05-20-2016, 06:08 PM
Only a slim portion of the mountain, more specifically the lower shelving of glinting cinnabar stones and the crumbling staircases of boulders, had been discernible for the past hour amongst the roiling tumult of ash and smoke that pervaded the land. A vast, tumbling pile of rocks had fragmented over the side of the mountain, terrible sounds that would have made a thunder-clap quail in fear rumbling down the jagged slope to stir fear within the hearts and minds of the Goron village.
The Gorons recognized that their chieftain was not one to shrivel or shrink from frost or heat, but rather from the fear that some grievous harm might befall his people. It was with great trepidation that they watched as he abruptly stood still and straight, his eyes glittering with an unflappable, cool resolve while he looked upon the perpetually burning rise of Death Mountain.
Very briefly and with a minute roll of trembling, needling brightness, the dusky mountain wailed, a thin thread of glistening visceral sound that rose and fell wildly in pitch, desperate as the scream of a rabbit caught in the unmerciful talons of an owl. The numerous, palpitating shimmers of the fires freckling its ominous visage flared fiercely heavenward, as if swept up by one great, thrashing gust, before soundlessly dying into their lowly pits of coal, the mountainside all at once enveloped in an impenetrable blackness. A solemn Darunia raised one wide hand, his fingers spread rigidly and poignant in the gloom, and then let it fall.
In the moments following that strange, dark stillness up on the mount and Darunia’s signal, there was a mad rush amongst the Gorons to transport their valuables and babes to what they dearly hoped would be a safer distance, rocky footsteps and the creaky clattering of wheels wheedling across the plain. Wide vessels of water scattered about the domed roofs of the settlement gleamed smilingly skyward as the villagers hurriedly bustled, prepared to drown the fires that might take up quarrel with their homes.
Something like the burning scent of marigolds breezed through the town on a hushed wind, peppery and sweet, almost as if the glorious apex of the sky itself was afraid to speak of what was about to transpire. As how one who is running cannot help but spare a glance back towards that which they are fleeing from, the villagers cautiously watched the mountain as they worked, a whispered quiet wavering indecisively in the air, caught on some uncertain ground between awe and intimidation.
It would not be enough.
A pulse vibrated through the ground beneath their feet, potent enough to cause even the most dense village dwellers to stumble. Pebbles upon the ground, black as pepper-corn, jilted and skipped about as the tremors became more severe. A coarse, bracing wind pitched dust into the night. Like the dark shadow of a flame creeping across a page, catching alight in a ravenous ripple of orange-gold, the swirling billows of brackish mists above ruptured and burst; the fearsome dragon Volvagia sieved through, ghost-like, as if on the crimson red sails of a tremendous frigate anointed with scaly war-gear.
Every able-bodied villager took up arms, the dread within them quelled by a strengthened desire to defend their home. As the fire drake swept low over their houses, teeth the size of a dozen shining blades wreathed in the burning intensity leaking from its jaws, they began to run to and fro, directionless so as to present a more difficult choice of meal for the formidable beast. Footsteps reverberated like the beating of war drums in the resulting chaos, the Gorons' meager homes grievously scorched by the dragon’s breath, all the world swallowed up in a blazing, all-devouring inferno.
Cauterized rage gleamed a dangerous white within the pits of Volvagia’s eyes, the great helm fitted over its skull piercing through the thick and smoky air as its crusade of flame continued. The hallmarks of marauding destruction crackled and sizzled with every blackened toy or piece of furniture, the rock-strewn sinews of the ground splitting amid the round skeletons of stripped houses and places of gathering. With each new lingering spark of flame that sprang to meet the air, the Gorons observed with growing sorrow as their village was torn asunder.
The stagnant bloat of lava wallowed and surged up through cracks in the plain, voracious flames swirling high in the perpetual night. Volvagia shrieked, hastily thrown projectiles tumbling uselessly downward after striking its thick hide, oftentimes set alight as they fell so that they accelerated the process of setting the village to blazing.
Unseeing save for the small, hapless bodies of the most hated and very much despised Gorons, the serpent flew with its belly low to the ground, the living flame there tracing long, black wounds across the vista, a cobra stalking scarabs in the gasping aridity of the desert.
Burning thermal updrafts, cast out like fishermen’s nets amongst the chaos and destruction the dragon had gleefully wrought, ensnared the equally formidable anger of Darunia. His feet pounding across the blackened earth comparable in both intensity and strength to a diesel locomotive, the chiseled weight of his body sweltering a bright gold through the hissing and glaring of the flames, the Goron chieftain slammed into Volvagia and sent their combined weight careening off into the grime and grit, scrapping and struggling. It was akin to a sparrow pecking at the grasping claws of a hawk in appearance, but still the dragon cried out shrilly as pain wracked its serpentine body.
Unluckily, he was only able to distract the beast for but a moment, and soon the dragon’s weighted gaze swept round for a new mark after it has tossed the chieftain towards some sizzling knoll over yonder. A certain scent trickled within its glowing nostrils, an incessant and coppery smell that scalded and burned along the reason for its incensed frame of mind, and the massive lizard could never have resisted the fury-stricken madness that flared to vibrant life within its super-heated breast.
Dragonslayers.
Volvagia, the fires haloing its throat flaring angrily outward, regarded its new challengers with a beautifully menacing stillness. It was striking, snake-like loops spiraling as helixes of scattered firelight danced across them, the shifting scales covering its body built harder than any shield or armor the beast had known in its own land. Torch-like reflections etched along its golden claws, catching the light as they clasped reflexively.
