The Weavers (Crafter)

the Rift

[PRIVATE] The Weavers (Crafter)

Farenjer Posts: 68

Hidden Account

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hands :: 5 Buff: NOVICE

Loulou

03-29-2014, 07:42 AM

farenjer
A phantom of the ice and snow

As the day withered on Farenjer had begun progressing with the project. He came to appear by the metallic statues in the narrow passage and looked up to them. They were proud pieces to behold, crafted mostly by the man who knew his metals. As the artisan observed the progress, a feminine voice breezed through the stiff air. He turned, locks of ebony hair brushing along his face, his icy orbs raking over the site of a smaller mare who stood in the gateway of their home. As the towering ebony unicorn approached her, Farenjer swept his tail and gazed with an observant, parted expression upon his face.

She appeared to be of all beautiful natural greys, with black tipping at her feet and lips, gentle chocolate orbs reflected the snow, and a silver horn stood upon her cranium. His eyes fell upon what appeared to be of pinks and purples under her belly. Farenjer recalled as she had inquired she was from the Hidden Falls, and her reasons for approaching such an icy lair was because she had a quest from a God.

Curiosity gleamed off his blue eyes and he approached Cashmere, his ears rotating forward with a meeting gaze. Ulrik gave a less unfriendly vibe, meeting up to her call and questioning her. Farenjer just settled by the other weaver and paused briefly. Words never said, for Ulrik had stated everything now. But Farenjer gave a silent more greeting approach as he watched her in his silence, thinking. What would this girl want? What could this Earth God give to her, for her to come all this way to the icy North? Would she know of their unfriendly ways? And why would she need the crafters? Icy orbs flickered to the ebony stallion who's ears melted away at his head and his passive aggressiveness drowning the already tense ambience. Farenjer hoped that Ulrik would go a little easy on her. She seemed to come alone, was a unicorn, and most importantly in peace. His eyes settled now upon the stranger once more. She seemed friendly enough. Finally, he tips his head in passive wariness. But words never touch his lips.

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"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."

Table Credits to Baylee (cammyandbaylee.deaviantart.com)