⟫»—> He’d grown accustom to her forward drive; doing as she pleased when she pleased and how she pleased. Upon the pull of his collar, the dovah smirked, her lyrics pulling the coyest of chuckles from his black heart. ❝The front door is for the abundance of mortals walking this realm, far to conventional for a god.❞ Hand to her cheek, a tender kiss he placed upon her forehead, before slinking back only scarcely and raising his digits to the hissing fangs above. ❝Drem yol lok, wah hi ol eyvir, mal gein.❞
Climbing the rest of the way through the window, he straightened his mortal back, pulling down at the white t-shirt he had managed to put on this morn after digging through the apartment he’d woken into within this modern realm. Dipping slightly, arms parted and head inclined downwards, Alduin gave his lady the briefest of bows, before returning to proper posture. ❝These… jeans…. of your world are most intrusive.❞
"Ah, of course. Mushu’s too mainstream for doors. What a hipster.“ Her mouth was close to touching his when he moved those tender lips to her forehead, drawing hers to a thin line. What was he, her dad? She was going to have to teach him–soon.
Before she could comment, he spoke in his ancient tongue, one her instincts could pick up on, but not fully understand. Her snakes hissed excitedly and preened to the dragon, bowing in tandem, all at once–an odd sight to the normally tangled mane on her head. Em laughed, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. An odd sensation, truly, one she was not used to. "Down, girls,” she murmured, running her hand through the scaly mass, much like she would if they were nothing but dead keratin.
She gave him room to ease into the apartment, though her gaze never left him, even as his shirt rode up to reveal the muscle-defined skin underneath. Hands found his neck again when he came up from his bow, fingers stroking his nape gently. “Well, you have two options here. You could buy a new pair…or you could just take ‘em off.” She smirked and planted a quick kiss on the corner of his lip.
⟫»—> Birdsong. The smell of wild mountain flowers. Cedar and fir mixed with birch. Somewhere a small animal scurries. The wind whistles and carries the scents again. Disturbed soil smells fresh and clean. Low, resonating grumble as chest lurches with jagged breath, before falling again. Strewn across a mountain vale, limbs thrown about as if a girl’s toy, the Destroyer of Worlds lay lifeless. Brave butterflies perch upon twisted talons, curled into the pads of callouses, and even birds swoop low in attempts to catch the courageous pollen sippers. Ants took the trek across the hot, leathery wings, their own version of crossing a mighty desert. Nothing made the dragon so much as twitch. Dried, encrusted blood clung to the grooves of his plates and scales, the scent stale now.
A squirrel darts from the under brush, stops mid-way through the ruined clearing, beady black eyes transfixed upon a black demon of the sky. It was unmoving. Silent. Still. Unlike the mountain forest around him, moving so quickly and lively. The squirrel leapt forward, and its tail flicked. Again, with another flick. Soon it was besides the massive, lifeless creature, besides a horned lid - clasped shut - nearly the size of his own cranium. Whiskers twitched as it sniffed at the being. An odious, familiar scent overwhelmed his nostrils; the scent of decay, destruction, and death.
Without hesitation the squirrel flew through the grass and ferns, disappearing into the shade and away from the golden dappled Keizaal sunlight.
— Hate, rage, pain. There was blood. Red had painted the walls. A roar of frustration —
The squirrel did not return. Soon, Magnus began to dwindle beyond the purple mountains, and the tempuratures of the high hills dropped steadily downwards. Dragon remained, breathless and statuette-like upon the mountain side as the chill crept down the mount’. Against the forest that slowly drifted into its own twilight cadence, the beast resembled an ancient, dead sentry, long forgotten and left disposed for nature to do as it will. Chest - skywards facing, the mighty curved horns of the black dragon buried by upturned sod, jolted- a sharp inhale, a groan that shook the air -
— Running. He had been running. No. They were running. Running away. Yol toor shul! It had been the only means of defense. When had they been separated? Did she get away? —
Now all wildlife had left the area. The cold atmosphere disturbed them enough to seek shelter in their warm burrows, and the great Reach now fell silent. An icy wind killed all perfumes of nature, and left bristling white lace upon the blades of vegetation, though all grass along the edges of the dov served well enough in the heat from its body. Stiff, construed leg twitched, clutching talons further into the dirted pads of feet -
— Lights. So many lights. And noises. All unfamiliar. They are not from Skyrim. That place did not smell of the mountains, it did not look like the tundra plains. There was nothing there for him. Nothing. Besides —
Another lurch of breath, chest convulsed, legs thrashed to the otherside of the dragon’s body, and wings curled in onto themselves so tightly wound that maw cracked open and a moan of agony howled between bloodstained fangs. Life. Breath returned. Chest rose and fell. A still heart beat again. Rapid, labored breath filled the quiet night as the once mighty creatyre lay upon its side, every muscle of his body refusing to move. Then the rumble of the world’s most thrilling predator sounded through the silent night.
— He can’t smell her. He can’t smell h e r.
Where is she? WHERE IS S H E?! —
Adreneline burst forth and the creature lunged to life, rolling quickly to its side, a weak roar forcing itself through
a dry throat. It sounded pitiful, pained, and drugged in comparison to the thunder which boomed from the Nordic god. Skull rose from the ground and through the air in a whip-like motion, soil and clumps of grass flew like weightless water droplets as neck snapped and caught to protect the creature’s form. Tail lashed out, marring an ageless fir tree terribly, it moaning in return with protest before toppling upon a partner. Another, louder, enraged bellow.
— The Blades. They did this. Its all coming back. Running.
Their stronghold. Their fortress.
They were escaping. She had found him. Somehow, she had found him.
But the Blades. They had magic, powerful, strange magic.
They had found him, took him away from her. Sent him back. Turned him back.
The look on her face. He can’t remember. Its foggy.
The magic has clouded the details. But pain.
Gun fire. Dragon fire.
Protective instincts had roared to life.
Yes. Protect. Destroy the Blades. Let her get to safety.
Out of the concret jungle and into the harsh winter wilderness of his homeland, the massive creature steadied himself, plopping upon his wing-forearm as head drooped, body slumping back from the exertion. Vision was blurry, and senses misleading, but he could not smell the harsh smell of… what was it? Bleach? That those joore used to clean those tall scrapers. Most importantly, he could not smell the gorgan.
Carmine eyes blinked, and he stared out at the amaranthine and coral sky littered with twinkling starlight, and out to the torch lit roads dotted now with a band of far-way travellers. Clawed, prehensile phalanges upon his wings dug into the dirt, and skull swept back and forth, snaking, to further confirm his surroundings. It was true. He was back. This was not Earth. This was not the city with her apartment and her room. He was no longer confined to the miniscule body of a joor.
The black heart beating in his chest ached of an unfamiliar, daunting pain.
He had been away from his duties as the Destroyer of Worlds, he had witnessed a beautiful distraction. Bringing about the apocolypse hadn’t crossed his mind in the last few months, though he could feel its creeping presence returning with his inherent, diabolical nature - the nature of all dragons. No longer was he confined to the blood, brain, and heart of a human man with the soul of a dovah; he was dragon flesh through and through, and the infectious life and comforts of his visit to the… what would one call it? Future? Realm? World? A different dimension entirely? He knew not, but he did know that it had been real. A god cannot mistake his own reality. An eternal soul cannot ache from the foreseen lonlieness to come if it had not been truly real to begin with.
