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One of those dark shapes in the distance seems to have taken notice of the storm daughter, and comes to life. It charges toward her as she makes her descent, ever closer, and Azulee bares her titan's wings to half-mast, the peaks of static-wreathed feathers sweeping the sand. It is a defensive motion; a display of weaponry, the blunt and muscular shapes of the woman's mighty wings surely not to be disregarded. She arcs her neck, dark hair tumbling about the panes of a dauntless face. No, it is not Azzuen. Though his stout black form, juxtaposed against the red-orange desert, surely evokes the image of her late father if not for his lack of wings. And he is much taller too, the extent of his size only finally evident as he skids to a halt before her. She takes a moment to scrutinize him; a warrior if she'd ever seen one. The virgin woman warrior draws her posture tall (though this stallion nearly dwarfs her in height; the little bird hardly seems to notice, meeting his gaze confidently with wings still unveiled). She peers up at the serpent circling the air above them and feels the tension in her muscles wake arcs of static into reality. The creatures of spark wait for a signal to burst into life, for now a small orb incubating above her head. Surely, if he means hostility, he would have attacked by now, but she finds herself on guard anyway. It had been some time she'd be here last, and to be greeted by an equine was unexpected. He speaks, and Azulee smiles coyly. "Yes." she says dryly, the slender dishes of her ears trained forward and her face stoic. "I wanted to see what manner of horse protect her borders; I'm not disappointed." It is true Azulee has always preferred the company of her own kind, but this one seems as capable as any to defend the herd, and her words are genuine. What brings you here? A fair question, but one she's had to answer too many times. Ever restless, Azulee has come back to Dragon's Throat more than a few times, only to leave just as many. Before, such a question would have wrong-footed the wayward daughter, but now she does not hesitate. "I was born here," she drawls, anchoring her gaze upon him and breathing heavily. Her voice is a heavy thing, somewhat solemn and yet strong; the fire-slayer's granddaughter is determined to prove herself. To whom? She isn't certain. All she knows is that she feels some sort of debt, to her father and mother and sister, and all those ghosts of the past that haunt her. "My father was General, and I wish to follow in his steps as a warrior. But I have questions: who rules here? And what are your laws?" i've got your wild-eyed ways. |
@volterra
hard mode—HP: 65/65
physical force and magic is permitted to be used on Azulee at any time provided it does not involve powerplay (unless specified otherwise); please contact me before attempting to kill.
please tag me!
