arm to flash up to it in mid-air. Head shook and sloughed as the skin distended slightly to cast away the bit of nastiness the creature left on him. Cleaned of insult but not wrath the false wrinkled cheeks split feather by feather into a maw. The bird panics at two rows of long thin teeth as he bit down into the living thing. The soul drinker sucked the creature dry of blood and natural energy as if the bird some deflating sac. A withered pale husk of dried flesh and bone discards to one side as the bird is truly emptied. He needed little to continue his existence, for he took everything, but would need to bother catching something soon.
A ring of moving of feathers fluxed from temple to shoes as he stretched from prolonged immobility. Absently pushes to his tie about the shifted surface for a good position. Dead and dusty soil shook off his false leather footwear; the grass underneath him rotted by extended contact. An innate corruption broke the immediate quintessence down though life would recover.
He certainly now had a better appreciation for twitch theoretical cosmology. The wrinkled scowl returned with his color Astrophel started walking toward the tall buildings of the city. Flynn may stash whelps in the wilderness though needs would lead her to civilization. A cane shot out of his hand as he walked down the long road. Slow, but less obtrusive to passing cars than running if there were hunters abound. Losthome had far fewer sapient eyes among the green than he saw trundling from corners of the road.