Foment

[OPEN] Foment

Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354

Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT

Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod

12-18-2014, 09:42 PM

Torleik the Bloodskald

Don't kill the messenger

Though perhaps he hadn't realized it, the Bloodskald had been worried that he'd made a grave error in Ophelia's eyes in recruiting this pale mare that reminded him so much of her. Normally polite and quiet, his Lady had been brusque and blunt with this new mare; highly unusual, and very unsettling. But the Basin leader gave him an apologetic glance while speaking of a Donovan.

A family member, he had gleaned, and one that had passed, it seemed. Many of Ophelia's line were deceased, then. Or so it felt. Her mother recently, this Donovan, and sometimes Torleik swore the crimson and white mare spoke of her father as if he were gone, too. As of now, the conversation shifted to bloodlines and the inherent traits that were mixed within the crimson lineage.

Torleik often wondered at such...breeding. If those traits were truly inherited. He was nothing like his elder brother, who was less like their father and more like their father's uncle. Mayhap it was a complicated mess he would never understand, and didn't want to. The stallion barely understood mares and their pregnancies as it was and the mystical nature of genetics seemed naught but sorcery to his thoughtful but less-abstract mind.

Letting his mind return to the present, Ophelia mentioned Dorngarrow and he surmised that must be her ancestral home. He had yet to tell his to anyone, though Ulrik already knew. Did it matter where he hailed from? It didn't seem to; he was the only one left, anyhow. The pause that fell over their interactions prompted his intervention now, and the Bloodskald cleared his throat. "Ah, Phantom, if you wish it, I can show you some of the points of interest in the Basin. If not, you are welcome to find an empty cave and claim it for your own."

The rabicano demon shifted on his solid hooves, uncomfortable. Weaving words into song of praise or dirge, celebration or grief, was second-nature to him. Diffusing tension amongst women and being what one might call smooth...he felt out of his depth. Attempting to plumb the depths and regain his bearings, he spoke and hoped that opening his mouth was not a mistake.

"talk talk talk"

@[Phantom]
@[Ophelia]

Art by araxel @ DA