Whispers bristle soothingly through the alleys of this forsaken Empire, sounding entirely of the taint, spilling with malicious intent and malevolent regimes. Mother moons nightly embers shine brightly upon the structures below, illuminating beautifully the integrities of this Empire, from palaces to common homes, from common homes to spacious manors. Among her deathly, calming yet subtle nightshade however, was a creature, a beast, a monster to whom hailed from the very depths of the nine rings themselves. Titanium horse shoes meet the cobble stoned road below, easily carrying this mysterious figure towards the inner circle of this Empire. Clop . . . clop . . . clop . . . The steeds slow, steady, forward march was entirely disciplined, no ounce of slack to be seen. Its rough obsidian coloured coat was covered in fresh ash, blood, and smog. A trail of nightshade shadows follow lazily behind, as if the steed this creature was riding, was in fact smoking like a freshly sparked cigarette, and with each moment the smoke lazily attempted to cling and keep up, yet faltering and wavering behind. Yet creature that lurks a top the horse back, observes his surroundings in utter silence. His entire form should he demount and ascend the rest of his journey upon feet, would reach the height of six feet, three inches with literal ease. His shoulders are broad, weighted and heavy, indicating that his muscular structure was built to perfect, built and constructed to exchange for long periods of time and still pump out enough energy to outperform even the most lethal of monstrosities. Nothing but coffee black could be seen gracing his hellish form. Obsidian coloured Titanium plates after plates, scaled armor from head to toe, apart from his face of course, more on that soon. These armored plates are particularly grooved towards the outer edges, creating that of a snake like skin visual appearance, while underneath, they have been reinforced, to withstand even the most battering of impacts. And due to the properties of the crimson forge, and the ability to meld stone and metal, to combine as one and remove all impurities, the armor has extra durability towards blunt impacts, absorbing most of the damage and dispelling it. Though back to his facials in particular. What sits upon his face was the symbol and signature of his impressive victory history, a fine porcelain mask that during all of his wars, conquests, and violent exchanges, still to this day has never been scratched, or so he believes. That pristine white porcelain mask symbolizing his cruel oppressive and destructive regimes, the Mask of Destruction they titled it, Xari’s one and only pride and joy. The slits of its eyes are angled towards the nose, resembling that of a predators gaze; while the outer rim of the mask was grooved back, to yet again symbolize sooth scales. The white mask made it easily to identify the contrast between the white and the red, the mask and the eyes. Those orbs of his slumbering behind that mask, pools of malicious hellfire crimson, the ninth rings most purist of fire, the Searing Crimson. That gaze of his was perhaps one of his most dangerous traits, for you can see the literal malicious and sinister intent within those pools of chaos, should you dare look straight into them, same say even a glimpse has the power to render the mind null and hypnotised, a gaze like that was well known to force trance like effects upon the normal mind. He reached his destination, that being the Empires palace. Oh, how he could smell the scent of his Brother, Lord of War. “ Khorne... “ His vocals slurred and mummered, summoning his presence to his side effective immediately. Suddenly, his vocal pitch roared that of a magnificent growl, allowing slurred vocals, tone and pitch to work hand in hand towards the summoning of his brother. “ Khorne! “ He roared once more. There was always aggression within Xari’s tone, making it almost impossible to distinguish whether or not he was angry, or pleased, however, that was soon to be identified. Xari’s armoured and titanium gloved palms grappled against the steeds bindings, before his entire form rolled to the right allowing him to demount from his Demonic Horse. Thump! The metal soles of his boots crunched against the cobble stoned flooring below, delivering an easy crack to the surface. It seems that even within this Lord of Hell’s footsteps, Destruction follows within wake.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Feb 2014 02:49:34 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015