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Finally, he'd gotten away from that incessant mare in the meadow. He thought she'd never shut her mouth and simply take what he was saying to heart, but then again, that was part of the reason Crowley had continued egging her on. It was undeniably entertaining to watch one get so annoyed, so angry, that they were almost bursting at the seams. Even if it wouldn't be for a while, he would make it a point that he found Aryel again, perhaps next time on the battlefield. Unlike his original intentions, the brindled gentleman found himself on the unusual terrain of clay, cloven hooves pressing into the ground and leaving the most faint of hoofprints behind. It had been a haunting wail that had drawn him here, his curios mind demanding that he could not ignore it. He had yet to venture to this part, except for a quick passing when he had journeyed to the Veins of the Gods. It had been a failed trip, however, and the stallion hadn't particularly cared to take in the scenery as he made his way back home. The air seemed to grow warmer with every step he took, and up ahead, he could see the familiar form of Valentine. He had been the one to invite him to the Plague, along with Deimos, and when he was close enough, he gave a simple nod of his head in acknowledgement. Before the brindle could even attempt to speak up, he paused, his golden eyes catching sight of the ghostly apparition floating about the skies. It looked as a simple, dark raincloud, but there was a dark presence radiating from within it. It reminded him vaguely of the occult mare he had faced back in the Grove, the one he had taken out and gained his magic against. Valentine spoke, then, and instantly the brindle could have guessed that this was not the first time the pair had met. Crowley said nothing, however, instead taking this as a new challenge. If he took this monstrosity out, would he gain something else? Stepping forward, the stallion began to advance, his eyes locked on the dark formation of the cloud, readying himself for whatever was to happen next. ooc - Major fear; failing. Minor fear; heights. Crowley is walking towards the cloud formation and is rather close. |
The Weaver's Workshop
HP: 45
