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01-02-2017, 11:44 AM
She arrives among the flock and fold, a serpent, easing her way to a suitable location. She knows some, though many more are strangers; it is among the latter she lingers, avoiding the seraphic songstress from the mountain, and giving her General only a stare of notice, friendly, by her standards. Like magnets, her eyes behold the God of the Sea, her first vision of his might, and peculiarities. He is not handsome, like the Gods of Isilme, more like the elder creature rotting away in his palace of treasures, and trinkets, but in between. Not handsome, not luridly grotesque, but uneasy to look upon, his wet, seaweed mane glistening, and ever smiling face split into a most perfect crescent. She mirrors him, her own Cheshire grin blooming as her gaze looks upon him, taking in his words. It’s time? What time? Now? And lands, of where, of what? That black realm, steeped in beauty? Why would they seek to salvage such a realm from salvation? Regardless, an inclination meets the demon, that she might do as this one asks, for no reason other than he is powerful. Who else but those of power might gather so many to their call, their beckoning? That others seem to know him, looking upon him with awe, and wonder, strikes her as further proof of his prowess. So, when the others move out, away, Beloved follows, seeking her own bones to reclaim, and boughs to shatter. |
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Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
