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06-09-2016, 12:34 PM
Orbits widened at the snap of a branch, sobering the brute up from his extremely shortened, drunken dream. He quaked lightly, maybe to a trained eye they could tell; Hasovir was mildly tense but soon his confidence seemed to stroke his ego and relax him. It was his first time seeing another soul so close in years and perhaps there were underlying layers of childish innocence, since it had been long that someone had acknowledged him. At a glance, he noted movement towards him – another unicorn and some sort of creature springing about at his legs. Much to Hasovir’s surprise the visitor offered a smile with his greeting. The brook quietly bubbled along, filling in the silence that followed the stranger’s questioning. Hasovir observed as the unicorn’s companion leapt into the stream and made eye contact with him, perhaps trying to read whom they were dealing with. Intrigued by the creature’s pupil-less golden eyes, he had forgotten to respond to the unicorn’s inquiry.
Raising his crest high in the air to meet the gladiator’s height, Hasovir let himself give a half smirk and replied, “New.” His voice was extremely low but smooth, listeners flickering at the mere sound of it. It had been a while since the vocal chords were chimed and Hasovir was surprised at how silky the word sounded. He turned his attention back to the small creature staring at its reflection in the water, fascinated by its blood red coat, which almost seemed to be shimmering. Hasovir looked back up to the painted unicorn, maw splitting a second time to speak. “Is this your friend?” He knew the answer but soon realized he just wanted to hear his voice again. The stallion before him was shorter, but his muscles seemed to be more intact than Hasovir’s own. His coat was shining, and his spiraled horn was wrapped around some sort of stone which did interest Hasovir tremendously, although he would probably not admit to that.
Another feature Hasovir began to admire was the unicorn’s elongated whipcord; he watched as it appeared from the brush behind them and came to curling halt by the stranger. A hint of jealousy, maybe, that Hasovir’s own pendulum did not stretch so far, but it was best not to uncover envy at the beginning of an acquaintance. His attitude was shifting constantly, from wanting to be rude to being pleasant to the urge of running away from the situation. Hesitant of what to do, he decided to let the brook continue wash over his tender pasterns. The sunlight was proving to be the true opponent of the day, unseasonably scorching rays that succeeded to pierce through the young saplings’ branches were indeed making Hasovir warmer. His pelt was beginning to dampen from a light sweat and the cicadas overhead were growing louder, though he doubted there was any correlation between the two. Oculars gazed up at the stratosphere for a minute, reading the time with the sun’s position he had about four hours left of worthy daylight. Soon, Hasovir needed to continue moving; maybe further into what this stranger called ‘The Threshold’, to find a meal for the nightfall and shelter from any other curious spectators.
Solitude is not something many can handle well. Some lose their minds. This thought had been a vibrating topic within Hasovir’s skull for years now. Or days. Or however long he had been wandering alone. Who knew at this point? ‘Have I lost my mind?’ he would often ponder, as he gradually made his way through mountainous terrains. The voices that would answer always told him “no.” ‘Am I going crazy?’ he would ask, his daggers kicking out snow during a winter storm. The voices that would answer always replied “definitely not.” And so with the confidence in their responses, Hasovir knew he had yet to become senile or senseless. As far as he knew he could handle isolation like a champion. There was the occasional quarrel he had within himself about his past, however with the years that carried on, he became a little wary as to what had actually happened and why he was by himself. Some days he knew precisely why and could feel his blood boiling while reliving the wicked events. As of late, generally everything was a blur. A few key terms would erratically show themselves but if he attempted to chase after them he’d be in a daze of misperception. At this moment, paused in his act of travelling, healing his aching pillars, Hasovir was losing site of who he even was. ‘It’s the heat, Hasovir.’ Which voice was that?
Talking
Thoughts
Voices
ooc: I was having a LOT of trouble with my table :(
Raising his crest high in the air to meet the gladiator’s height, Hasovir let himself give a half smirk and replied, “New.” His voice was extremely low but smooth, listeners flickering at the mere sound of it. It had been a while since the vocal chords were chimed and Hasovir was surprised at how silky the word sounded. He turned his attention back to the small creature staring at its reflection in the water, fascinated by its blood red coat, which almost seemed to be shimmering. Hasovir looked back up to the painted unicorn, maw splitting a second time to speak. “Is this your friend?” He knew the answer but soon realized he just wanted to hear his voice again. The stallion before him was shorter, but his muscles seemed to be more intact than Hasovir’s own. His coat was shining, and his spiraled horn was wrapped around some sort of stone which did interest Hasovir tremendously, although he would probably not admit to that.
Another feature Hasovir began to admire was the unicorn’s elongated whipcord; he watched as it appeared from the brush behind them and came to curling halt by the stranger. A hint of jealousy, maybe, that Hasovir’s own pendulum did not stretch so far, but it was best not to uncover envy at the beginning of an acquaintance. His attitude was shifting constantly, from wanting to be rude to being pleasant to the urge of running away from the situation. Hesitant of what to do, he decided to let the brook continue wash over his tender pasterns. The sunlight was proving to be the true opponent of the day, unseasonably scorching rays that succeeded to pierce through the young saplings’ branches were indeed making Hasovir warmer. His pelt was beginning to dampen from a light sweat and the cicadas overhead were growing louder, though he doubted there was any correlation between the two. Oculars gazed up at the stratosphere for a minute, reading the time with the sun’s position he had about four hours left of worthy daylight. Soon, Hasovir needed to continue moving; maybe further into what this stranger called ‘The Threshold’, to find a meal for the nightfall and shelter from any other curious spectators.
Solitude is not something many can handle well. Some lose their minds. This thought had been a vibrating topic within Hasovir’s skull for years now. Or days. Or however long he had been wandering alone. Who knew at this point? ‘Have I lost my mind?’ he would often ponder, as he gradually made his way through mountainous terrains. The voices that would answer always told him “no.” ‘Am I going crazy?’ he would ask, his daggers kicking out snow during a winter storm. The voices that would answer always replied “definitely not.” And so with the confidence in their responses, Hasovir knew he had yet to become senile or senseless. As far as he knew he could handle isolation like a champion. There was the occasional quarrel he had within himself about his past, however with the years that carried on, he became a little wary as to what had actually happened and why he was by himself. Some days he knew precisely why and could feel his blood boiling while reliving the wicked events. As of late, generally everything was a blur. A few key terms would erratically show themselves but if he attempted to chase after them he’d be in a daze of misperception. At this moment, paused in his act of travelling, healing his aching pillars, Hasovir was losing site of who he even was. ‘It’s the heat, Hasovir.’ Which voice was that?
Talking
Thoughts
Voices
ooc: I was having a LOT of trouble with my table :(
Please tag Hasovir in all posts
