Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-31049256-20170919032125/@comment-28358106-20171017184229

(Scorn) Tirush listens, seemingly unmoved, but her body language says otherwise. Her fur crest ripples slightly, the ridges on her tail stand. Her pupils close to knife slits. "At last, your claim is true. This is enough." Her good humor is suddenly gone, replaced by something deadly serious.

"Then, Dilüngr, hear me. I, too, command a power.  I am the Bearer of the Yol'thuüm, the last of the Pah Miiraad.  The First Flame took my flesh long ago, for it demands all from its keepers.  You will find little in me to please your hunger.  No."

She tilts her head back, her eyes the color of molten gold, breathing in. The muscles of her torso tense like coiled steel.

"I will swear a great midröt that as long as your kin hold their hands and do not threaten, I will do no harm to them, or your brod'khhah, your house. And this day, we shall not fight..."

"But when we meet again, we are enemies."

The words fall with finality. The air vibrates with tension. Armata can sense something in her aura that is very familiar to him---something primal and absolute that he has seen only once before, in one other person. Something deep and powerful, seperate from the familiar, stretching back into the depths of time.

She perches atop the lower ledge as she watches him, her scales expanding and contracting, each measured breath the churning of an immeasurable and unearthly furnace.