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Reaper's Moon
He stands above us
in some sort of way.
Just how a king rules
with influence, sway.
See how he travels,
across land to sea.
See how he stands, death,
compare him to me.
ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION
Night meant many things to Ashamin, now.
It meant that the three inhabitants of the haruspex's cave--the mirror, the stallion, and his companion--were all awake and alert. They each swirled and journeyed with their own ideas of wisdom and what was to come.
Ashamin was thinking of nothing he knew. Lochan, of the few things he did. And the mirror?
Well, who knew what that silver pool of time was up to.
They had journeyed far and for days, Lochan resting in and out of Ashamin's sarong and now at last following along. The endless blue was a new location for them: one they had never heard of and one that Ashamin did not recognize. But Lochan knew the sweeping of those night tides, and he remembered them from a dream.
And so, with fear gripping his heart, the cerndyr shook with every step.
Eventually Ashamin swung his lips to grip the creature with the third eye and place him back in the safety of the silk cloth at his breast. It would not be long before Lochan was too big to rest in its confines, but for now Ashamin knew that they would be faster if he did.
The glittering of the moonlight above was the only thing keeping them from being obscured completely by the dark. The gold of Ashamin's scars shone dully like tainted silver and Lochan's white central eye was bright and open as always, even as the others were shut and trying to force out the memory of that horrible dream.
When the reaper appeared in the distance, almost blending in with the night, Ashamin was startled and somewhat shaken. There was something about the oldest leader that left the Haruspex uneasy, but he was unsure as to why. There were long shadows cast in every corner, the few that there were, and Deimos had seemed to become one of them.
Ashamin approached, unsure. The sand muddled his step and the grooves in his hooves, so used to mountainous terrain, filled with the soft grains. He was silent, though. This was one thing the crash of the tides and the unfamiliar earth provided him: stealth.
A faint wind stirred the silken wrap, blowing it over Lochan's figure. One would have to look close to see him. But the Haruspex himself was clear, if Deimos were to turn. That perfect silhouette, so clean and so unique, tipped with a sparking tail, was lit and outlined by the moon--watching over something he didn't know and the rhythmic rise and fall, that perfect, serene hush of the static tides.
He would wait for the reaper to find him, tonight--this time.
""
[Deimos--Sorry Asha is a chicken and couldn't start things up.]
Table by Jen, with help from Avis
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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