blood, blood, gallons of the stuff! | accepting!
@clawedxmoon sent: " holy shit, are you okay ? " -Brenin
The wound oozed a viscous, shimmering blackness---a swell of odorous ichor, seeping thick between spindly talons.
The legendarily infamous fae, known only in hushed whispers as "Brenin"---ancient as the first stones implanted in the earth, immovable as the trees with the deepest of roots, more powerful than the unforgiving storm. Oh yes, once upon a time, he had towered above every creature within every gap of every tree within every forest---
Yet now, he had been reduced to... this. A walking corpse---a shell of his former, glorious self.
And upon this one venture out into the drumming rain, he had been accosted by not only a pack of ravenous wolves, but by a band of particularly bloodthirsty bandits that were quite interested in collecting his hide.
His only, innocent goal had been to seek out branches to rekindle the fireplace of his hovel for the impending blizzard.
How very pathetic, he bemoaned, as the tips of his clawed fingers prodded gently the gouges delivered upon him, once the hounds and the mortals had been brutally eliminated, left as bloody splatters and chunks upon the ground---and oh, how he was in the midst of his sorrowful ruminations---
Then he heard a voice, at which his head twisted in the direction of the sound.
Though he typically would have readied himself to vanquish his enemy---or otherwise, if he had no interest in engaging, veil himself---the goring he had received was detrimental---to, admittedly, an embarrassing degree---and thus, he had no ready means of absconding forthwith.
Though he was hunched in a pile of his tattered robes, his voice was profound in its reverberation---a low, foreboding rumble in response to the inquiry:
"There is nothing for you here, mortal. Begone, lest I punish you for your intrusion."
