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06-16-2015, 05:52 PM
The haphazard sway of Frostfall rang about his ears in the cold, possessive wind, and he was strung along its wares like a piece of string; wild, unfettered, tied and tethered to nothing and no one. He bounded through the piles of snow as a behemoth, untamed and savage, launching and leaping in stag springs and fawn sprints, utterly captivated and spellbound by the outcrops and touches of winter’s splendor. When he was not delving rapidly into its core, for he lived in the eternal north, with its barbaric thorns and its bestial thrones and everything else in between, the growing beast wandered, thriving on the paths to ruin. He chased after the fantasies, the whims, the prowess of his childhood, intending to leave it behind eventually, when he was through with everything it had to offer.
The sublime bounty of the Threshold, however, would be a worthy distraction from heralding corruption and summoning nefariousness – he and Orsino made a quick, rapid, swift turn from an alternating route, and thrust themselves between the fountains of groves and the locked passageways of tomorrow. They were hardly silent, rummaging through tempests of rime and slush as carnivorous mercenaries, feasting on icicles and fancies, plunging beneath wide-open boughs of heavy powder and snorting as it landed upon their backs. More than once the kitsune sunk into the snow’s grasp, and his sable coloring aided his brisk release, Erebos needing no more than a few moments to lift him by a furry ring of pelt out of the troubling venue; adding only a smirk in response.
But amidst their joy, their exuberance, their banter, a stranger’s scent came wafting amidst the pines, the firs, and the coniferous wares; the boy’s head raised ever so slightly, nares widening, catching and capturing hold of a newcomer threading their way through the assemblage and patterns of winter’s folly. The duo responded in haste, their usual pace, frenetic and feverish, launching into ardent displays of more deer qualities, parading and giggling and snickering until they finally came upon a crisp set of gilded and onyx patterns, ceasing their movement, their sounds, abruptly as the femme, older, perhaps wiser, perhaps stronger (in might? In spirit?) briefly mumbled to herself.
“Of course! Its Frostfall!” He responded in one eager, teasing twitch of his tongue – though truthfully, perhaps the Dragon’s Throat, with its high sun, with its molten land, with its plateaus of sand and dust, held the powder and cold at bay – then advanced, a curling, impish smile spoiling his regal features into a reverent nature, eyes narrowing careful, scrutinizing smidgens to implore and study her further. Orsino, not to be outdone, wove his way through the colt’s lanky columns to inspect the lady, sniffing the air in shadowy conjectures. When they drew a yard or so away, the prince continued their play of introductions, aiming to aid and abide. “I’m Erebos! Who are you?” Then, tilting his head a mere fraction to the right, he mounted his speculation with a curious, mischievous air, proffering and bestowing a slight gift to her, if she yearned for it. “I can get rid of some of the snow, if you’d like.” The threat, the distortion, of flames coiled and nestled within his chest, a rapid, harsh beat of savagery poised on the tip of his touch, a truly infernal stroke; and Orsino bleated a heavy hum.
OOC ::
"speech"
