i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
There is something about taking wing in the morning, a serenity and beauty in the quiet stillness where nature is the only song to come to ear underneath a canopy of pastel. There is no bustle of busy halls or the murmur of others about matters of Court and the plans for the day. There is only the Gulls uttering their calls to the sound of the Ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks and cliff walls, while the breeze rustled through the grasses clinging to the cliffs and tousling salt kissed hair. Between the smell of the salt water, the faint perfume of the cliff flowers intertwines and makes it just that little bit sweeter.
The view is breathtaking, as the sun still hung low in the morning sky and the moon still showed her pale visage to the slowly waking world, painting the sky in shades of dawn. Soft pinks, dainty purples and delicate blues streak across the never ending sky, and the winged Kirin is almost reminded once again of home. Each stroke of his magnificent wings is a slow elegant stroke, using the wind blown off of the sea to keep him airborn. Gilded scales twinkle in the encroaching light, while his pale white fur shimmered with every graceful turn and twist of his lithe body. Part of him expected to hear the shrill call of fire and flesh on the wind, the sound of rolling thunder as the scaled beasts roused themselves from their perches to join him in his morning flight. He had been young then, young and not so burdened with the troubles that came with walking the long road, he had enjoyed the sky for it's simple pleasure of freedom. How exhilarating it had been to fly with beasts so impossible and yet so real, who looked at him through eyes the colour of molten gold and the deepest shades of crimson, icy blue and moon dust with feral glee.
Now he enjoyed it as a means to escape, absent of his most dear companions.
Still, his somber mood didn't bleed through upon his chiselled face nor in the way he moved through the sky. He remained effortless, the picture of serenity. The kind of image that many who practiced the arts would long to capture in their mediums, draconian eyes alight in the morning wash, forever unable to be captured by even the most precious of carved gems. He had left his cloak in his chambers, favoring only his bridle, as much as he longed to feel the comfort of the tulle and silk layers, flying in such a thing would be a hindrance more than a help. Even without the extra adornments, he was not any less for it, the white gold and crystals adorning his face emphasizing the sharp contours of his face.
Eventually, he angled his body to take him to the cliff edge, long back legs extended to catch the ground first before his front hooves sank into the lush grasses in a gentle step. Isorath left his wings open once he turned back out to face the ocean, high above his head and extended in the breeze. Words could not describe the feel of the wind as it caressed the leathery appendages, though he imagined it was similar to a lovers gentle touch. Aimed to soothe and beckon the weary soul onward. Lavender eyes fell shut after a moment, his head tilted to welcome the warmth of the sun on his face and ears perked forward to listen to the Ocean's soulful song.
"Isorath talks."
in which arah feels like she's terrible at coming up with starters and open threads omg.
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
There is something about taking wing in the morning, a serenity and beauty in the quiet stillness where nature is the only song to come to ear underneath a canopy of pastel. There is no bustle of busy halls or the murmur of others about matters of Court and the plans for the day. There is only the Gulls uttering their calls to the sound of the Ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks and cliff walls, while the breeze rustled through the grasses clinging to the cliffs and tousling salt kissed hair. Between the smell of the salt water, the faint perfume of the cliff flowers intertwines and makes it just that little bit sweeter.
The view is breathtaking, as the sun still hung low in the morning sky and the moon still showed her pale visage to the slowly waking world, painting the sky in shades of dawn. Soft pinks, dainty purples and delicate blues streak across the never ending sky, and the winged Kirin is almost reminded once again of home. Each stroke of his magnificent wings is a slow elegant stroke, using the wind blown off of the sea to keep him airborn. Gilded scales twinkle in the encroaching light, while his pale white fur shimmered with every graceful turn and twist of his lithe body. Part of him expected to hear the shrill call of fire and flesh on the wind, the sound of rolling thunder as the scaled beasts roused themselves from their perches to join him in his morning flight. He had been young then, young and not so burdened with the troubles that came with walking the long road, he had enjoyed the sky for it's simple pleasure of freedom. How exhilarating it had been to fly with beasts so impossible and yet so real, who looked at him through eyes the colour of molten gold and the deepest shades of crimson, icy blue and moon dust with feral glee.
Now he enjoyed it as a means to escape, absent of his most dear companions.
Still, his somber mood didn't bleed through upon his chiselled face nor in the way he moved through the sky. He remained effortless, the picture of serenity. The kind of image that many who practiced the arts would long to capture in their mediums, draconian eyes alight in the morning wash, forever unable to be captured by even the most precious of carved gems. He had left his cloak in his chambers, favoring only his bridle, as much as he longed to feel the comfort of the tulle and silk layers, flying in such a thing would be a hindrance more than a help. Even without the extra adornments, he was not any less for it, the white gold and crystals adorning his face emphasizing the sharp contours of his face.
Eventually, he angled his body to take him to the cliff edge, long back legs extended to catch the ground first before his front hooves sank into the lush grasses in a gentle step. Isorath left his wings open once he turned back out to face the ocean, high above his head and extended in the breeze. Words could not describe the feel of the wind as it caressed the leathery appendages, though he imagined it was similar to a lovers gentle touch. Aimed to soothe and beckon the weary soul onward. Lavender eyes fell shut after a moment, his head tilted to welcome the warmth of the sun on his face and ears perked forward to listen to the Ocean's soulful song.
"Isorath talks."
in which arah feels like she's terrible at coming up with starters and open threads omg.
all are welcome! but I know @Rannveig wanted an Isorath thread.
The earth was silent in its humble being, prayed upon before the altar of the sun, the rise and fall of its idle whims. Here, in this monarchy of old earth and old casts, the mountains rose high, a fleeting symphony of winds hissing its saga for all to hear, promising glory and honor to those who would but vanquish the treacherous peaks. It was a frivolous ambition, the dangers of the archaic temple offering little sympathy for the foolish, the brazen. How many fine equine had fallen to their death here, in these very trecks, seeking a sight far reaching upon those heights. Each step set the bar ever higher, the steep hills rising from their bed of rock, the silty soil rushing down with the most minor of mishap. It was a strained place, one with more than a few lustful demons to be found, poking and prodding at a lords passing feet, forcing them to bend the knee. He would oft watch others in their folly of the game, a mad dash with very little consequence weighted upon feats such as caution. 