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01-23-2014, 04:48 PM
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But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride...
Quilyan
...he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.
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He wanders the caverns endlessly in a wide, ranging circle that always starts and ends at the same points. His pacing signifies restlessness; he has never been confined to such a small place, particularly not with so many others. When he thinks back to his days in Th'orqui, he remembers longingly the feeling of immense freedom. After all, he was the heir to the throne back then; there were no doors closed to him, no stone to leave unturned. He could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he wanted, and the worst consequence would be his father's disapproving scowl. Even that, though, was rare. He was a flirt, but besides that, he had been a good little prince. Shaking his head, he glances around for what feels like the hundredth time. He has halted in the glowing room - that's what everyone is calling it, anyway. It makes sense, what with the odd, sparkling vines hanging from the ceiling, but it seems a bit too cliché for his tastes. He frowns. He has been cooped up here for too long. He has volunteered to join the brutish Sultan's group of spies - Siguls - but it is not enough. He remembers watching from the mouth of the Sanctuary the day before as the Heart flared, blazing, and seemed to move before his eyes. After a while, it had been snuffed out. He did not attempt to approach. He did not try to understand what had happened. The darkness took over, and that was that. What was the point in wandering around the black outside world and likely never returning? What good would that do? But, then again, what good was he doing here? How was he supposed to learn anything from within these caverns? Frustration has led him to leave Resplendence to her own devices, afraid that he will either snap at her or mess up her herbs. Either scenario does not bode well for his future. Zarina scampers up and down his back, leaping from vine to vine every now and then. You feel sorry for yourself, she scolds him now as she lands on his poll. The jarring thump makes him tense, but he resists the urge to shake his head again until she retreats to his withers. Then his mane flies as he rids himself of the uncomfortable feeling of her weight on one of the most sensitive parts of his head. I just want something to do, he tells her, though she already knows that. She is in his head, after all. Maybe if he wanders enough, he will bump into someone who can help him. |
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Please tag Quilyan in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
