Misty Mountain is opposite of Rainbow Cliff. Mists hover year-round at this high altitude, mistaken by some to be thin clouds. Thin layers of snow cover the mountain, making some areas slippery and hazardous.
Some think it romantic, a place to bring their mates, while others come to play and romp. However, all must agree that there is some level of mystery and spookiness hovering about with the mists...
IP: 154.5.63.177
Posted on May 5, 2014 at 10:21:11 PM by PYREO
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If it was a fire before, now it was inferno. Skeletal features twist into a ghastly display around pits of simmering ember and smoke. Well, apparently even the slightest crunch of snow could jar his flaming nerves. The intruder wasn’t at first in Py’s line of sight, and the white creature was in no hurry to make it so. Fool, jumping around begging to be noticed. Well, if the rabbit wanted an audience he would have to ask for it. And he did. Well isn’t that ironic - comrade. Like a fathomless predator, Py swivelled his massive skull, a grin etched charismatically across alluring features, marred only by a burn scar running the left side of his face. The wolf was large, as all Russians were, his fur a mix of muddy fire and ash. It was easy to slide into a mask of indifference now that he had company. Body following his eyes, Pyreo found footing in the snow and began to close the distance between them, paws splaying out like snowshoes to reveal black talons. He wasn’t interested in conversing with the brown wolf, not at a safe distance anyways - Pyreo would speak with him, but close enough so that he could smell every drop of fear, hear every thudding heartbeat, keep his adresse honest. It was fucking exhausting, was there no where the ivory fiend could find a moment of absolute solitude. Well, apparently not. Py wondered, as he came within a few feet of the cur, whether or not he would notice the taunt tone of visceral annoyance in his smile. To hell with it, no one was perfect and quite frankly, Pyreo wasn’t in the mood to put on his fancy paws just for this Russian scum. But old habits die hard… eh, comrade?. What a truly pleasant surprise. The alabaster carnivore’s lyrics, structured perfectly, were somewhat lacking in their usual… shall we say, polish. Grin still hitched up in a nonchalant ease, Py simply revelled in the guilty relief of his usual tiresome courteous way. At the moment, it would take less energy for him to rip this bastard’s face off than charm him - yeah, and that was primarily because he did need to… what had the varg said? Blow off some steam. Careful, comrade, you wouldn’t want to burn yourself. This was undeniably good advice, being so, Py let it fly with sincere, blow off, light-heartedness. Easy smile morphing into a mocking grin that didn’t reach those pits of fire, Py exploited the golden gaze of this stranger. Now, tell me - how is mother Russia? Still reeking with poisoned blood?. Unlikely, since the wolves he’d known had been blown sky high not too long ago. It was unusual for the snowy dragon to drop such an obvious hint as to what he had seen so many years ago, but for some reason, the cold predator could almost savour the moment when his Russian friend would bite the hook. It would be so undeniably tempting to let the brujo in on the secret, just to watch him die from the infection himself. |
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