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Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?
It was a mid afternoon across Helovia. The wind was gentle and the air was crisp, whispering of a great change across the land of magical beings. Perhaps nobody had taken notice of it quite yet, and if that was true, then it would take long for the original residents to take note that something was drastically wrong. Somewhere beyond anyone's comprehension, there was a tear in time, in another dimension, and the dark creatures that lived there were leaking out in a great mass. Some were truly dark and wanted nothing less than to watch the world crumble, but for others... That was another story entirely.I haven't the slightest idea. The sound of thrumming hoofbeats could be heard ascending the path that led to the highest part of the Heavenly Fields, accompanied by an almost childish, carefree laughter. Rounding the lip of the hill came the brindled form of whom some might recognize as the Weaver of the Aurora Basin; after all, the same, twisted horns sat atop his head, and golden eyes peered out from the Trakenher's skull. But instead of the usual crude, sarcastic smirk that was melded onto the stallion's face, there was a carefree smile stretched across his dark lips. A smile. As he moved across the field and the grass below him set to tickling his cannons, he threw a buck and engaged in yet another laugh, find such joy in this freedom. Freedom from that wretched dimension he had been trapped in for years, where there was nowhere to go, no purpose to be had... But now, he was free to do as he pleased, and hoped that he might be lucky enough to stumble across somebody in need of his help on this day. That was all he really wanted to do; help. Suddenly, the stallion drew to a halt, his eyes having spotted the most curious of sights. Standing before a thick of wildflowers and irises, Crowley dropped his head, nearly going cross-eyed as he focused on the black and yellow insect nestled atop one particular, petaled specimen. "... Hello, bee," he spoke up, his voice genuine and soft, as if scared that he might send the bee away in fright, "It's a lovely day, isn't it? I do hope I can find some friends around here. Do you know where I might look?" [Obviously... <____< Anti-Crowley.] "blather blather blather" |
The Weaver's Workshop
HP: 45
