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11-25-2016, 10:49 AM
“I see your father taught you his skills of subtlety, prince.” It chides. It teases. And can be from only one golden tongue. It comes from behind the dark brooding youth, stepping in silence through the snow. Only minutes before it had been hidden under the cloak of black, keeping him from sight as he watched the colt tear across the fields, snatching and tearing any wisp of life he could. Nose to the ground, but body lunging for anything, desperate….and the gold did so enjoy watching a desperate creature. Yet, he hadn’t expected it to be this creature. “Adulthood doesn’t suit you, dearie.” It suits only your father But on that the gold held his tongue for once in his life. It wasn’t out of kindness, but out of held judgement. “It is already beating you down…pity, I had such high hopes.” The burden of knowing was the price of finally growing up, and it simply did not look good upon the princeling. He steps on forward with a boldness granted to him by familiarity. This youth, though he had not seen him in ages, he knew. He’d watched the young prince from a cliff top in the North. Watched him leap in play, and rough house with Rikyn. It was ever so long ago….but it seemed a world away from whatever creature stood before him now. And the gold wasn’t quite sure if he liked the change or not. The colt had been bright, and full of ideas. He had tossed about the world with a lightness his father did not possess, and that teamed with his ambition had promised a powerful future. Yet this? This was no more than a reflection of the wolf of the north. A dark deep creature who stalked the world, waiting. Of course these were quick judgements, perhaps even wrong, but the gold had spent enough time around the Reaper to recognize his aesthetic. As he came under the oak himself, his tasseled tail curling and switching at his sides, his grin ever Cheshire, and his step easy and silent. “What ails you child?” For some dark sickness must have turned him into this dark brooding beast. He didn’t expect an easy answer, but that wasn’t really the point. Unlike the Reaper, who’s transformation into that dark death-bringer was complete, this youth was less….complete. His power of imposed silence and reverence less solidly pressing against your throat. Perhaps the youth was being twisted into the mold made for him, but he was not yet strong enough to hold the shape, or so the golden was gambling. The weakness of a ill fitting life was just too good to pass up. "talk talk talk" Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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@Erebos
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