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I'M A WHISPER LOST UPON WIND, I'M THE EMBER THAT WILL BURN YOU DOWN I'M THE WATER THAT'LL DROWN YOU, I'M A STAR THAT'S JUST A BLACK HOLE NOW It's cold in the north. That is what the leviathan notices as he prowls through the snow, crushing it beneath the weight of his titanic hooves. His jowls hang open, wolflike, exhaling harsh breaths of frigid air, and snowflakes rage around his powerful body like fireflies. His stride is long, predatory, heavy, and he leaves crushed snow in his wake. His dragons dart and dance above him, revelling in the frosty air. They are magnificent in the weak winter sunshine, their scales resplendent, their bodies a glorious cacophony of power and beauty. Now several months old, the fact Vadir is a queen is truly showing - she is almost as big as Vérzés and it's clear she will soon outgrow him, much to his utter disgust. Their squabbles and fights have become less frequent, though, to the black monolith's delight and relief. They seem to be getting used to each other, even if it's still painfully apparent that they don't like each other. The wind bites at Volterra's flesh, nipping at hard muscle and driving him from a walk into a rangy trot just to keep warm. The stallion needs a distraction, which is why he has made his way to the far north where the bitter air numbs mind and body alike. He needs to stop thinking about her, about their tryst, about how she felt beneath him and how he prays it wasn't just a one-off. The best way to keep his mind from wandering back to that delicious memory is by fighting, and where better to fight than in the snow, where he'll be tested to his limits? He halts in an open expanse of white, the flat white horizon marred only by a single snow-capped rock. The wind is quite strong, blasting a funnel of flakes around the stud's body and starting to build between his withers. His dragons land on the single rock, preen the snow from their scales, screech abuse at each other as they both try to claim the choicest spot. Volterra's heavy head lifts to bellow a summons for an opponent; ideally one who isn't phased by fighting in a half-blizzard. _____________ Spar for @Rikyn ! Set in the Frostbreath Steppe during quite heavy snow. 0/3 - words |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
