World at Large

[PRIVATE] World at Large

Rohan Posts: 132

Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.0 :: 8 years HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE

Éomer :: White-tailed Eagle :: Scream Reli

06-20-2015, 05:51 PM

     Rohan
    Rexanna doesn’t probe him any further for details of his life prior to Helovia, for which the Warlander is grateful. They are memories that he wishes to forget, no matter how much they creep back to haunt him. He feels himself relax as their conversation continues on, because—surely—a minion sent from his father wouldn’t give in so easily. Comforted by this thought, his spirits are lifted, and he has every intention in enjoying the golden mare’s company while he has it.

    “A handsome being such as yourself, I believe, only deserves the best.”

    A short chafe of a chuckle is emitted from his brown lips, the thickness of his muscled neck arching and his broad chest puffing out proudly at her praise. Not that he needs any approval to feel the confidence that lines every swaggering step of his, but he accepts it generously nonetheless. “Then I do believe we are in accordance, my dear,” there is a more boisterous laughter in his voice this time, the mirth reaching up to alight in his green eyes. Indeed—he does deserve the best (if only everyone was so keen on accepting this fact). And at this moment, the best just happens to be the pretty young enchantress before him now.

    Rohan catches her wink with a smile, the length of his dark cream tail swaying around his fetlocks. Always the gentleman, always the player. A heart might rest beating in his ribcage, but it is flighty and fickle—just the way he likes it. The Warlander twists his lips, crooked and charming, at the golden mare, the heat of her body reaching to touch his skin beneath his hairy hide.

    “You are new to Helovia,” he muses, repeating to himself the words that she had spoken earlier, “and from the Aurora Basin. I have heard of the mysteries of the great North.” In his deep words lie unspoken questions—questioning the land, its splendors, its segregation, himself. He feels both repulsed and intrigued by what must lie beyond the snowy mountains, content for now to draw the fascinating beauties out from beneath its frosty peaks and into his waiting presence. He can wait to uncover the great secrecies another day.

    Perhaps they are more enchanting that way.

    Pursing his lips, Rohan returns the focus of his gaze to Rexanna, happily captured by the iciness of her blue eyes. They seem to pull in the frostiness of winter and hold it there, churning and just waiting to release it with a raw and fierce passion. The Warlander is greatly intrigued by what passions might lie wait in the mare’s slender frame. Shifting his large weight, he leans closer to the mare—because who bothers with personal space anyway?—and reaches out to brush the chain of her horn with his lips. “And what is this?” He murmurs, mildly curious about its origins, but it stems mostly from the excuse, the desire, to be closer to her.

    tag; @[Rexanna]
    “Speech.”