The Basin was meant to be strong and enduring. They didn’t cave. They didn’t wobble. They didn’t waver or quiver or shake from the rising storms or the daunting threats. They were merciless beings carved out of machinations and determination, prospered from the days of refugee pacts and pariah oaths.
The Reaper wasn’t about to let them sink into complacency.
The rest of the realms would remember the chilling, calculating beasts, the wild, untamed, bestial shades, the fiends and cretins of the rocks and valleys and tundra until the end of time.
Some of them yearned and burned and sought out the drumming of war, the skirmishes, the pretense of crusades because they craved the strength, the vigilance, of a nation solidified time and time again by assaults and sieges. Some of them were quieter, passionate but not fueled by reckless endeavors or incensed brutality; but even they, the healers, the crafters, the vital portion of citizens making up their cold regime, needed to be able to protect themselves.
He’d sworn to guard and secure all of them, but he knew, no matter how much he tried or aspired, was not omniscient. There were time when only they could sculpt their savagery, their mutiny, their sedition, to arm and defend the world, creatures, and comrades they cherished.
So the Lord marched, calm and composed, down by the reaches of the never-freezing lake, glancing over the crystallized kingdom, tracing along the ice-bound ground and its powdered sanctions, until he spotted the silver mare amongst the morning backdrop. Tangere – a femme he barely knew despite all of her time within the mountains - a similar refrain for most of those harbored along his walls and corridors. At least a portion of those sentiments would be abolished today, because at least he’d learn what she was capable of.
He approached without a predatory stance, without a carnivore mission; there would be time for such sinister aspects later, when they concocted movements and motions of conflict, combat, and hostilities, when they brandished munitions and when they mauled beneath the icy peaks. The King’s eyes narrowed, his head tilted, and the deep layers of his vocals pressed along the range, funneling for her attention, for what she’d asked him to do. “Tangere,” he rasped, hoping to snag and snare her awareness, before shackling them to his preferred game of violence and ferocity. “You wished to spar?”
[Deimos vs. Tangere Teaching Spar.
401 words. 0/3 posts.
Timeline: Normal
Setting: Aurora Basin, Orangemoon, morning. Near the unfreezing lake – ground is frozen and covered in snow.
You may make the first move! I’ll provide notes from there! ^_^]
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Fine in the Fire [Deimos vs. Tangere]
