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It was by no means a pleasant rain so much as a nightmarish deluge, a cold and foul storm that thundered against sand and sea alike. Occasional a fork of lightning would split apart the marbled gray skies, leaving the world edged in a fine, violet light for a split second. Nymeria didn't mind the storm as much as she could have. Oh, she was wet, soaked down to the bone, skin lashing tightly across the curves of her sensuous hips—but she was warm when others would be cold. Her magic was astonishingly practical and diverse in application: the water that drizzled down her skin and pooled in the crook of her spine she was able to keep constantly heated, preventing any sort of unpleasant chilling sensation. And as for a more visual result? She steamed in a strange and enigmatic way, grey shrouding her form in an ethereal cloak.
The water was everywhere—it drowned out all other sounds—and bless, it felt good to be deaf. Lilómiel, cradled upon her withers, was less interested in her apathy. His eyes burned in the shadows (a flaming and heated red) and his tongue periodically slithered forth from his teeth to check the air. The rain was less a blessing than a curse to him; she supposed if she exhaled flame she might feel the same.
Still, she was hardly expecting them to engage in conflict anytime soon. This was a routine patrol; she was out seeking information, nothing more and nothing less.
Well... maybe not nothing more or less. She was seeking something else—but that something was a little more difficult to label.
OOC: It'll get better as the thread picks up!
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
