The tiger-striped stallion descends from the mountains, his golden coat frosted with Frostfall’s white snow. There is no particular direction that he seeks as his powerful body presses through the howling winds and tumultuous flurries, his figure bowed against the force of winter—only forward. Eventually he finds himself stumbling into the woods, and he is grateful for the trees as they swallow most of the gales’ fury. He arches his neck to stretch tough muscles, exhaling heavily in a white wisp of breath.

While Helovia seems to have been caught in something fantastical and strange, Rohan takes little note of it. This wonderment—whatever it might be—simply blends into the rest of the stallion’s awareness, adding shimmering starlights and silver linings to what has become of this strange new world.

Not even a season has passed since the Warlander had stumbled unwittingly into Helovia’s grasp. Everything here is wondrous and ridiculous—if the stallion were to notice anything at all, it would be the tingling along his spine, the sting of his hairs as they prickle, and the quickening of his heart as he waits for the rush of adrenaline to alight in his veins.

All exciting, electrifying, and welcome.

It is the sound of voices that stirs the stallion from his musings, flutes ears twisting as his green eyes are cast through the snowy wood. He follows their direction out of curiosity (and partly from boredom), still ever interested in the strange creatures that come to inhabit this bizarre world. It hadn’t been long ago that he’d found himself here in Helovia’s Threshold, thirsty for the wild unknowns and his belly hungry for fresh excitement. Helovia hasn’t necessarily disappointed him, but the antlered stallion is still unsatisfied, still restless. Recently he has often wondered if this impetuous curiosity is as much his comfort as it is his undoing.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be a completely illogical assumption. After all, that’s how life tends to work out, isn’t it? Always spinning in on itself, turning, shifting, opposing in seemingly impossible ways. The trick of it is to try and not get lost in life’s puzzle (so simple in its intricacy) and merely hold on. Rohan prefers to take it for a ride, but then we’re back to square one, aren’t we?

Flicking his thick tail around his flanks and shaking out his unruly mane, the Warlander allows these thoughts to be abandoned to the wind, bright eyes settling on two figures as he comes through the trees. They stand below him, in a little furrow among the snow, with Frostfall’s mournful gales howling around them. “And I thought I would have to weather this storm alone,” Rohan chuckles deeply to himself, his broad voice wry and dancing impishly.

He descends into the ditch alongside them, his dense winter hair failing to completely mask the power of his muscles, the white powder parting beneath his hooves as though he wades through water. “My name is Rohan,” he casts a crooked smile to the mare, the gesture only lingering politely for the stallion.


notes; Sage I just noticed that Artillery's profile says equine, which I think is supposed to be pegasus?:)
tag; @[Artillery] & @[Sacre]
“Speech.”

ROHAN
don’t get too close, it’s dark inside