A Fateful Meeting
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The fateful first meeting of my twin headed tyto Meian and the Crimson King himself, Vallos as they fight the Wisp King from deep within the haunted forest.
Dread forest of ire was dark as pitch, the sky above rumbling in pent anger as the twin headed tyto fought tooth and talon against sorrowed souls. The One who is Two and one who is many, with equal fury battled against the other. But the tyto was small, two heads against three. Many fangs had the false king, dripping in venom. She of black and white was swifter than them of blood and bone. Dodging their strikes she smote their sides but with little effect. Twisted souls were not so easily tattered. No matter. The true king would soon arrive.
The king of sorrow loosed cries of malice and ire, striking once more in unison, three heads at once. Daughter of The Void turned quickly away, but the trees stole the visions from head of white, and her sight of future taken, could not evade the blow. Sickly fangs closed ‘round her leg of black, filling it with an evil fire. Heads black and white cried out as alabaster talons clawed the face that so foolishly held her fast. Anger flared anew in motley tyto. She had held the full force wrath aside, lest the injured elfling be caught in it’s wake, but the elf now was gone, and The One who is Two would hold back no longer. High above the storm like hungry lions waited, their grey bodies tense with building fury. With ancient power heads of snow and coal beckoned them spiraling ever downward.
Thunder’s sharp crack echoed ‘cross the heaven, sheets of icy precipitation forming an encroaching veil in the distant skies, creeping closer. Unseen hands tore at trees of ire, tearing free dark verdant leaves from bone white branches. Black shadow of fire caught sight of whirling winds, his keen red eyes watching in cold interest as she of past and future sight rose from the forest, their gnarled fingers grasping at her ebony wings as she flew above them. She did not bow toward the swirling vortex, the child of her fury, as it swept and tangled the air. Shrill shrieks rose up, a pained chorus from wisp’s gnashing jaws as their might become ensnared.
The Scarlet King surveyed the object of her hate, his maw aglow with wicked flames curling into fierce snarl. But one king would there be, no room for two. With thunderous piercing cry the black tyrant joined the battle. She who is two with knowing smiles withdrew that he may be unhindered. From open jaws past gleaming teeth his strange deadly pyre poured menacingly, drawn in towards the swirling column of wind and wisp. With blazing bright flames it was filled, hungry red ribbons consuming all within it. Many cries came from sorrowed king, their soul turned fuel for the tyrants fire.
Like branching jagged lances the sky released it’s wroth in white scintillations as the false king fell to ruin. The tempest above throwing it’s deluge upon their back’s, Daughter of The Void relinquished her leash upon the writhing vortex, it’s furious pull abating. The blight of sorrowed menace still burned in leg of black, red veins like serpents snaked threw her flesh, their hateful fangs flaring fever within her. Grimacing, she of two heads returned wounded to the ground left disarrayed by her whirlwind’s fierce talons. The tyrant with jet wings adorned in silver and crimson followed suit, his great mass crushing a score of ancient oaks as they protested with many groans and creeks. With sharp gaze he espied the wound that plagued her as she carried gingerly the afflicted limb.
“You are injured my dear.” The tyrant spoke with deceptive pleasantry. “Please, allow my to heal you. It would take but a moment.”
Eyes of glowing white and fathomless black knew him beyond his mask of charm, the death and cruelty laid bare before her. Against his will the great black harpia shivered as his life and identity became revealed to them without reservation, their piercing stare impassively judging his very soul. Their voices laced with power the head of black and white spoke as one, their twin eyes never leaving the king’s own two.
“We shall allow you to do this, yes, but take not what is not yours. Our soul is ours alone, leave it to us, and we shall leave your foul fate to you. You are known to us as not to another being but yourself. We see your intention. You are one filled with many sorrows and mistakes, add not to them the repercussions of your folly this day.”
The king’s black brow rose as sudden interest peaked his scheming mind, but his crooked smile remained as unwavering as his might.
“Ah, I see you are wiser than most. Very well, I will refrain from taking that which you wish to be left. You should be honored, I do not give such allowances to many.
“This we know.” Said head of black, countless sorrows swimming in the twin depths of the void that adorned her alabaster face.
Without words the Scarlet King bent low to meet the fearsome tyto, who flinched not nor turned away at his cruel fangs. Like a thick burning mist tendrils of red flame came drifting down from his grinning maw. They coiled round her limb, scorching through her veins as they sought the source of her misery. No cries did the tyto loose, though her agony was great, no tears did she shed. The cost of his healing sucking greedily at his life, the tyrant watched she who is two in keen interest. Body and soul she was torn, this he could feel. Temptation niggled at his mind to take but a splinter, such a rare and unique energy did she hold. Eyes glowing and fathomless knowingly narrowed, locking gaze with his own, and he withdrew his probing. His flames retreated, having consumed sorrowed venom from her veins, her wound then did seal once more.
“There.” Smoothly said he of black and crimson. “Good as new. You are lucky I was here. I would have hated to see such pretty faces fall victim to that wisp’s evil clutches.”
Leering bemusedly, faces snow and ink fixed his own with looks of meaningful insight.
“You flatter yourself.” Said dark-faced head of white, her gleaming eyes growing brighter. “How know you that it was not we who saved you? Many twisting paths has the future. Follow not the light, for it leads to unending suffering. Allow not your greed to guide you. I see that we shall meet again, oh trader of death. Whether for good or for bad depends on you.”
Wings of jet raised high, the seeker of storms ascended into the raging maelstrom above, her words like and echo ringing in the king’s ears.
“Until we meet again.”
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