A wrong doer eh..the story smelled wrong, as did the hunter to her. Her face crinkled in a grimace as she gave a sharp shake of the head. "Mortals never learn.." As she turned away from the imploring hunter and strode away. She had no other words to share, wisdom of the ages fell deaf to the hunters ears apparently. The gossamer flick of a faintly viewed dragon wing exposed itself from her right shoulder before it disappeared behind the illusion so carefully that she wore, and she muttered to herself in frustration on the way back to her chambers, walking up the spiraled stairs.

When she reentered her room, the sense of anger and frustration bled off of her like ink to water, to those sensative to the mental states within range. She flung the slipper from her right foot with a quick grasp of her hand and threw it to the wall in a sharp outburst of rage. "Pothoc ouk! Jaci ui ehis gocahel loupon vi nugri munthrek, vi slathalin, vi bafoid!" With the last word she let out a roar of anger, she was tired of people trying to push her around.

*Fur, dark, cold, ever-reaching. filled with hate, filled with hunger that would madden the most sane. eyes that glowed like fire in the darkness like the long forgotten realm of its birth claws that bite mercilessly in the cold ground of its hunting ground, cutting through the soil beneath it as strong, feral legs pushed the being and its kin toward its goal with the passion of reckless abandon. the sound of growls and the huffing of breath filled the air as they moved quickly, for there was no time to waste, their maddening hunger threatning to pull them apart, each sharing its hunger with the others, making the feeling even stronger. Feed.............eat............ the only thoughts that filled thier minds, the only things that mattered to all of them excluding one, the one who led them, yet his mind was begining to become one with theres, and soon, he would no longer be himself, but another hand of the pack. He lead this raid, this rush for substinance, and as they came upon the humanoid's encampment, deep in the dark, primal forest that had no sun to substane it and fed upon the beings that lived underneath it's canopy, the howls of their hunger had filled him with such desire to feed that he had forgotten himself in his mind. They swarmed, they reached, thier "hair" reaching out for their prey as if it lived on its own as their masters rain around thier prey, creating a maelstrom of darkness, its center slowly, agonizingly being syphoned of life, thier unearthly screams piercing the air as they clutched to each other till thier bodies became dust, thier molecules and cells no longer having the energy to keep them together........*



...............Heat, like living fire spawned from the caldron of hell, began to build within his chest as eyes, until now, frozen in a coma-like trance, opened to find strong fingers curled around his sword, the tip seemingly pointed upward toward his neck, as if he were about to end his own life. confusion set in upon his form as he lowered the blade, the finely made blade making a loud thud as the sharp tip of it pierced the floor below him, even though it was made of stone that had stood against the ebb and flow of war and destruction. The heat in his center pulsed, reaching outward, throbbing, his armor the only thing that kept the flames from reaching for the delicate curtains and other objects and furniture that lay around the room. Falling upon his knees, his hands shaking with the effort to be controlled, he reached up and grasped his head between them, tears, like acid, falling upon the floor and scoring the ground below him as images flooded his mind, stormed the quiet darkness of his thoughts, bring with them waves of despair and pain unknown to many, the smell of scorched leather filling the air.

Damian's odd silence and behavior drew her full attention, her son resting in the nurses room this night, leaving her and her husband to themselves. "My king?" She approached him with care, uncertain as to what might be causing his distress, but wishing to help in some manner. Her hand reached to touch his shoulder lightly, as she drew closer still. "What is wrong?" The minute her hand touched his shoulder a hot streak shocked through her fingertips generating from his shoulder. She couldn't see anything, falling to her knees as she felt the overwhelming grief ...and fear.

"...what have you done.." Her voice so faint..trembling with strain.

Carlitox was struck like someone had taken a maul to the side of his head. Damian's emotions bled into him like flames, filling his chest and head. He held his skull in his delicate hands, letting out a cry of pain. With his will alone he tried to shove the orce back as it grew brighter, but it was like closing a door on a flood. He forced himself to his feet, feeling the flames spread there and almost fell down again in agony.
He felt against the wall, climbing up the stairs to the King and Queen's room. The burning grew stronger and stronger the closer he got. Nausea rose in his throat, constricting his airway, but he drew closer to the room.
He had to knock the man out...for both of their safety.
His teeth ground against one another in pain...what was consuming this fool? He tried to push into Damian's mind, but the flames repellled him. Few but his own kind had the power to make emotions into something other than mindless colours and words, things that a shar'taal could easily decipher. But Damian had turned them into flames that were consuming him alive like a piece of wood. Carlitox pushed into the flames with a small cry of pain and attempted to plunge the other mind into darkness. To keep the king unconscious.
He grabbed the frame of a nearby window opening in the stone, barely able to breathe because of the pain. The flames were receeding in his own mind, but he dared not reach into Damian's again. A small prick in the back of his neck made him freeze. He gingerly felt the skin...and a quarrel dropped to the floor.