Behind the twisting coils of its body the ebb and flow of hurtling flames brushed ever upward, cradling the supine form of the dark sky above and casting the serpent’s countenance in stark, malevolent detail. Coppery hazes of contrasting vapors wept and drizzled inside of its serrated maw as it unhinged, a shriek exploding outward in a nebulous, smoke-trailing charge that surged directly for the congregated Primes.
The Gorons recognized that their chieftain was not one to shrivel or shrink from frost or heat, but rather from the fear that some grievous harm might befall his people. It was with great trepidation that they watched as he abruptly stood still and straight, his eyes glittering with an unflappable, cool resolve while he looked upon the perpetually burning rise of Death Mountain.
Very briefly and with a minute roll of trembling, needling brightness, the dusky mountain wailed, a thin thread of glistening visceral sound that rose and fell wildly in pitch, desperate as the scream of a rabbit caught in the unmerciful talons of an owl. The numerous, palpitating shimmers of the fires freckling its ominous visage flared fiercely heavenward, as if swept up by one great, thrashing gust, before soundlessly dying into their lowly pits of coal, the mountainside all at once enveloped in an impenetrable blackness. A solemn Darunia raised one wide hand, his fingers spread rigidly and poignant in the gloom, and then let it fall.
In the moments following that strange, dark stillness up on the mount and Darunia’s signal, there was a mad rush amongst the Gorons to transport their valuables and babes to what they dearly hoped would be a safer distance, rocky footsteps and the creaky clattering of wheels wheedling across the plain. Wide vessels of water scattered about the domed roofs of the settlement gleamed smilingly skyward as the villagers hurriedly bustled, prepared to drown the fires that might take up quarrel with their homes.
Something like the burning scent of marigolds breezed through the town on a hushed wind, peppery and sweet, almost as if the glorious apex of the sky itself was afraid to speak of what was about to transpire. As how one who is running cannot help but spare a glance back towards that which they are fleeing from, the villagers cautiously watched the mountain as they worked, a whispered quiet wavering indecisively in the air, caught on some uncertain ground between awe and intimidation.
It would not be enough.
A pulse vibrated through the ground beneath their feet, potent enough to cause even the most dense village dwellers to stumble. Pebbles upon the ground, black as pepper-corn, jilted and skipped about as the tremors became more severe. A coarse, bracing wind pitched dust into the night. Like the dark shadow of a flame creeping across a page, catching alight in a ravenous ripple of orange-gold, the swirling billows of brackish mists above ruptured and burst; the fearsome dragon Volvagia sieved through, ghost-like, as if on the crimson red sails of a tremendous frigate anointed with scaly war-gear.
Every able-bodied villager took up arms, the dread within them quelled by a strengthened desire to defend their home. As the fire drake swept low over their houses, teeth the size of a dozen shining blades wreathed in the burning intensity leaking from its jaws, they began to run to and fro, directionless so as to present a more difficult choice of meal for the formidable beast. Footsteps reverberated like the beating of war drums in the resulting chaos, the Gorons' meager homes grievously scorched by the dragon’s breath, all the world swallowed up in a blazing, all-devouring inferno.
Cauterized rage gleamed a dangerous white within the pits of Volvagia’s eyes, the great helm fitted over its skull piercing through the thick and smoky air as its crusade of flame continued. The hallmarks of marauding destruction crackled and sizzled with every blackened toy or piece of furniture, the rock-strewn sinews of the ground splitting amid the round skeletons of stripped houses and places of gathering. With each new lingering spark of flame that sprang to meet the air, the Gorons observed with growing sorrow as their village was torn asunder.
The stagnant bloat of lava wallowed and surged up through cracks in the plain, voracious flames swirling high in the perpetual night. Volvagia shrieked, hastily thrown projectiles tumbling uselessly downward after striking its thick hide, oftentimes set alight as they fell so that they accelerated the process of setting the village to blazing.
Unseeing save for the small, hapless bodies of the most hated and very much despised Gorons, the serpent flew with its belly low to the ground, the living flame there tracing long, black wounds across the vista, a cobra stalking scarabs in the gasping aridity of the desert.
Burning thermal updrafts, cast out like fishermen’s nets amongst the chaos and destruction the dragon had gleefully wrought, ensnared the equally formidable anger of Darunia. His feet pounding across the blackened earth comparable in both intensity and strength to a diesel locomotive, the chiseled weight of his body sweltering a bright gold through the hissing and glaring of the flames, the Goron chieftain slammed into Volvagia and sent their combined weight careening off into the grime and grit, scrapping and struggling. It was akin to a sparrow pecking at the grasping claws of a hawk in appearance, but still the dragon cried out shrilly as pain wracked its serpentine body.
Unluckily, he was only able to distract the beast for but a moment, and soon the dragon’s weighted gaze swept round for a new mark after it has tossed the chieftain towards some sizzling knoll over yonder. A certain scent trickled within its glowing nostrils, an incessant and coppery smell that scalded and burned along the reason for its incensed frame of mind, and the massive lizard could never have resisted the fury-stricken madness that flared to vibrant life within its super-heated breast.
Dragonslayers.
Volvagia, the fires haloing its throat flaring angrily outward, regarded its new challengers with a beautifully menacing stillness. It was striking, snake-like loops spiraling as helixes of scattered firelight danced across them, the shifting scales covering its body built harder than any shield or armor the beast had known in its own land. Torch-like reflections etched along its golden claws, catching the light as they clasped reflexively.
Behind the twisting coils of its body the ebb and flow of hurtling flames brushed ever upward, cradling the supine form of the dark sky above and casting the serpent’s countenance in stark, malevolent detail. Coppery hazes of contrasting vapors wept and drizzled inside of its serrated maw as it unhinged, a shriek exploding outward in a nebulous, smoke-trailing charge that surged directly for the congregated Primes.
Quote:1165 words - Site.