A Youngblood's Heart

A Secret I've Never thought to tell you

Abounding centuries to schlepped eras, an encumbering continuance of time. As if the world pursued to emulate the ocean's wavering, it so carried about change. Reformation amidst the silence of primitive indulgences to recapitulate the world. The now settled past faced a world still in its ancient ruins. For powerful beasts guarded the nature of the heavenly archaic world. Dear Aylesbury calls for her carnage, now bring forth the expulsion of life.

He possessed a joyless gaze, bound to the austere nature of boreal forests that sharpened his eyes. His soul were to be at glacial pace. As fiery it may be, at no time shall it thaw the blaze of a behemoth. Ridgid tortured carpals, his hands had veins that protruded from dry and cracked skin, drummed an oddly patterned beat. Auxiliary would be impressed by the tempo. Arising to stretch his spine, he then sat with daunting features being reflective of his ascetic manner of devoutness.

Beyond the shell of well architectured buildings, winter called forth herds of storms. At the aging afternoon hour, storms awoke to conjure beyond the visible city skyline. It heaved forth a breath crisp and frore, nature apprised a squall.

The visage of a tempered face, scratched by lines of age. Facial hair remained rough, as this too goes for the hair upon his arms. His raucous voice was now at repose. He was quite unique. Aylesbury, at all hours of its life allows bestial creatures to roam and garnish its lands.

Vehement eyes, a hue of an inflamed sunset, it was the blaze of fire, akin to his nature. His dark brown hair carelessly swept back, with his parting hair to fall over his face. His hair parted to the center of the scalp, and tied back with a band.

The torso of a man, and the bipedal legs of a verata goat. His fur to be of a darker color, and matted when nearing his weathered hooves. In the midst of winter he wore leather jackets and cargo shorts.

Atop his head, the horns of the beast, to the similar species of verata. They too as his eyes held an unimaginable color. There be no vivid radiance to it, but more as a striking beauty as a heavy setting sun. His demonic ears held the same tint, yet not furred but of bare skin.

Awaiting in the lonesome room, anticipation began to ache.

To sojourn the decrepit waiting rooms, impatience set to erode at the soul. Stamping his hoof, to of now soul would heed to.

Wary of startling, the door creaked open. With light dispersing and shadows evading, wide and worried eyes held a distressed remark. For seconds did the person await for a reaction, did he idle in the doorway.

Out nervously sauntered a familiar friend, one who was adorned by riding gear and leather hide armor. The man was of a short height, or what of the demigods wished to tease, 'vertically challenged'. Decked head to toe, beneath the coats, he wore a dashing red coat and bow tie of the same color.

Guarded with his own arms, he held the skull of a fetal dragon. Despite its youth and tragic end, being of an abrupt death before life, was still the length of over a yard. Worn as the war cry of one's crucial anatomy and bear the disheartening mark of the youngblood, upon the skull near its eye sockets.

This were to be worn for a symbolic leadership that the tamer may carry, and so does it retain technologies that may aid many acts of traveling throughout the wilderness. Of course, upon the back of an elder dragon, Lamgorkasta.

Optical enhancements within the cavity of the eye sockets, navigational devices upon the inner brain niche, perceiving sound is augmented to be equipped to particular tongues, and alas the mere brutal appearance of the skull. It does drape a tanned hide of dragon scales upon the neck, securing it. As for the neck, which is a vulnerable point in many creatures, now shall be excluded from sight and touch. As for the skull, it supplies adequate access to a small oxygen tank carried upon his back.