QUIXOTE : ̗̀➛ intro

[adventure.]

IT'S TIME FOR ME TO BEGIN AGAIN.
"speech." . 'thoughts' . attack

there, in the depths of the desert, would the sound of metal hitting against metal ring out, sand dunes painted in the light of flame against the licking tongues of darkness. heat was one and the same, a distraction if it was allowed to be one. it was far from distracted, head bent as it worked away, unaware of time or tribulation, devoured in it's work. time would pass without it's recognition, forgotten by time but not by it's own kind. at some form of time, it would step back from it's work to slake its thirst, staring out into the empty darkness of the desert, stars twinkling so far above, in a place that was no longer so easily reached. it knew that. it still bore the pain from it's fall. it still bore it all.

eyes glancing to a halberd leaning against the wall of the forge, the wicked sharp blade gleaming in the light of fire and lantern, with the vision of it brought the whispering of voices. closing it's eyes, those voices grew louder and louder, until they screamed with the sound of water quenching a bright white heated section of metal. it's teeth were bared, ears swiveled back as it resumed it's work, break forgotten, the pace of work bringing it back to a sense of empty contentment. upon it's back, spread two pairs of wings, markings etched into the feathers, hidden beneath them scars. there, elsewhere, somewhere lost in the desert were the rings that it had been. the pounding of metal, hammer held by self, strike of anvil echoing in long deafened ears, blue and green eyes staring emotionlessly down at the works it created and quenched in the water, as it had also been quenched, thrown from the heavens so very long ago. and the rage, the rage that built every time the hammer struck wrong, it was so consuming, it reminded the creature of so long ago when it had struck down the leader, when it had taken the immortal life of it's own kind. the blood still burned in it's memories, it left black marks on it's mortal vessel. it had taken the fallen leader's command, and with that, it had led the fallen angels, the guardians, to riot against the gods and to rampage. the fallen leader was weak. it was not weak.

though how it came to live here? it had grown temporarily tired of conquest, though it's followers had long dispersed to their own paths of life. it had found enjoyment now, in the wielding of it's hammer against anvil. it had fallen in the desert, and in the desert it had remained, living for the longest time within a cave, where it's forge now sat. it was aware of the group that lived in the desert as well, it would trade with them from time to time. it knew it's name, and that was it, from when it had arrived. it's choir did not label themselves as the mortals did, so it cared not how it was called by the mortals, it in fact, did not have any memory of the time that it had lived as a mortal, or of the family it had created and abandoned, it only knew of it's time as a throne and then now as a guardian, leading the damned angels in battles below.

stopping it's work once more for another break, breaking it's thirst with a water bladder that was disgustingly warm, stepping outside into the cold breeze of the night air. raising a paw to wipe it's brow, six eyes observing the night sky silently, spreading it's wings to allow for the wind to blow through and between, cooling off the over-heated fur and feathers, closing it's eyes.

feel free to have your ocs give imp pronouns, sex at birth is deigned female for bob. as an angel, there was no attachment to pronouns as it was seen a mortal thing. imp will respond to most anything lol //

IT'S TIME TO COME BACK TO MYSELF ONCE MORE.
imperialhymns of the pitt. -- fallen angel.

credit @/teef