In Dire Straits

Roleplay => Alteron => Isle of Glass => Topic started by: shar on June 19, 2017, 05:00:25 AM

Title: A Thirst for Melodrama [Isengrim]
Post by: shar on June 19, 2017, 05:00:25 AM
The howls, growls, and screams of the angry and dying filled the air like a melody. The crackle of flames served as a backing track to the death song. All of it driven by the bass line - her own heart hammering in her ears loud as thunder. Shar sprinted along, her head held low, moving with a odd sort of grace for such a large wolf. Others might have been a bit tense, after all, she was deep in the heart of enemy territory. Yet not Shar, if anything - she had bravery and bravado in spades.

No, Shar was filled with a certain giddiness. A child-like glee. The Rosas commanded her to rip these outsiders a new one and the Ashigaru was all too happy to oblige. Equal parts cruel irony and warning Shar craved substance, craved something more from life. She craved art and music and flesh to sink her teeth into and refuse to let go. Her mismatched eyes peered around, peeled for any sign of danger.

She fully planned on earning a few new scars if nothing else - and inflicting some. Fire did scare her on a primal level. The red dragon's evil spread across the thick forest and grassy knolls of the isle with alarming speed. Shar avoided the flames when she could, skirting around them and maintaining a safe distance unless hard pressed. Yet not too far - she craved all adrenaline like a fish craves water. There were moments where she had the inclination, no, the impulse to sprint full-tilt into the flames and let the dragon's fire scorch her.  Fear was as much a drug to her as bloodlust.

After all, it was only in moments of terror that a creature truly knew itself. What better time to learn who you really were than the Ragnarok itself?

A nearby scream caused her ears to perk up, head lifting as her broad square head tilted at the sudden sound. One of them? One of us? Whomever had made that sound was close - something a different creature might have found rather concerning. Shar merely found it curious. The din of the dying was so intriguing! She rather liked this battle song - it was primal, all fire and rage and fear. Smoke stung at her eyes and made breathing far more difficult than she would have liked or she might've hummed along. Stealth was not her particular forte, afterall, but then again... she wanted to be found.

Scheherazade. Chinesis. Shekinah. She mouthed the words rather than spoke them aloud. This was no place for words, even holy ones. They would only sully the song. Here, Shar only knew the song of war and she was all too eager to show off her virtuosity.