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10-19-2016, 03:18 PM
don't get lost in my lyrics you won't find your way out The little enchantress heard the movement in the woods ahead and altered her path to to meet it. She was always eager to meet knew faces, and god knows there were positions to be filled in the basin, but she approached with caution nonethe less. Af course, Aisling's form of caution was to stroll up to a stranger as if she didn't have a care in the world but that didn't mean she did so uncloaked. She sent a mental "Hush." to the little green dragon that rode atop her head, between her ears and Sorcha, (now about the size of a large squirrel) hunkered down obligingly and reached to give a little pat of confirmation on her mistress's forehead. Aisling reached for her magic, pulled an illusion out of the air using not but her voice and let it wrap around to hide both her and her dragon from view. In their place move a mare of the same color as Aisling, but far from the same size. She was size of a shire, crossed with battle scars and crowned with a spread of seven short silvery horns that jutted from her brow like a lethal-looking tiara. ”Ptolema, Ptolema warrior queen of old! She comes like thunder, strikes like iron power great and ever bold. Crowned in silver by the gods born to walk the world at odds with such sorry sinful sods and dressed in scars but never gold..." Though the music left her lips it reached no ears but her own. The illusion she created left only the sounds of heavy footfalls on the ground as Aisling (cloaked in the image of the fictional Ptolema) came into view in the spiked newcomer. She surveyed him curiously, a brutal figure with his crest of spines and dark coloring, but she remained undaunted. Living in the basin, Aisling had grown accustomed to the looming force that was Deimos the Reaper and so this one held no reason to make her nervous as he seemed to be abiding peacably for the time being. "These are not your lands." she said simply with no trace of accusation-they weren't anyone's lands save the Gods. "What is your purpose here?" It felt odd to hear her voice sound deeper than usual, but she pitched it to the illusion's size as she asked the question. Still hidden, little Sorcha slunk down she ridge of her neck, clinging to the braided mane of the little enchantress; she at least was a little frightened of the stranger. |
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
