[Enough that the passing images aren't a surprise. He looks off towards the end of the massive room, where a throne sits. Something hulking and massive and immensely powerful sits atop it, with many wings and a booming voice.
The real Solomon turns to keep plucking things from the snow, just as the sound of doors burst open in an unseen space behind them, and an apparition of Solomon comes strolling in to this courtly scene. The space is filled bit by bit, faceless demons that stand upright like humans, a court in shock filled with wings and horns and the cool but fiery energy of Hell, especially as the most ferocious of them stomps to his feet. Who dares to barge into the castle of the King of Demons unannounced?
"Only a witty sorcerer."
The list of demands is wavering, as though the memory is so distant that the details are blotted like an ink stain. But Solomon stands, unmoving, smiling as he always does with a face of mirth and eyes of sharp ice as he demands an act of peace. An end to the recent increase of activity above the grounds. Working together... with a catch.
"Only under my supervision will I let you go and do as you please. Obey me, submit, and I'll consider this peace a success."
The rage of the king fills the room with a deathly energy, licking like fire. And yet Solomon does not move, real or apparition, even as the refusal turns to a threat. How dare he. How dare he. Come to a land that isn't his to demand what isn't his. How dare a mere man lay foot into matters that weren't his own.
"I don't think you need to doubt my reasoning, here. I am very serious. And I will prove it if I must."
The energy of hellish rage only grows, and the scene starts to morph. Not to a court, but to the vast stretches of a battlefield, under scorched lands and a dark, sunless sky.
It is only Solomon. And the magic power that courses through him is thick and intense. The smell of inhumane blood and fire fills the nostrils and coats the tongue. Dead lie all around, and fire burns heavy. And yet still the new waves of soldiers rush him in the distance, their cries an echoing holler of their king. Solomon merely holds his ground, a speck in the sea waiting for a wave to try and move it. There is no joy. Only a cold and unwavering confidence, as he starts to advance forward through bloodstained and barren lands.
From off to the side, the real Solomon watches - not the memory, but Jing Yuan, closely.]
Cw: war imagery, large amounts of death
[Enough that the passing images aren't a surprise. He looks off towards the end of the massive room, where a throne sits. Something hulking and massive and immensely powerful sits atop it, with many wings and a booming voice.
The real Solomon turns to keep plucking things from the snow, just as the sound of doors burst open in an unseen space behind them, and an apparition of Solomon comes strolling in to this courtly scene. The space is filled bit by bit, faceless demons that stand upright like humans, a court in shock filled with wings and horns and the cool but fiery energy of Hell, especially as the most ferocious of them stomps to his feet. Who dares to barge into the castle of the King of Demons unannounced?
"Only a witty sorcerer."
The list of demands is wavering, as though the memory is so distant that the details are blotted like an ink stain. But Solomon stands, unmoving, smiling as he always does with a face of mirth and eyes of sharp ice as he demands an act of peace. An end to the recent increase of activity above the grounds. Working together... with a catch.
"Only under my supervision will I let you go and do as you please. Obey me, submit, and I'll consider this peace a success."
The rage of the king fills the room with a deathly energy, licking like fire. And yet Solomon does not move, real or apparition, even as the refusal turns to a threat. How dare he. How dare he. Come to a land that isn't his to demand what isn't his. How dare a mere man lay foot into matters that weren't his own.
"I don't think you need to doubt my reasoning, here. I am very serious. And I will prove it if I must."
The energy of hellish rage only grows, and the scene starts to morph. Not to a court, but to the vast stretches of a battlefield, under scorched lands and a dark, sunless sky.
It is only Solomon. And the magic power that courses through him is thick and intense. The smell of inhumane blood and fire fills the nostrils and coats the tongue. Dead lie all around, and fire burns heavy. And yet still the new waves of soldiers rush him in the distance, their cries an echoing holler of their king. Solomon merely holds his ground, a speck in the sea waiting for a wave to try and move it. There is no joy. Only a cold and unwavering confidence, as he starts to advance forward through bloodstained and barren lands.
From off to the side, the real Solomon watches - not the memory, but Jing Yuan, closely.]
You can see it as well?