Isolated from the voices of those that were both encroaching and directed the ritual that brought a storm of death and rebirth to Dathormir, distant from the horde of chants and gathered bodies, a slouched figure, still standing much taller than two meters despite the slump of his shoulder and bowed spine, stood watching proceedings through narrowed, turquoise hued eyes. Apathy ruled his gaze, as did a wizened tiredness not fit for those young of body, even as a new future for a planet was carved out before him, a dark revolution and evolution in equal manner shaping the future and erasing what might have one been. He cared little for the hundreds of Nightsisters and Nightbrothers who's chanted words served to twist the reality to their whims, he cared little for the Mother that lead than and he cared little for those that began to arrive to the gathering, no matter how dangerous they presented themselves. He cared for them as equally as he cared for the wind that pulled at his feathers and the kilt he wore, the sole piece of clothing his body, before flailing uselessly against his scales.
Uttered words caught his attention, breaking the monotonous blankness that had consumed his thoughts. Twisting his head slightly, the Qu'un's eyes settled upon the female that stood at his side, the shivers that wracked her body less than the ones that ran through his own, his cold blood not handling the equally cold environment well. Short, pitch black of shadows woven into strands whipped within the grip of the winds, catching the skin along the edge of dull emerald eyes as a long, woven ponytail danced along her back. Flesh and metal was clenched into fits at her sides, her remaining hand shaking from the tension woven into her muscles.
"..karking prissy bitches, kark them all, holding us karking captive, aught to bend them over and put my boots to their arses. See how well their pretentiousness sounds when speaking around leather. Think that they can just claim us as theirs and then karking plant us off to one karking side? I-" She cut herself off as a low, rolling trill sounded out from the depths of Llkt'tudrin'wyshd's throat, quiet enough that it was only due to the fact that Uul was stood next to him that allowed her to hear it before it was consumed by the surrounding winds.
"Find something funny about the crap you landed us in, Mute?" Her words were sharply hissed beneath her breath as she shifted slightly to line the form of her friend within her sight a bit more."'Cause, I don't know about you, but, I'd prefer being pissed on by a karking rancor than this bollocks." Pulling at the chains that held her captive, the Epicanthix snorted in a manner that could be easily described as unladylike if she ever cared to ask for someone's opinion. "So, 'less you've got some karking genius plan cooking beneath them feathers of yours, piss off." Snorting again, Uul returned to spewing vitriol at their captures beneath her breath, glaring shifting back to focus upon the witches that conducted their ritual before the two, recently enslaved slaves.
Following his friends example, Llkt'tudrin'wyshd also turned his attention back towards the black waters and the figures that loomed from the surface, dancing through the fluid that pulled at their hips. Specifically, as the haze of apathy reasserted itself within his eyes, the reptile focussed upon the leader, the one that, while not holding direct ownership of himself and Uul, certainly owned them more indirectly than the one that had been designated as their current watcher did so directly.
What she wanted with him and his friend, the tired Qu'un had no idea. But, in truth, he did not care and it from there that his apathy was born. He'd lost his family and his home, left to wander aimlessly, waiting for The Ancestors to direct him to what was to be his path in life. This was the biggest event that had happened to him in the years since he had left Zarnathea and so this was either the gateway to his future or the gateway to his afterlife. Either way, this had been what he was guided towards and so he would accept whatever would come to him.
A feint flicker of amusement flared within his eyes, feathers shifting from the spark of emotion, as the a particularly inventive threat drifted upon icy air from Uul, one that the Qu'un wasn't sure was actually physiologically possible. Within that moment, the promise he had already made himself was solidified. Uul was a good friend. Brash, bold and rude but a good friend none the less. Should the fate chosen for them be negative, even deathly, then, while he would accept it as ordained by The Ancestors, he would fight to the end to spare Uul that fate. As he kept his gaze locked upon the Nightmother while his promise was being made, his apathy was slowly breaking and shattering beneath the hard and cold rage that began to fill him, searing his mind and imposing itself upon his gaze with such weightiness he was almost certain that her etherial abilities would be able to feel it. Yes, if Uul was meant to suffer than his last breath would be spent only when she was safe, that Llkt'tudrin'wyshd swore.
[member="Mother Iviss"]