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11-08-2014, 09:18 PM
No sooner had Fig parted ways with the ivory-masked creature in the thick of the snow-slick forest, than she came across another (still more startling), partly buried by snow; seemingly preserved there, right where she had fallen. Perhaps her being there to uncover yet another death – a second murder she mused presently and grimly – was just a simple coincidence, but as the wind howled through the naked, rattling tree tops and the faint, melancholy caw of that raven drowned into the distance, the young Lignea felt a sickening chill crawl beneath her skin.
It seemed the crime was not isolated to Sky Island alone.
Sodden, sullied leg hair trailed the swing of her enormous hooves as Fig slowly ventured closer, holding her breath, praying to the beloved Gods of Prim’sylva that the dark, motionless shadow before was perhaps only a felled tree, a rotten log, succumbed to the violence of mid-winter’s grip. It was not though, and the harrowing scene began to blur as tears again melted across her cringing green eyes. Her path skirted the fouled snow carefully, respectfully, and she came to stand near enough to observe the lifeless form of the dark, beautifully marked mare.
Like the scene she had witnessed previously, this one was morbid, macabre, and Fig felt a sudden wave of disgust towards the races of this land. She did not allow herself to stew in the soup of confusion however, and quickly thought of the many who had crossed paths with her already – most friendly, forthcoming and warm. The young peaceful Lignea knew not to tar the whole of Helovia with the brush responsible for this still evolving crime. “They are so wild,” she thought softly, sighing and glancing towards the sand blended vaguely through her blood and sprayed across the sand surrounding. “... feral.” The top of her long matted black tail swished agitatedly, though the length of it barely moved where it lay sprawled along the wet snow behind.
Fig began to back awkwardly from the body then, it was news to report to the friends she had met atop the island – the group who seemed to have been so mutually affected.
Four Strangers
Fig
Parelia
Ira
Kirah
It seemed the crime was not isolated to Sky Island alone.
Sodden, sullied leg hair trailed the swing of her enormous hooves as Fig slowly ventured closer, holding her breath, praying to the beloved Gods of Prim’sylva that the dark, motionless shadow before was perhaps only a felled tree, a rotten log, succumbed to the violence of mid-winter’s grip. It was not though, and the harrowing scene began to blur as tears again melted across her cringing green eyes. Her path skirted the fouled snow carefully, respectfully, and she came to stand near enough to observe the lifeless form of the dark, beautifully marked mare.
Like the scene she had witnessed previously, this one was morbid, macabre, and Fig felt a sudden wave of disgust towards the races of this land. She did not allow herself to stew in the soup of confusion however, and quickly thought of the many who had crossed paths with her already – most friendly, forthcoming and warm. The young peaceful Lignea knew not to tar the whole of Helovia with the brush responsible for this still evolving crime. “They are so wild,” she thought softly, sighing and glancing towards the sand blended vaguely through her blood and sprayed across the sand surrounding. “... feral.” The top of her long matted black tail swished agitatedly, though the length of it barely moved where it lay sprawled along the wet snow behind.
Fig began to back awkwardly from the body then, it was news to report to the friends she had met atop the island – the group who seemed to have been so mutually affected.
Four Strangers
Fig
Parelia
Ira
Kirah
