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08-08-2015, 10:06 PM
The beast lurked in the shadows of the Threshold, watching the foreigners filter in and out like helpless pups eager for a bout of knowledge from the fountain of information. Each desperate for something, yearning to know something, to know that they are safe. Caleb had yet to meet someone different, someone who would critique the land, not cry for its power and lore. Some were worse then others, barreling down the thin, twisted paths, crying out for someone, a sign of life. This dark phantom wanted none of the urgency that came with these types of helpless wanders, so he searched for a calm counterpart, one that would approach with an attractive calmness, ease into the abundance of Helovia.
The next wanderer that filters through is small, decorated with horns. Her coat was like marble, a mingle of black and white, like a smooth countertop. Her hair falls in tumbles down this mares sleek neck and shoulders, her tail falling in equally silly crescendos to the snow-covered ground. Stepping from the shadows, a calm facade washing over the intense brute as he paces towards her, halting a mere foot from her, head-to-head. Her voice that had rung out moments ago is silent. This mysterious man watches her, gazes down upon the edges and curves of her cranium, steel eyes heated, scorching. "Hello." He replies, his voice a deep roar, a masculine tenor. The smoothness of his voice accompanied by his crisp accentuation of his words builds a formal, businessman type sound to the dark, brooding, stag.
After a beat of silence, the ebony stallion resumes speaking. "What might I call you?" He questions kindly, but pointedly. Caleb was the kind of stallion whose masculine, handsome, face had brought him much success in the past, and he finds himself now ready for a new experience it the opportunity arises. He is a man whose every look probes at a mares sensuality, exploring it, without discriminating between a lowly slave and a queen. His steel eyes are filled with passion, but it is the passion of a gambler rather than a lover, cold, calculating and dangerous. Though these eyes, they provoke curiosity, a will to know more, it just matters if the mare is willing to investigate this dark phantom.
The next wanderer that filters through is small, decorated with horns. Her coat was like marble, a mingle of black and white, like a smooth countertop. Her hair falls in tumbles down this mares sleek neck and shoulders, her tail falling in equally silly crescendos to the snow-covered ground. Stepping from the shadows, a calm facade washing over the intense brute as he paces towards her, halting a mere foot from her, head-to-head. Her voice that had rung out moments ago is silent. This mysterious man watches her, gazes down upon the edges and curves of her cranium, steel eyes heated, scorching. "Hello." He replies, his voice a deep roar, a masculine tenor. The smoothness of his voice accompanied by his crisp accentuation of his words builds a formal, businessman type sound to the dark, brooding, stag.
After a beat of silence, the ebony stallion resumes speaking. "What might I call you?" He questions kindly, but pointedly. Caleb was the kind of stallion whose masculine, handsome, face had brought him much success in the past, and he finds himself now ready for a new experience it the opportunity arises. He is a man whose every look probes at a mares sensuality, exploring it, without discriminating between a lowly slave and a queen. His steel eyes are filled with passion, but it is the passion of a gambler rather than a lover, cold, calculating and dangerous. Though these eyes, they provoke curiosity, a will to know more, it just matters if the mare is willing to investigate this dark phantom.
