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Snippet #1465683

located in On planet Arvenious, a part of The Hidden Warriors Of Arvenious, one of the many universes on RPG.

On planet Arvenious

This is where it begins, this is where it will all end.

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Droplets of water still dripped from the Belieet's great face, though he didn't seem to notice. His ears, which had been once pinned to his head, stood erect—trying to still the erratic vibrations coming from the beautiful blue beam colouring the sky. Such loud noises were complicating his echolocation, rendering him useless in any situation that would involve finding his way through the depths of the forest. Without his abilities, he was as good as lost. His ebony eyes blinked, and he glanced towards the two figures he'd suddenly forgotten about. The Akerlial's hand feathered over the pommel of his blade, resting there as if he posed some kind of danger. Phinneus nearly laughed; a small sound echoing against the chaffed sides of his throat, ending as quickly as it had begun. What was he going to do? Yes, a Belieet's clawed membranes were said to be the sharpest substance rivalling any of the best blacksmiths across the lands—sharper than the blades swinging at the Akerlial's hips—, though he doubted in his abilities to move as fluidly as he could on any given day. It pained him to even flap his leathery wings, so he kept them tucked miserably at his sides, thumbs interlocked to keep them in place.

Phinneus' tail moved idly behind him, swaying thoughtfully as he watched the flickering lights above them. With another sniff of his spade-shaped nose, he nodded his head in the Masked Belieet's direction. It wasn't that he shared any kinship with him, nor did he particularly respect him, but he felt the need to acknowledge that they were close to the same species. “He,” Phinneus corrected, scoffing sourly at the mans' lackadaisical attitude and offending ignorance. A curt nod confirmed that he was of the Belieet species—albeit of another subspecies, one that lacked any civilized culture—and shrugged his slender shoulders, motioning towards the phenomenon in the sky. It puzzled him. If the Akerlial was still thinking of attacking him, even killing him, Phinneus understood that it would be short work. What was the use of a dead Belieet? He wouldn't be carried far with his grandiose weight, and he was sure as hell that he wouldn't taste good. Were Akerlial's cannibals, or just mildly irritating tricksters? Again, he wasn't entirely sure. “There's only one way to find out what sort of phenomenon it is,” the Belieet lilted softly, rocking on his tired legs. “If only—... ah, the hell with it.”

Movement coming from the Akerlial tore his gaze away from the streaked sky, and as much as he wanted to doggedly storm through the woods in search of the source, he stood his ground. “And I am Phinneus, or Phin for short. Whichever pleases you,” He introduced, nodding his head. A wry grimaced stretched crookedly on his muzzle. “I would have guessed, though you look different compared to the other Akerlial' I've had the pleasure of meeting.” He swung his attention towards Farid's companion, the Masked Belieet, and bowed his head lightly, before straightening. “Nice to meet you—I guess, judging the circumstances, it wouldn't be odd to invite you two on an short adventure. Strength in numbers, isn't that what they say?” Another rich laugh crawled from his throat. “Or a journey to hell, whichever it is.”

As soon as Phinneus was about to say another thing—adding to his sarcastic pleasantries—a booming voice intruded on his fatigued thoughts. Perhaps his conscious? No, something more. Something that could control his aching appendages. And suddenly his smouldering eyes narrowed, outraged that these strangers had awoken him. Anger crawled under his skin; heat flushed his already burning body, all for what? Who were they? And this voice, it was telling him that they were no different than his own kin. The kin that had left him to die, left him to rot amidst the underbrush. “N... No, get away,” He suddenly croaked, shaking his head and barreling past them. Anything to get away, to quiet the shrieking voice that told him... no, demanded him to go. Go where? It didn't matter. Branches slapped at his face, cutting beneath his fur. He couldn't even fathom how he was running. Something was pulling him. And there it was, cutting into the clearing he finally stopped. As if he were an object made from cogs and wheels and power, the energy left him and he fell onto his knees. A feeling of serenity mingled with pure, unadulterated power crept into the recesses of his mind. The blue light reflected in the pits of his black eyes, and for a moment, he knew.

I, I was made for you.