.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
03-09-2016, 04:14 PM
|
I'm a doubting Thomas
I'll take your promise though I know nothin's safe Iscah answers the call with caution, still wary of letting his guard down among these Helovians. Even since seeking asylum in the World’s Edge with the purpose of learning more about them, his interactions with the natives have been limited in number and in substance. Naja was still frightened of them, and for good reason, and as he had been trying his best he can to ensure she was comfortable they had kept to themselves in the snowy wood. But hiding could not last forever, he knew that, and even if they could there would be no purpose in it, no drive or good to be accomplished, and so at the King’s summons the stallion moves to answer it with the rest of the herd. He nudges his companion gently guiding her along with movements and murmurs that have become commonplace in their daily lives, him being the eyes for both of them He travel toward the cliffs with a quiet and efficient step; one his size could easily have been a disruptive war-machine but that was not what he was steadily discovering himself to be. Iscah is the silent observer, the scholar that had once been a priest, and so he tread lightly through the world, the better to see it undisturbed and learn its mysteries. It was the steps of this foreign society that were still a mystery to him today, and as he approaches the gathering his unease grows. Silver eyes and hard-lined face are a mask of stoicism but his heart hammers in his great barreled chest: when last he had seen a gathering of Helovians they had been murdering on of his gods. The gods that cast you out? The gods that abandoned you after all your years of service. His teeth grind in irritation, gnawing on the doubts that plague him. He dares not voice them, not ever, for fear of what any waivering on his behalf would do to his priestess. He had to be strong for her, had to be sure, and so he labored every second to make himself appear to be just that. It is a strange collection, strong and slight, young and old, all gathered at the call of the Elephantine King. There is a white woman, winged like Iscah's pristess, next to him and to the scholar's eyes she seems on a level with Tembovu's importance. But there is more that adoratoin directed at the monatchs, more that respects... there is desention. Quiet and veiled, but the silver eye'd scholar finds more than one face that gazes at the King with disapproval. The blue beast stops amidst the gathering crowd, reaching out with a soft tug at her mane to halt the blind woman at his side. While pupiless eyes roam across the faces, Iscah keeps his head close to hers, quietly describing the scene in exacting detail. The priest pauses his commentary when a pale and scarred mare speaks up from the crown; his ears prick forward in sharp attention and her nods at her words before addressing the King in his own deep rumble of a voice. "Aye. I would as after joining the builders as well." oh me of little faith
|
Mentions :: @Naja @Tembovu @Glasgow ::
