04-24-2021, 09:23 PM
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©tikki
The flickering of lighting and the rumbling thunder shaking the earth could only announce that things could get worse from here on out. Most people found solace in the storms, the sound that was loud enough to cover the sounds of screams, or howls for that matter if it was needed. It was a way to vent out the previous emotions that had occured. In the streaks of light that came with each earth shaking boom, a figure was moving towards and going anywhere between anywhere.
Mud streaked against his dark fur, it was mixed against his fur, well what was already fur and what was already probably blood. The rain was plastered against his fur, the mud made movement almost impossible, it didn’t matter. He was moving against the course of time, and he didn’t care where he was going. He went where there was well work, or whatever he could use for an objective.
What Aesoir would have confused him was reaper, he was not that. Yes he was associated with death as a murder sure, but this was something that one couldn’t assumed to be the type to harvest souls, that was impossible and unlikely. For becoming a reaper was like winning a lottery ticket, they were rarely made, and they were hardly created for it was suitable for such a thing to never happen.
The scent of blood would have been mixed with the mud, and the sickly sweet scent of death, although sweet could not be called for death, for it didn’t have a scent. Decay and all of that had their own special scent, that was hard to wash out no matter how hard one could, at least those who were used to such morbid practices.
There was a maniac glint in his eyes, eyes burning bright. The winds and rain was battering against his body, and he was just traveling. Not having a single clue of where he was, and it didn’t matter to him.
Mud streaked against his dark fur, it was mixed against his fur, well what was already fur and what was already probably blood. The rain was plastered against his fur, the mud made movement almost impossible, it didn’t matter. He was moving against the course of time, and he didn’t care where he was going. He went where there was well work, or whatever he could use for an objective.
What Aesoir would have confused him was reaper, he was not that. Yes he was associated with death as a murder sure, but this was something that one couldn’t assumed to be the type to harvest souls, that was impossible and unlikely. For becoming a reaper was like winning a lottery ticket, they were rarely made, and they were hardly created for it was suitable for such a thing to never happen.
The scent of blood would have been mixed with the mud, and the sickly sweet scent of death, although sweet could not be called for death, for it didn’t have a scent. Decay and all of that had their own special scent, that was hard to wash out no matter how hard one could, at least those who were used to such morbid practices.
There was a maniac glint in his eyes, eyes burning bright. The winds and rain was battering against his body, and he was just traveling. Not having a single clue of where he was, and it didn’t matter to him.
speaks in #eb00eb| kitsune | male