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01-23-2017, 11:37 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-24-2017, 11:28 AM by Wessex.
Edit Reason: I swear I've the rules X|
)
I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
One of the first things Wessex always does when she arrives in a new place is check out the natural advantages and disadvantages of it. The Basin is blocked on one side by a vast mountain still covered in snow at the top. Might as well get the easiest barrier out of the way first, amiright? Easy in that she doubted an army was going to be heading over those peaks any time soon. She sets off on her own, eager to feel her lungs burn in the cold, crisp air as she climbs higher and higher, thirsting for the ache of tired muscles and a quiet mind that only looks for the next secure place to step. The horned warrior is not one to dwell on the past, but if she were, she would find the reason for her constant motion, of a life lived in vigilance; it keeps the monsters of her youth at bay. Exhaustion is a cure-all for scream-inducing nightmares.
The smell of others, and then something other strikes her as rather odd. Even with the weather warming up the way it is, it is a strenuous climb, and potentially dangerous once you really get higher up. Ice is nothing to mess with. And so, even though the darkness closes around her, she still moves upwards to investigate, and eventually finds herself at the top, and a horde of strangers crowded around a hole. She knows no one, of course, but does not mind it one bit. The large white creatures with horns and a nest on its head is another matter - she snorts in surprise - but as she realizes that the others aren’t terribly concerned, logic demands that she should not be either.
It’s almost as if they’re… waiting for something. Something from the furry white thing. Her mouth creases into a thin line as Wessex debates between drawing attention to herself by asking what’s going on, or blending into the background.
Background wins. The large, crowned woman remains silent, but oh-so-observant. At least the sky is pretty.
The smell of others, and then something other strikes her as rather odd. Even with the weather warming up the way it is, it is a strenuous climb, and potentially dangerous once you really get higher up. Ice is nothing to mess with. And so, even though the darkness closes around her, she still moves upwards to investigate, and eventually finds herself at the top, and a horde of strangers crowded around a hole. She knows no one, of course, but does not mind it one bit. The large white creatures with horns and a nest on its head is another matter - she snorts in surprise - but as she realizes that the others aren’t terribly concerned, logic demands that she should not be either.
It’s almost as if they’re… waiting for something. Something from the furry white thing. Her mouth creases into a thin line as Wessex debates between drawing attention to herself by asking what’s going on, or blending into the background.
Background wins. The large, crowned woman remains silent, but oh-so-observant. At least the sky is pretty.
wessex
Wessex is seeking a griffin. No prior refusals.
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
