[ More and more, the Wilde feels like home. In turns, it reminds the King of Arcadia's primeval forests, and in others, it seems no different from the thorny trods of the Hedge, where the pull and pulse of Faerie filled briar-marked pathways with maddening hobgoblin grotesqueries and the beauty of natural wonderments both. What they search for, now, in Dorchacht's Wilde where Summer still writes its name in the spill of sunlight between the slats of the trees, is certainly akin to one such wonderment: a pool reflecting the heart's desire (strange, that humans could never discern such things for themselves; irreverent, that the Coven would seek to weaponize its power), its waters lost to the Wilders who had discovered it.
And as they stride the forest, black loam and vegetation underfoot, they walk as witch and monster, primordial and human, friend and confidant— friend, the reason why the question which Eren poses to him is greeted with a simple crow of laughter rather than the rankling of Asura's temperament. Eren, he does not know what he asks, not truly, and Asura can hold no grudge against him for it, though it does not stop the King from cautioning with the rolling thunder of his voice: ]
A day will come when you ask of me the wrong question, and I will see you buried for it. [ In some tomb which Eren would have to work to tunnel his damn way out of. Regarding the ebon dragon (whose ability to shift could be something Asura were envious of, if only he allowed himself to be) with a side-long glance, the King's kajal-lined eyes are foreboding and s h a r p, until...! The moment when they are not, and he eases with a huff: ] But it is not this day.
[ Instead, it is a day when Asura will choose to speak words to Eren which he has only ever divulged to a handful of others, both in Aefenglom and in the worlds (realms) where he is the Iron Spear and Crimson King: ]
Dragons and fae, they are often considered as being one in the same. [ Being creatures of the Wyrd, able to freely traverse worlds and dreams. ] True Dragons, True Fae, [ how sibilant his voice becomes, when he speaks of them, the Gentry ] both are native to the world of Arcadia, a place ruled by the forces of time and fate.
[ Arcadia, his home (though only one of them). Inexorably, it would always remain a part of him, demanding that he return to its grasp and shed his human skin. Fate would have this be so (and Asura would refuse its call time and time again). ]
However, the True Dragons have diminished, retreating into the realms of the Forgotten Days, and in their place, the True Fae created... [ With a resounding thud!, Asura beats a closed fist against his chest, denoting none other than himself. Proud as he is, fathomless as he is, he never allows himself to forget: ] ...beings in draconic image, bound to True Fae will and service.
[ Once, Eren had heard the intonations of such a Fae in a memory ("so you have returned to Svarga, my great golden dragon."), and at that time, Asura hadn't known what choice was— not until an Ogre of a man woke him up, breaking the chains which held Asura suspended in the thrall of his Keeper. ]
When I said to you before that Changelings could come in any size and shape, dragons were not excluded.
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And as they stride the forest, black loam and vegetation underfoot, they walk as witch and monster, primordial and human, friend and confidant— friend, the reason why the question which Eren poses to him is greeted with a simple crow of laughter rather than the rankling of Asura's temperament. Eren, he does not know what he asks, not truly, and Asura can hold no grudge against him for it, though it does not stop the King from cautioning with the rolling thunder of his voice: ]
A day will come when you ask of me the wrong question, and I will see you buried for it. [ In some tomb which Eren would have to work to tunnel his damn way out of. Regarding the ebon dragon (whose ability to shift could be something Asura were envious of, if only he allowed himself to be) with a side-long glance, the King's kajal-lined eyes are foreboding and s h a r p, until...! The moment when they are not, and he eases with a huff: ] But it is not this day.
[ Instead, it is a day when Asura will choose to speak words to Eren which he has only ever divulged to a handful of others, both in Aefenglom and in the worlds (realms) where he is the Iron Spear and Crimson King: ]
Dragons and fae, they are often considered as being one in the same. [ Being creatures of the Wyrd, able to freely traverse worlds and dreams. ] True Dragons, True Fae, [ how sibilant his voice becomes, when he speaks of them, the Gentry ] both are native to the world of Arcadia, a place ruled by the forces of time and fate.
[ Arcadia, his home (though only one of them). Inexorably, it would always remain a part of him, demanding that he return to its grasp and shed his human skin. Fate would have this be so (and Asura would refuse its call time and time again). ]
However, the True Dragons have diminished, retreating into the realms of the Forgotten Days, and in their place, the True Fae created... [ With a resounding thud!, Asura beats a closed fist against his chest, denoting none other than himself. Proud as he is, fathomless as he is, he never allows himself to forget: ] ...beings in draconic image, bound to True Fae will and service.
[ Once, Eren had heard the intonations of such a Fae in a memory ("so you have returned to Svarga, my great golden dragon."), and at that time, Asura hadn't known what choice was— not until an Ogre of a man woke him up, breaking the chains which held Asura suspended in the thrall of his Keeper. ]
When I said to you before that Changelings could come in any size and shape, dragons were not excluded.