01-14-2019, 11:17 PM
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He supposed it was only natural his temerarious attempt at escape would succeed in entirely the opposite direction. Distance he had wanted, perhaps even what passed for freedom in the world, but he hadn't quite wagered that slipping from one noose might corral him into another. This one, at least, had no pretenses of responsibility or independence - the rather hideous collar fashioned around his neck dispelled any uncertainty about what awaited him. He could appreciate honesty, even the sort that chafed and interrupted his fur's glossiness.
Sadly, his tolerance ended there. Whatever they had crafted the collar with - besides the obvious dull iron - had cut Dorian off from himself. Not completely, as he still maintained control of most his facilities; he just found that there was a disturbing nothingness that met him when he reached for where his magic should be. It launched him into a panic, and Dorian was not the breed of man to swoon or slacken when so profoundly perturbed. It would have ended better for the slavers were he as delicate as they thought him.
Their finale was much like many of the plays he frequented: tragic, and deadly. However, he doubted anyone would mourn them quite as much as adoring fans did the deceased handsome protagonist, artfully sprawled at the foot of his love's bed; they did not die as gracefully. If Dorian could have resorted to more than tooth and claw, they might have at least died spectacularly, but such was their own doing.
He hadn't fully dried from the necessary bath to wash their blood away, and Dorian wished he had given his fur more time. The temperature had far surpassed a tolerable chill, and he shuddered as he pushed his way through tall grass, hopelessly homesick for warmth and the salt-smell of the ocean. Tevinter was far away, however, separated by land and time and the looming reason he had for fleeing at all.
"Kaffas - I'm to freeze to death at this rate, and my corpse won't even be presentable. Such is my fortune."
Sadly, his tolerance ended there. Whatever they had crafted the collar with - besides the obvious dull iron - had cut Dorian off from himself. Not completely, as he still maintained control of most his facilities; he just found that there was a disturbing nothingness that met him when he reached for where his magic should be. It launched him into a panic, and Dorian was not the breed of man to swoon or slacken when so profoundly perturbed. It would have ended better for the slavers were he as delicate as they thought him.
Their finale was much like many of the plays he frequented: tragic, and deadly. However, he doubted anyone would mourn them quite as much as adoring fans did the deceased handsome protagonist, artfully sprawled at the foot of his love's bed; they did not die as gracefully. If Dorian could have resorted to more than tooth and claw, they might have at least died spectacularly, but such was their own doing.
He hadn't fully dried from the necessary bath to wash their blood away, and Dorian wished he had given his fur more time. The temperature had far surpassed a tolerable chill, and he shuddered as he pushed his way through tall grass, hopelessly homesick for warmth and the salt-smell of the ocean. Tevinter was far away, however, separated by land and time and the looming reason he had for fleeing at all.
"Kaffas - I'm to freeze to death at this rate, and my corpse won't even be presentable. Such is my fortune."
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DORIAN PAVUS: [size=9pt]bright, like the fish that kill you if you eat them. can't hate you for hiding if you burn so brilliantly. ✯