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10-13-2015, 07:56 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-13-2015, 08:00 PM by Tembovu.
Edit Reason: added HFH D:
)
Tembovu
Thick ears prick as his large head raises to his towering height and his eyes probe the mist for the source of the voices. He hears a male voice, an adult stallion. A smaller, lighter voice follows the query into the fog. The elephant’s ears twitch in vague recognition.
Heavy hooves churn the soil, thick legs of ebony and cream making eddies in the mist. He steps on a lingering, large shard of sharp glass— though it melts to water before it can tear into the sensitive tissues of his hoof’s underside. It seems (after seasons of practice) that he has acquired some semblance of control over his Glazier magic. It was a skill so similar and yet so different from battling. Control, practice, repetition. And the multitude of glass provided plenty of all three.
He halts abruptly, the motion creating a slight opening in the fog. A silver unicorn with a unique dorsal stripe stood at the borders of the Edge. Thick nostrils flare— he smelled of the Basin. He knew that scent well (of cold and ice and snow) from Rexanna. Unease drifts through his barrel, for he has an inexplicable mistrust and dislike of the Basin (despite his lover residing there).
Deep blue eyes rest calmly, expectantly, on the stallion’s equally blue gaze. Were his eyes sad? Haunted, even? The stranger was so new, he could not tell. “Hello. I am Tembovu. Can I help yo—” his rumbling voice cuts off as he catches sight of a small, porcelain figure through a break in the thick mist. She was just beyond the stud, marveling at a chunk of glass wall that remained standing. “Erthe! What trouble are you stirring up?” His voice rolls warmly and humorously towards the filly.
He takes a sweeping step around the stallion, lowering his giant head to the little one’s level. “I see you have not yet been cured of the black lung, little one,” there was gentle reprimand and concern in his low voice.
The dim lighting of through the mist helped with the dull ache in his head, though thin rivulets of dried blood still stained the base of his ears.
Heavy hooves churn the soil, thick legs of ebony and cream making eddies in the mist. He steps on a lingering, large shard of sharp glass— though it melts to water before it can tear into the sensitive tissues of his hoof’s underside. It seems (after seasons of practice) that he has acquired some semblance of control over his Glazier magic. It was a skill so similar and yet so different from battling. Control, practice, repetition. And the multitude of glass provided plenty of all three.
He halts abruptly, the motion creating a slight opening in the fog. A silver unicorn with a unique dorsal stripe stood at the borders of the Edge. Thick nostrils flare— he smelled of the Basin. He knew that scent well (of cold and ice and snow) from Rexanna. Unease drifts through his barrel, for he has an inexplicable mistrust and dislike of the Basin (despite his lover residing there).
Deep blue eyes rest calmly, expectantly, on the stallion’s equally blue gaze. Were his eyes sad? Haunted, even? The stranger was so new, he could not tell. “Hello. I am Tembovu. Can I help yo—” his rumbling voice cuts off as he catches sight of a small, porcelain figure through a break in the thick mist. She was just beyond the stud, marveling at a chunk of glass wall that remained standing. “Erthe! What trouble are you stirring up?” His voice rolls warmly and humorously towards the filly.
He takes a sweeping step around the stallion, lowering his giant head to the little one’s level. “I see you have not yet been cured of the black lung, little one,” there was gentle reprimand and concern in his low voice.
The dim lighting of through the mist helped with the dull ache in his head, though thin rivulets of dried blood still stained the base of his ears.
@Random Event - HFH, doesn't touch anyone or experience magic
Please tag Tembovu.
