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+---- Thread: [AW] [O] BONES LIKE WATER (/showthread.php?tid=1789)
[O] BONES LIKE WATER - Dracarys - 03-11-2018
The new world around him was ethereal. Some moments, Dracarys wondered if it was real at all. The Gods were ones to play tricks, he’d learned young; was this his eternal damnation? With a weary eye peering through the dawn shadows, the stallion heaved a sigh and rolled the worry from his mind with a roll and stretch of the muscles in his body. It had been midnight when he’d stumbled in from the sand, tired and stricken from the heat and intense travel. In his state of dehydration, Dracarys took great pleasure in the blue, blue waters, and how the moon danced across its surface. For the first time in many days did the dragon lay his body down and take in a healthy dose of sleep, but even with the excitement of new day ahead, he did not want to stumble out of bed.
The babble of water trickling against stone was pleasuring to his ears as he slinked from his little thicket in the wood, a quaint smile prickling velvet kissers as they grazed across blades of grass. The taste sent chills down his spine, stomach settling rather quickly. With a new morning, and fluid to stop the dizziness, Dracarys was ready. It had been quite a few days since he’d last sought out another being — the last had been mere passing eyes and small talk. He wanted to know about this place and, Day Court had appealed to him as he watched behind the dunes. Yes, he had looked on for some time, now ready to commit to finding purpose. Dracarys stretched himself into the open-light of the day, eyes scanning over the waterfall. A crackling sounded not far off from him, and he raised his brows and ears toward the sound.
A calm overcame him, shoulders settling. Let them come.
OPEN !
The babble of water trickling against stone was pleasuring to his ears as he slinked from his little thicket in the wood, a quaint smile prickling velvet kissers as they grazed across blades of grass. The taste sent chills down his spine, stomach settling rather quickly. With a new morning, and fluid to stop the dizziness, Dracarys was ready. It had been quite a few days since he’d last sought out another being — the last had been mere passing eyes and small talk. He wanted to know about this place and, Day Court had appealed to him as he watched behind the dunes. Yes, he had looked on for some time, now ready to commit to finding purpose. Dracarys stretched himself into the open-light of the day, eyes scanning over the waterfall. A crackling sounded not far off from him, and he raised his brows and ears toward the sound.
A calm overcame him, shoulders settling. Let them come.
OPEN !
RE: [O] BONES LIKE WATER - Seraphina - 03-12-2018
☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
half gods are worshiped in wine and flowers
real gods require blood
The trek to the Oasis seems longer than usual these days – she remembers how free she had felt before the Davke, running across the sands of the Mors. Now, her caution tastes more like apprehension, even anticipation. A week of hunting has left her war-torn all over again, tense and terse as a predator ready to leap at any movement.
At least, she thinks, the Davke seem to have disappeared like sand in the wind, back into the desert from which they came; any that still prowl the streets of the capitol have gone into hiding, and, unless they pay mind to their fellows and leave quickly, she can’t imagine that it will be long until she feeds them to the flames, like all the others. She hoped that the smell of burning flesh would recede when she left the city, but she wonders if the smoke hasn’t coated her frame in the scent. Either way, it seems to follow her.
Seraphina brushes through lines of prickly scrub; they catch in her tail and coat, tugging out strands of white and leaving lines. Nearby, she hears something akin to splashing, distinct from the waterfall – something is moving through the oasis. She slows her step as she moves through the palm trees that line the shore, her eyes narrowing to slits as they scan the pristine blue surface, coming to a halt on a warlike man. Her gaze catches on the scars that mar his forelegs, and she takes careful account of his build; sculpted for brute force and violence, this one, though she imagines she is quicker than him, should he be one of the Davke. As she takes in his scent, faint against the stark clarity of the water, she decides that he probably isn’t one of the desert ghosts, but, as she steps out of the palm trees and out onto the bank, her stance does not slacken an inch.
Iron-wound tension runs the length of her frame like livewires. She stares him down through red-rimmed eyes, her lips tugged into a firm, defensive line. “Identify yourself.” If this is another one of the Davke, she is content in the knowledge that she will be quick to sink her teeth into his throat, and watches him in stiff, predatory silence.
half gods are worshiped in wine and flowers
real gods require blood
The trek to the Oasis seems longer than usual these days – she remembers how free she had felt before the Davke, running across the sands of the Mors. Now, her caution tastes more like apprehension, even anticipation. A week of hunting has left her war-torn all over again, tense and terse as a predator ready to leap at any movement.
At least, she thinks, the Davke seem to have disappeared like sand in the wind, back into the desert from which they came; any that still prowl the streets of the capitol have gone into hiding, and, unless they pay mind to their fellows and leave quickly, she can’t imagine that it will be long until she feeds them to the flames, like all the others. She hoped that the smell of burning flesh would recede when she left the city, but she wonders if the smoke hasn’t coated her frame in the scent. Either way, it seems to follow her.
Seraphina brushes through lines of prickly scrub; they catch in her tail and coat, tugging out strands of white and leaving lines. Nearby, she hears something akin to splashing, distinct from the waterfall – something is moving through the oasis. She slows her step as she moves through the palm trees that line the shore, her eyes narrowing to slits as they scan the pristine blue surface, coming to a halt on a warlike man. Her gaze catches on the scars that mar his forelegs, and she takes careful account of his build; sculpted for brute force and violence, this one, though she imagines she is quicker than him, should he be one of the Davke. As she takes in his scent, faint against the stark clarity of the water, she decides that he probably isn’t one of the desert ghosts, but, as she steps out of the palm trees and out onto the bank, her stance does not slacken an inch.
Iron-wound tension runs the length of her frame like livewires. She stares him down through red-rimmed eyes, her lips tugged into a firm, defensive line. “Identify yourself.” If this is another one of the Davke, she is content in the knowledge that she will be quick to sink her teeth into his throat, and watches him in stiff, predatory silence.
@Dracarys - apologies, she's a bit crabby atm <3