Leonardo Rainfall
Balrog inhaled a harsh breath, the fresh air filling his large lungs for the first time in over half a century. He spent his time sitting, waiting fervently to roam Middle Earth once again. His mind swam with thoughts of violence, philosophy, technique...and vengeance. He had thought on, for years, whether it was vengeance or revenge that he desired. Revenge is an act of passion; Vengeance is an act of justice. Although Balrog was no creature of morality or law, there are still certain rules and principles that must be acknowledged. And there were certain transgressions that cannot be overlooked.
Balrog looked down to his hands, the sharp claws pushing out of them, and extending. He whirled around with an ironic grace, thrusting the hand downward, cleaving a thick oak into four segments as splinters flew through the air. The pieces of oak began to burn as they fell to the ground, the fire lively spreading over the lumber from piece to piece as it laid scattered about. Creatures of the wood scurried away as the fire grew more intense, spreading to the surrounding grass and shrubs. Balrog inhaled deeply, taking in the long missed scent of destruction. The smell of hot smoke rising from burning thicket nearly sent chills down the creature's spine.
The intoxicating power of his flames over this fragile forest overtook him. His pent up bloodlust began leaking from him, his body and muscles tightening in excitement as his head looked from left to right. Letting out a loud, rumbling growl, he swept a hand out in front of him, waves of vertically cascading flames shooting out, haphazardly catching flame to anything unfortunate enough to be caught in it's blaze. The Balrog smiled a wicked grin as he felt relief wash over him. His sharp teeth gritted down as he flung its hand out straight sending a line of fire speeding over the ground, cracking and splitting the earth into molten rock. The force of the attack tore down trees in it's path and incinerated small creatures caught in it's line of fire. Too slow. The Balrog growled in dissatisfaction.
The Balrog reached to his upper back slowly, it's hands gripping around the hilt of his first weapon. He tightened his grip and brought forth the weapon in a quick blur, his movements surprisingly fast for something of such size. The red flash of light slammed against the ground in a loose fashion, a loud cracking sound resounding through the forest, the contact with the forest floor leaving a trail of flames in it's wake. It was a three tailed fire whip, the Balrog's first weapon. The whip was long and able to extend in size, made of hectic fire trapped in the weapon's shape. The fire within writhed and slithered like thousands of deep orange snakes entangled in a violent, chaotic dance. Balrog cracked the whip against the air again, testing his hand. Then it brought the whip above his head, spinning it in a circle, gaining moment before bringing it forward and tearing over a dozen trees asunder and clearing the area immediately in front of him.
He set the whip against his back, the flames enshrouding his body greedily devouring it with billowing, dark flames. He turned his head from left to right, observing his work. He shook his head with anger, finding he needed work after all these years. At the moment he had no idea where he was or in which direction he needed to head. For now he would simply walk until he reached an area of note. He would stick to the ground as it was best that his presence was not known until he wanted it.
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Balrog looked down to his hands, the sharp claws pushing out of them, and extending. He whirled around with an ironic grace, thrusting the hand downward, cleaving a thick oak into four segments as splinters flew through the air. The pieces of oak began to burn as they fell to the ground, the fire lively spreading over the lumber from piece to piece as it laid scattered about. Creatures of the wood scurried away as the fire grew more intense, spreading to the surrounding grass and shrubs. Balrog inhaled deeply, taking in the long missed scent of destruction. The smell of hot smoke rising from burning thicket nearly sent chills down the creature's spine.
The intoxicating power of his flames over this fragile forest overtook him. His pent up bloodlust began leaking from him, his body and muscles tightening in excitement as his head looked from left to right. Letting out a loud, rumbling growl, he swept a hand out in front of him, waves of vertically cascading flames shooting out, haphazardly catching flame to anything unfortunate enough to be caught in it's blaze. The Balrog smiled a wicked grin as he felt relief wash over him. His sharp teeth gritted down as he flung its hand out straight sending a line of fire speeding over the ground, cracking and splitting the earth into molten rock. The force of the attack tore down trees in it's path and incinerated small creatures caught in it's line of fire. Too slow. The Balrog growled in dissatisfaction.
The Balrog reached to his upper back slowly, it's hands gripping around the hilt of his first weapon. He tightened his grip and brought forth the weapon in a quick blur, his movements surprisingly fast for something of such size. The red flash of light slammed against the ground in a loose fashion, a loud cracking sound resounding through the forest, the contact with the forest floor leaving a trail of flames in it's wake. It was a three tailed fire whip, the Balrog's first weapon. The whip was long and able to extend in size, made of hectic fire trapped in the weapon's shape. The fire within writhed and slithered like thousands of deep orange snakes entangled in a violent, chaotic dance. Balrog cracked the whip against the air again, testing his hand. Then it brought the whip above his head, spinning it in a circle, gaining moment before bringing it forward and tearing over a dozen trees asunder and clearing the area immediately in front of him.
He set the whip against his back, the flames enshrouding his body greedily devouring it with billowing, dark flames. He turned his head from left to right, observing his work. He shook his head with anger, finding he needed work after all these years. At the moment he had no idea where he was or in which direction he needed to head. For now he would simply walk until he reached an area of note. He would stick to the ground as it was best that his presence was not known until he wanted it.
> Next