Apr 07 2019, 01:39 AM
At the entrance to Tunnel K, overlooking the tunnel and carved high over its doorway, was a very ugly face. Its features were contorted into a snarl, a warning, and currently grinning up at it was an equally-ugly face.
The grin was natural. Imp could no more stop grinning than he could stop being half-alligator, with its smiling, toothy boat-face. But he himself looked quite gargoyle-esque, with his wings and weird ears and horns, and the vague similarity was not lost on him. But that was not why he was here.
The hybrid flipped open his box. From it, he pulled out the stolen pouch, which he gripped tightly in his jaws. A powerful flap or two of wings, and he was up at the statue; his hind legs gripped on tightly. Carefully, and after some testing of various positions and limb-use, he settled for keeping the bag hanging from his jaws, his wings and one hind leg keeping him firmly affixed to its frozen stone face. His left hind leg he used to pluck out the glowing sticks of talc--each baubled, each a different color.
He was about to become an artist.
____________
An hour or two passed, the gargoyle-like hybrid intent upon his work. He'd colored the snarling face in a chaotic jumble of primary colors. Its eyes glowed red. Along the ceiling, and the walls, he'd now scratched long lines and patterns--and scenes, too.
The scenes were rather rude.
Featuring prominently was a series of square-framed pictures of Nemean dead in different ways: her head cut off, or her body engulfed in flame, another of her drowning, and so forth. One even had her being devoured by some sort of winged, horned, gator-faced hybrid.
Another glowing picture--not in pink, gold and blood-red, but rather blues and yellows--had overly-dramatic caricatures of Aquarian screeching and flailing. There was one of a black dragon on the Spire--huge, hulking--but it was, for whatever reason, crying a flood of tears.
Busy in his "work," perched halfway up the tunnel wall (his claws gripping any outcrops that they could), Imp remained oblivious to the world around him, for now.
The grin was natural. Imp could no more stop grinning than he could stop being half-alligator, with its smiling, toothy boat-face. But he himself looked quite gargoyle-esque, with his wings and weird ears and horns, and the vague similarity was not lost on him. But that was not why he was here.
The hybrid flipped open his box. From it, he pulled out the stolen pouch, which he gripped tightly in his jaws. A powerful flap or two of wings, and he was up at the statue; his hind legs gripped on tightly. Carefully, and after some testing of various positions and limb-use, he settled for keeping the bag hanging from his jaws, his wings and one hind leg keeping him firmly affixed to its frozen stone face. His left hind leg he used to pluck out the glowing sticks of talc--each baubled, each a different color.
He was about to become an artist.
An hour or two passed, the gargoyle-like hybrid intent upon his work. He'd colored the snarling face in a chaotic jumble of primary colors. Its eyes glowed red. Along the ceiling, and the walls, he'd now scratched long lines and patterns--and scenes, too.
The scenes were rather rude.
Featuring prominently was a series of square-framed pictures of Nemean dead in different ways: her head cut off, or her body engulfed in flame, another of her drowning, and so forth. One even had her being devoured by some sort of winged, horned, gator-faced hybrid.
Another glowing picture--not in pink, gold and blood-red, but rather blues and yellows--had overly-dramatic caricatures of Aquarian screeching and flailing. There was one of a black dragon on the Spire--huge, hulking--but it was, for whatever reason, crying a flood of tears.
Busy in his "work," perched halfway up the tunnel wall (his claws gripping any outcrops that they could), Imp remained oblivious to the world around him, for now.