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THE HARUSPEX
on his own
on his own
The sun was oppressive.
Ashamin's two companions lagged behind, thick winter coats dripping with sweat as they strolled along the shore looking out towards the Dragon's Throat. If this was the desert island's clime in Frostfall, then they didn't want to come back and visit in any other season.
The Clovenheart's long tail dragged across the sand, leaving a thin tail in the hot sand. He cast no long shadows, and the thick beard that was beginning to overtake the lower half of his features was no longer weighted down with frost. It was obvious that on this backdrop of tans and blues, he in all his black and white glory did not belong.
Then again, glory was a fast-fading word. That didn't even seem to fit him anymore. And if standing out meant someone was more likely to see and challenge him, then so be it. The last time he'd come even close to this territory he'd been attacked by a phantom in the mist, and only barely managed to drag himself with his injuries, despite winning the fight.
He stood now anxious but eager. It was true that he had experienced some cold nights in visiting the Dragon's Throat with Maren, but with Birdsong fast approaching the days were heating up and he was losing his own personal cool. He shifted where he stood, Johnny's soft sheath carrying mriga feeling too thick for the weather. His two companions looked out from his right and left--all bodies stood on the offense, all eyes sought an opponent.
Perhaps it really was an addiction, this constant need to fight and win, but Ashamin wasn't willing to entertain the idea. Either he was a hypocrite, seeking knowledge of all but himself, or he was simply too smart to let himself go down a path that would surely bring him nothing but misery. Irritated at even the word--addiction, like a snake poised to bite--cropping up in his mind, Ashamin shook his head and gnashed his teeth, rattling his necklace and amulets. He slapped his spark-tipped tail onto the sand, startling Rakt and sparking the fight in the little eye.
"Come to me, let us interrupt this heat with a spar!" Ashamin called to the empty blue sky, the odd silence of the distant waves.
Would someone come soon and relieve him?
""
AP: x/3, 0/1
WC: 388/800
Setting: An unseasonably warm noon (not too warm if you're used to it, which Ashamin isn't) across from the Dragon's Throat Island. Clear skies, calm seas.
Notes: Open to all! I am happy to offer teaching notes if you would like, just say so in the bottom of your post. Please feel free to attack first, just post the stats for our characters if you do so.
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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