works of art to see the soul [greenhouse crafting]

[OPEN] works of art to see the soul [greenhouse crafting]

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663

Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE

Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather

07-13-2016, 05:38 PM

They were late.

It was unlike them – but perhaps the morning had been too chaotic, her dreams too melancholic, her aspirations too rash. She’d spun away from the sanction of their cavern quickly, rapidly, chasing down the remnants of a lost morning, and still hadn’t arrived until two, beautiful glass walls had already been shaped, held together on fog, mist, and Basin brethren.

The construction was eerie and poignant, reminding her of the Edge, where defenses had been laid then wasting, cracked, brittle, and broken – but lord, if all things could be this glorious, she’d be sure to tend it until her final days. She could envision its final oeuvre – artistic and wondrous, filled to the brim with essential herbs and greenery, vibrant with color and splendor, with grandeur and expertise, with plants that could nurture, help, assist, and mend whatever ailments had come to pass. With these perceptions in mind, she and Imogen grew closer, restless and eager, fervent and ready to lend aid in whatever way they could.

Her eyes rested on Mortuus Nox and Deimos, nodding at them while they tended to their tasks, a smile firm and easy, whimsical and delighted, eyes turning to study the mare responsible for the masterpiece. “Its magnificent,” she stated, roaming closer and closer to the edges, to the lines drawn in the turf, where they’d patted it down seemingly ages ago, jaw dropping slightly in absolution and awe. “You’ve done incredible work thus far,” the fey complimented the scarred, unfamiliar femme, with her chiseled horns, with her red lacing, with her quiet, harmonious sculpting. “Is there any way I can help?” Then she maneuvered forward again, listening to the sanctions and decrees, nestling her form down where the next wall would be built, craving to be of service, an aid to the cause. Imogen did the same, settling near the Songbird’s forelimbs, tails fanning like embers and plumes.