| Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE |
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Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions
& Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch
Heather |
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Discoveries laced and lanced the quarters of his bright, willing mind, and they were galvanized into riddles as the world united under schemes and Machiavellian conundrums. Brought and finessed into one of his favored places (because it was so alive and archaic, disastrous and mysterious, a standing enigma basking in its unknown requiems), the lithe lad marched amongst the collected marble garden and the lilting columns, piercing motivations and subterfuge together, pinpointing features and curiosities together: everything was an inquiry. As he stared, lifted his cranium to the stars and false, glass heavens, amongst the kaleidoscope alms and the busy, bustling heights, feasting his eyes on a red panda looking remarkably similar to a companion he’d once seen (perhaps belonging to one of those Throat individuals, all furry and round), listening to the throng as they sang or pieced together their answers. For once, Erebos wished he were older, so he had some chance at possessing the fine wisdom an elder mare spoke, or the brandished gall and guts of the filly nearby, but instead, all he could finesse were the little boughs of his miniscule musings, the earnest sagacity of a childish whim and jubilant mind. With a vibrant crescendo, his voice stirred from the back of the ancient structure, a miniature blue body rising from the rubble. “We all have to grow and change, but we’re still the same soul.” He paused, focused on the query, relishing its quandaries and highlights, the great, grand mysteries. The tiny infidel truly didn’t know how else to guide the nuance of change and regrowth; he’d barely existed more than a year himself, drifting amongst gangly limbs and lanky edges. They all morphed and adjusted in some composition; whether it was from age, from war, from pestilence, from raw, biting hunger, from nestled comfort, or from bristling demands. The young Prince’s eyes glanced over its high walls and majestic glass again, ruminated over the patterns and attempted to focus on the regal stature of what once was, why it’d been built, why it glowed and brightened and failed to collapse after years and years of abominations. How were they to know if this was even the first time it’d been resurrected and finalized, strong and mighty, dominant and supreme, where it had crumpled before? “We all alter, in a way. I think the Rotunda would still be the Rotunda, just reborn and renewed.”
Wishlist - Seeking Royal Kitsune
Prior Refusal
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Image Credits
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[O] Socrates called, he wants his philosophy back :: NS Royal Companion Drop
