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11-24-2014, 02:15 PM
 Her eyes watch the pale figure float through as if she's done it a million times before - as if she lives here - but Tangere doesn't recognize that distant face surrounded by dancing red. Quietly she watches and listens, unaware of Thranduil and the God doing the same thing. A group assembles out of thin air, or so that's how it appears. Some offer there names, most offer quaintness and welcoming; except for the 'Lord of Darkness' over there. She smirks at Deimos's usual wry, prickly question and/or remark. Torliek, whom she only knows in passing, speaks up. She doesn't listen carefully after this, instead she gets sucked into the thought of Illynx's disappearance. Was she gone for good? Where is Rikyn? Has she died? She wonders if the same sickness that dragged the silver unicorn into the depths of illness had claimed Illynx... It seemed unlikely. Perhaps she'd been captured, but by who? For what? The politics of the Basin as of late are a mystery to the mare and her wise bird. Neither have seen the group in months, their faces barely registering to memory as she stares from her hill down at them. The white raven extends his wings with a powerful thrust and takes to the gentle wind. He glides with few wing beats down to the group, settling on the closest low branch as he always does. He resists the urge to look behind him, he can feel someone there. His mare is quick to follow, moving to stand among the small gathering. She nods but doesn't say a word, just moving her eyes to the pale, crimson-tipped mare. Her smile is honest and wide, her glassy eyes swallowing the unicorn's full form for a moment until someone else says something and draws her attention away. This someone is the God of Spark. She's never seen him before but the group seemed rather un-amazed. As if this happens daily. His announcement is brief, but as solid as stone. So this mare, Ophelia, she's to be the new leader. The God seems to gaze at her like an old friend, or at least a familiar of some sort. “Welcome then, Lady Ophelia.” Her soft-chime voice is only for Ophelia, she leans in toward her nearest ear to say it and then finds her correct posture again. The sparks fly and twirl and bloom, a neat trick, her smile finds the God but struggles to stay on him. She observes for only a quick anxious second before casting her unsure gaze to her bird and then back to Ophelia as she thanks the God and then addresses the group. A million questions explode inside of her mind but none are willing to surface. Her ears twitch and she intentionally wears a blank face, as if she's new or just simple. She adverts her eyes, attempting to not look obvious, waiting for someone to speak up. AND THE DOVE OF HOPE BEGINS ITS DOWNWARD SLOPE... |
- You may use violence and magic against her at will, but no death.
- Please tag me so I don't forget anyone(:
