I don’t have a name. My kind never really lived long enough to ever need one. We tell each other apart by our scars. I have lots of scars. Too many, really. I am a Hellhound. I have a silver tail. I have eyes like rubies and claws like obsidian. I don’t have a home. I don’t have a future. I don’t have any hope left in me.
Your worship is lain before the alter of violence. Your creed is the crimson cure that wets your claws once your ire is called forth, it takes form in the scorn of ruby that drips from your lips. Hell hath no fury like that of the hounds who take genesis from its name.
Hellhounds do not share. Or, at least, they do not share willingly. That being said, you stand here with this damned Griffon looking down at you as if she were somehow better than you for reason of simply existing. Your claws itch your fangs grate, Tyrian pulls at your skirt and dries to get you to back down and make peace. The only peace that will be had, is the pieces of her corpse by the time you are finished with her.
What makes you a Telothian Knight, what makes you a league above natural humanity, is the fire inside of you. It is what gives you the power to destroy corruption, and end the lives of the Inhumans. Never once has it occurred to you, what you would become, were it ever to be snuffed out…
The Masters had told you that the quest of the Champion would test you utterly. Your mind and your body, every part of you would be subjected to the hardships of the world beyond the Burning Plains. They told you nothing of it testing the sanctity of your faith.
You want to ruin this boy. You want to pin him down and ravish him, to claim him and make him yours- to break his mind so that he could only ever serve your dark desire. Those looks he gives you, how he’ll bury his face into your side and hug you, his laughing and his crying, the thought of breaking this trust he has with you, that is what holds you back. You don’t know for how much longer they will.
In all the lands of the entire world, there is nothing that exists in any way shape or form that could ever hope to match you. You are like a brilliant golden god, perfection incarnate in body and form; you are the apex of glory and honor. You are a Champion, a prodigal warrior that has risen above the lowly rank and file of your House and have now aspired to become something of legend. You can already imagine the stories, the legends; the telling’s of your doings and the magnificence of your deeds. The poets will weep as they write the tale of your life and scholars and historians will pour over your grandiose quests.
You know how to rip a knight wearing full-plate armor in half with a single stroke of your claws. You know how to skin a buck deer with your teeth. You know how to sow terror through an entire village with just the whisper of your presence. How to soothe the tormented mind of a scared prince? That might just be beyond you.
Your duties direct you to the side of the young prince. Your protective, indomitable presence never to be away from his. In this duty you must be absolute, lest that faint spark of light you’ve found here leave you forever.
You’ve experienced pain before. It comes with your nature. You’d go so far to say that living is in of itself a kind of pain. The kind of pain you feel now is not physical, but emotional. It is the kind of pain that you know wont heal like the rest. Even so, you have to move on.