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03-20-2017, 12:12 PM
beloved Being called family draws the serpent’s head from where she dwelled in the dark, reaching depths of the shadow between the granules of earth at her hooves. With a snarl, she looks in the direction of the summons, a sour taste already rising in her mouth at the chipper insinuation that the white witch has kin to answer to. Still, she is not an idiot, despite the blathering giggles which trail after her serpentine, peculiar path, and makes her way towards the bright ballad of her Lady Ocean’s Light, which calls across the vale. It is peculiar, answering to seraphs, and it is writ in all of the beasts vesture as she stills her motions among the company of Yr’s Weaver, the first she finds and knows. With a rancorous snarl accompanied by laughter, the bitch nips at the warrior paint in greeting, before turning her malevolent focus upon the beacon of laughter and hope which guides the mountain folk, in the wake of Death’s Death. Glancing about her for the old man, she does not see him, and settles more fully alongside her fellow the longer the blue mare’s words lilt out over the gathered crowd. Titles, stations, bidding, they all ring clear, but of all the tidings brought by the Lady Tiamat, what Beloved hears is the promise of the power of the wolves. So drawn into herself and her mad tittering of approval is the wicked one that she does not take note of the rest of what is said about the massive, metal unicorns (who frighten her, with their empty, glass-made eyes of blood, though she will never admit it). Regardless, they can certainly count the pale demon among those who will serve the wolves, in a hope to earn their service in turn. [ OOC: Nips a hello to Weaver and then proceeds to be creepy. ] die like God, on the cover of time |
@Weaver
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
