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06-14-2015, 10:06 AM
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The scent of petrichor and electricity filtered in on a wind that was uncomfortably cold. Far be it for the God to ever make a welcome show of his approval, much less appear in the flesh. Last time, at Ophelia's promotion he had been met with dissonance and discord; they wanted his flare not his words. So be it - he would let them have it. He would disagree with nothing, in fact, Deimos had done well with what he had. Lightning and white-blue electric fire danced at the hooves of Ashamin, radiating upwards and dripping off of his melted-looking horn. Small sparks appeared around the others who were named; Lena, Enna, D'Art, and Arah, and even smaller fizzles around those promoted beneath them. The winds shifted suddenly and hush fell once again in the Basin valley. |
