 the tempered hum of the sea, a bygone lullaby in the hiss of scintillating azure waves. they kicked -- dancers on the wing-tips of the moon -- pirouetting across the scopic latitude of far-reaching ocean; they kissed, enraptured fingertips on liquid hips. she was merely a whisper to their impassioned romanticism, her presence barely stimulating a prying glance nor a dismissive inclination. she ghosted against a sable skyline, minikin hoof-prints writing with evanescent calligraphy in the sand -- the biography of a storm, a whimsical wayfaring tempest easing clumsily over the coast with a course of nothingness. she had no destination, the helices of her typhoon drawn by the fickle mistress of discontent. her thoughts were a fog, an amalgamation of uncertainties and insidious machinations.
it was funny how even now -- even after abandoning the piratism, her blood -- it still beckoned her, the salacious croons of the sea; the winsome, bewitching embrace it afforded. a mirth bittersweet, the familiarity of the cavorting comber hissed, the chasmal abyss of its wide maw acquainting caution to those unmerited of its favor. the brine was a contrary creature; it had no qualms with swallowing up the nescient, just after promising calm and quiescent tides. the mere thought of such comical similarities in their personalities encouraged her courtesan' lips to smile, the radiance of her eyes shining like perdition against the benighted surf. "Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray," she began, the angelic tenors of her voice reaching out into the spectral vapor, "down by the Walls of Wapping where I met a sailor gay, conversing with a young lass, who seem'd to be in pain. Saying, William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again." She sang, benign syllables like honey undulating on a serpents tongue, tempting as if a mermaid tawdrily wafting her tail on the beach. Come.
The seafoam lapped gingerly at her frail ankles, her body moving like silk as the slender curve of her hips swayed. She needed to procure a new asset, she needed her aegis; her modern-day zeus clad in her armament of trickery and festooned with her own idyllic grandeur. Her gaze quickly swept across the ocean in a longing daze, her heart wishing that the water would simply purge her gilded, invincible hero; her impenetrable Poseidon whose hair flowed with all the otherworldly splendors of the deep. Her fantasies were of course, fruitless; simple childish fancies neglected to be forgotten by the extinguishing of her adolescence. Though she still could not help but wonder, what if -- "His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal.. my happiness attend him, wherever he may go."
| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger
RedGod |
TORLEIK
Death follows into your watery grave
Choosing to continue his exploration of this new land, Torleik found himself keeping along the coast, curious to see the changes in the land, the weather, the air. It was not long before the cliffs of the World's Edge took him to the sandy beaches of the Endless Blue, and such a vast, open expanse of water gave him pause.
Beaches were not something he was used to. The coast in his homeland had been mountainous, rocky, with only very small beachheads as the land went prone and slipped beneath the life-giving liquid of the world. Beachheads perhaps twenty horses deep if you put the creatures head to tail and measured. Such a sandy discovery as this was...new to him.
Frankly, Torleik didn't like it. The air was too warm, the land too open, the ground too soft and deceptive. Sand was difficult to keep one's footing on and he did not relish feeling like a wobbly newborn with every step. He was a seasoned warrior, dammit. Not a drunken babe. The obsidian horse with the white markings on his chest and undercarriage dipped his head sadly for a moment, snorting and smiling to himself, the expression lacking any joy. His thoughts had returned him to home, to those he used to know - particularly a mare from his land. She used to tease him, tell him he always sounded like a grumpy old man despite his young age. In that brief flash of time, being cognizant of how his own thoughts were running...Torleik realized she was right.
He missed home. His family, his friends. Torleik's eyes were closed, blocking out the endless night around. Memories of home filled his vision, and the warmth of the beach became nearly stifling. It felt like before, like the attack and all the fire, making the air thick and hot and...pressing.
A sound snapped the the homesick stallion from his painful memories, the noise seemingly a...voice, carried on the languid winds of the beach's tides. Grateful for the new focus, Torleik picked up his hooves from the wet sand with a disdainful frown. He hated sand. It got in his hooves, in his mane, in his eyes, his damn teeth - he'd be crunching on it for days when he tried to eat. What were the gods thinking when they allowed the earth to pulverize rocks so?
Following the voice that he now realized was singing, and quite beautifully at that, the man's interest was certainly piqued. From his spot he could now make out a mare, for the winds informed him she was certainly very much a mare, and a young, healthy one at that... His nostrils flared at this information, feeling his body come alive just a little more. He had always been fond of song; his people were great song-makers, story-weavers and creators of poems. This sound, this sight, was like a good memory of home. Approaching with curiosity, the obsidian, rune-horned demon drew close as he dared. Torleik could never shake the habit of being suspicious of anyone he did not know, now. The mare had a lovely shade of aquamarine blue to her mane and tail, his glacial eyes noted.
"You sing beautifully," he stated, knowing she had already seen him. "But the words are sad. Why?"
@[Flordeperia]
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Afrolovertje & ximpossible @ DA
No man is an island.
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