| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.3 HH :: 7 years HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Lazarus :: Melanistic Lion :: None
ShadowMare |
02-17-2017, 02:42 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-17-2017, 02:42 PM by Misael.)
So colorful, much more colorful then he can remember the sands being. The dunes are painted in arrays of peaches and vibrant violets of the prickled flora of the Dragon's Throat. Navy nares filled with air, the perfume of home reminding him of the days of nostalgia, of reminiscing this aroma in dark chasms, alone. Once having been so familiar, the sandy, dry, smell that was seemed sweeter today, turned to a remedy for the storm of his thoughts. They always seemed to rage so violently, never ceasing to flood through the gates of his brain function, no matter the effort he put in to quiet them. Lazarus would always pull him from the worst of his fits, so stable, so loyal to Miseal, the striped stallion owed much to the ebonite cat, a true friend.
Today though, his mind was quiet, calm. His coat was beginning to show a glistening again, vibrance laced the curves of his zebra stripes, and his eyes brewed a spark in the back of their butterscotch iris'. The breeze blew soft over his tall frame and large hoof prints trailed his steps as he carried himself to the chapel. Miseal had aided in building parts of it seasons back and he hoped that he'd find the tiger-striped woman lingering around it's doors as he traveled to see what it had turned out to be. Lazarus followed in pursuit behind his bonded, the lion's steps light and energetic, finding an enjoyment in the carefreeness of this moment.
Cascading down the hills to the home of the Church, his great head scans left and right as he takes in the art of the finished piece. Miseal was filled with such appreciation and joy that something, once a mere structure on blueprints, had been pieced together and constructed, to be what stood before him now, a masterpiece in the flesh. His attention turned away from the details of the church then, ears twisting forward as he listened for the steps of the fabricator behind it all. "Maren" he called out with his deep chords, hoping the lovely pale mare would hear his beckoning, so long had it been since he had talked with his friend. Lazarus sat beside Miseal, his black tail swinging back and forth as he cleaned lunch off his paws.
Please tag in all posts, all force is permitted
![[Image: shadowmare098_by_ehrendi-da6sr2s.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/be07/f/2016/170/4/a/shadowmare098_by_ehrendi-da6sr2s.png)
Maren the Crownless Posts: 264
| Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6 |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.0 :: 6 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Mr. Teatime :: Siberian Tiger :: Sing
Yewrezz |
02-18-2017, 07:37 AM
(This post was last modified: 02-18-2017, 07:41 AM by Maren.)
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BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
As the days after the completion of their temple passed, sometimes she would notice curious by-passers climb the stairs and entering the tall, metal structure. One day she noticed flowers had been placed on the Sun's altar. They could have been from anyone, for anyone, purposefully put there with either a tear or a smile. Maybe both. Without a sound she had sat down before them as she carefully brushed the flowers with the wispy tips of her ivory wings; her mind lost in the endearing knowledge that there were others out there, cherishing the push and pull of their sacred religion, much like those flowers and its seeds.
She stood in the offering chamber, looking up to the herds Patron God in thought. Her ivory mane were collected in salty, shimmering locks around her red striped neck. Her hide was rough, but to her simply and perfectly perfumed by the sea and cared for by the sands. It was how she was; perhaps how the Dragon's Throat was. There was a voice from outside of which its trail echoed through the building. The deep man-voice reminded her of a stallion she had liked (and perhaps loved) a few months back. Someone who she had forgotten about by now. It wasn't his fault - It was just how she tended to be with relationships: Fleeting, like the salty grains carried on the winds that greeted her when she came outside; to see the figure of the man who had called her name this time.
Her eyes said nothing, but her lips formed a smile when she saw Misael standing down the stairway. He looked healthy and bright amidst the purple and orange hues of their homeland, despite his darker contrasting coloring - and, needless to say, handsome as always.
She huffed quasi disapproving and pulled up her eyebrows. "Why is it that you call me out here," she complained down the stairs. Although not so much hidden within the current of her voice there was a confession of welcoming vibes. She was glad he had come to hang out with her - if that was his purpose, as she had always thought him interesting enough. She tilted her ivory head, golden gaze sparkling with violet. "Do you not dare come inside?" But her stance was relaxed, framed by the dark shadows of the curled entryway, her neck lowered into a pretty curl. Like always, the depths of her gaze gave none away, but there was a softness within her expression, her smile, that was inviting him nonetheless.
Meanwhile, Mr.Teatime had joined them and, never having met another cat companion before, was singing a cheerful greeting to Lazarus. As he, too, smelled the tastiness of the black lion's paws, he wandered over wanting to sniff them as well. :|
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Image Credits
@Misael :D
Please tag me
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