Characters: Vos Vremenu

Ships: None

Warnings: Implied gore, blood

Short Description: Drabble written shortly after I made Vos, wanting to test out his alter ego in writing

He sat upon a throne of ivory, the milky white surface carved from the single enormous bone of a creature long slain. Silver armor glistened in the light of a fading sun, its rays bathing him in a single sliver of fading sunlight that illuminated only a slice of his figure. The man sat proudly, his figure regal and exuding an air of carefully calculated intimidation. He looked out upon his assembled crowd, and despite his position, he seemed almost relaxed.

But that mask of peace was a veil, a thin fabric only the trained eye could pierce. He hid his thorns well. But they were only concealed well enough to cover the true form of his intentions.

They were not thorns.

They were spears.

They were spears that had pierced through the veil on their own, cutting it to pieces and leaving nothing but shreds of his former image. His former patience.

Now nothing stood in the path of those piercing lavender eyes, their gaze as sharp as his horns. His was a gaze that had leveled cities, a gaze that had brought even the strongest to their knees. He was tired. Tired of that façade of peace.

He gazed out upon his assembled crowd, of nobles who rested in an eternal sleep, their heads atop a fresh pillow of ebony and scarlet that pooled and dripped out over the spaces between the balcony railing. The dark pool fell over the ornate silver balcony, though it did not drip down onto the city below the blackened mountain in which the palace was carved.

It instead traced the dark stone and bits of silver that peered out from beneath the earth, its motions defying natural law as it began to weave intricate patterns across the front of the cliff face. The dark liquid spiraled into a perfect circle before dripping down, forming the royal sigil in the center of the ornate double circle surrounding it. In the city below, heads began to turn as the blood of its former council was used to paint the cliff face.

As the entirety of the city watched, the collected blood finished the royal sigil before spreading upwards and downwards, five lines spreading out from the outer circle in each direction. And as the enormous mark finally completed itself, a smirk quirked up at the corner of his lips.

Their new king had spoken. And he had declared war.