| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
02-28-2015, 11:59 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-22-2015, 08:51 PM by Sevin.)
....Did that hurt you...?
Oh, but how Zikar-Sin sometimes wished that the mirror offered some sort of a gleam, a reflection! Painstakingly he had cleaned and spruced every inch and corner of the cave—sweeping out debris, clearing every nook and cranny from the residue of any mortal being who had occupied these halls, making sure there was no mildew residue from the recent floodings. And indeed, he had set about to polishing the stone as well—not all of it, goodness gracious, that would have been a monstrous task indeed!
Though he did polish the vertical walls, allowing whatever light that filtered into the gloomy cave to cast about upon sleek, glistening stone; he had also attempted to treat the surface of the ghostly mirror of Vision, and while he believed his endeavors to prove themselves successful, Sin was somewhat disappointed by the lack of a lustrous sheen upon the smooth surface. Ah, well, he decided, casting such a quaint and useless emotion to the side as easily as one might flick a fly from their hide, I suppose this mirror was not built for vanity, hmm? Yes.
He gazed into the shadow depths of the device, eyes wide and grin jovial as he surveyed the deeps of another world—another plane. Ah, but wasn’t there another stud who had traversed such a plane before? Mauja was his name, the Frostheart and the king who could not be king of this place. Zikar-Sin couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his throat; how silly it had all been, what with Sin’s previous conundrum for his allegiances to whichever king or queen or Tolio creature. What an absolute waste of nerves! They were all dead at any rate (except Mauja…actually, Sin wasn’t sure if Mauja had survived his exhile? Hmm) and leaders continued to change like the leaves in the fall. No matter. Sin had grown comfortable in the walls of these caves, in the looming shadows of this Basin. He knew himself now—his purpose. And it required no others…
…however, he must confess himself hoping that the Frostking hadn’t succumbed to the wilds, for he would love to ask him as many wonderful questions as he could about his internship in the smoky, twisting caverns of the mirror.
Hmm.
“Lord of Time, God of Spark,” he called out, merry and reverent with eyes gleaming and mad into the din, “Forgive my lapse in correspondence this past Spring season. It seemed…*ahem*…most unseemly for me to request your audience and vision, with so much…” he let the idea trail delicately, “…so much happening in both of our planes.”
The Goddess of the Moon. He had heard from his very own Lady Ophelia (a lady with whom he has had little correspondence, but who seemed to know how to carry herself and speak rather clearly) about the fate of such a divine being. “There is a god who walks our plane,” he spoke into the mirror; the glaze in his eyes seemed to shift behind the lens of the monocle, “and I must ask if she will be a danger to us, and if we will be able to protect ourselves from her? How should we treat with her?”
Zikar-Sin gave a little sniff and straightened up, for here came dreadful things, mundane things that he dreaded having to give any thought about—but he must, for the good of his countrymen. “There is a certain Confutatis who stalks this land,” he pressed, his eyes just as merrily mad as ever, even if his voice had attained a certain air of contempt between his molars, “Several times she has harried us, and several times we have proven our dominance over her, and sent her away. She has been stripped of both her dignity and her armor, and yet she continues to target us, seemingly out of nothing but sheer boredom…” His eyes cast a little to the side, imagining the skull-marking that had been described to him; imagining a handsome skeleton cut from her hide and adorning his wall. “…can we be rid of her forever?” For he suspected that she would continue to harry them, even in death; he could easily imagine her ghost slinking around the hot springs and spooking the children. How bothersome!
“On the topic of the herd of the Hidden Falls,” he pressed, forgetting the irksome lady—no, not lady, woman-- with whom his thoughts had been preoccupied. “They have begun to harass us as well—though we have done nothing but offer ourselves in peaceful armistice. They spat on our offer in our faces, though, and have decided us enemies…” he sighed wistfully, thinking of the children that have begun to disappear from their halls. Where is little Aithniel? he wondered, Where is Rikyn and his gorgeous Lady mother? “…We have not the resources for another war. It is true we have been training ourselves, attempting to strengthen our resources and our own bodies to protect this place, your beautiful domain. We are not ready, though, and they seem to insist on provoking us into a battle we will surely lose….How may we subvert this threat?”
He cleared his throat, shaking the dreadlocks against his neck from one position to another. “On a personal matter,” he said, casting his thoughts back to his countrymen, “you remember that our Weaver Ulrik gave his magic for the creation of our glorious tent, erected with your power…” He dipped his head, “..and we are certainly grateful for your benevolence! I must ask, however, if it is possible for our Weaver to repossess his magic?”
Sin wracked his brains for any other snippet of a question he might ask his Deity; then, finding none, he dipped his head deeply towards the glistening mirror, his smile so wide his cheeks were beginning to burn.
"....my Lord," he finished in a breathy finale, and one could hear the insanity even on his tongue.
@[Random Event]
@[Adelric]--if you wanna hop in!
...Forgive Me...
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