i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.


Court life suited him well, the intricate game of politics and courtly intrigue had been standard in his youth. As he'd roamed from those gilded halls out in to the world and it's other kingdoms, there had been a distinct lack thereof or systems completely foreign and alien to him. Now to be back somewhere more comfortable, something almost achingly close to home but not quite, the Kirin was grateful. It was like slipping back into a favorite cloak and burying deep into it's plush fur trim and it's chiffon embrace, inhaling the familiar perfumed scent and feeling his muscles relax.

So far his integration had been peaceful, nothing of note save for a few nods here and there and a polite word spoken here and there. He had explored the halls in relative peace, lavender eyes drinking in each and every thing that they happened to be drawn to. He wanted to know this place down to it's finer details, and it's inhabitants too. It had been his fatal flaw in the past, the things which he had not known had ultimately pulled the threads of fate away from his favor and opened the ground beneath his hooves.
Silver strands were tamed into a more intricate style than the loose curls he'd chosen as of late, plaited and clasped between the dragon ties and then threaded close to his neck, pooling at his withers where the ends fell in soft waves. He had sought respite outside, enjoying the cool breeze which helped off set the warm weather that had slowly encroached on the remnants of spring while he himself enjoyed how it heated the gilded scales which framed his body. Together with the pearlescence of his coat, he shimmered like a pale mirage in the desert, or the moon light upon a still lake.

He should of expected company, in some form, but he had been so occupied by his own thoughts, that he'd almost completely zoned out. It was hard not to get caught up in the thoughts of home as he watched the lightly clouded sky, he almost expected a dragon to descend from their silvery embrace, scales gleaming in the sun as his did. A roar of pure elation the only noise to break up the serenity. The dragon never came though, no matter how much he thinly hoped for it, it wasn't until the sound of hoof steps neared that he snapped back into himself. The kirin's head tilted in time to see the stranger come to a surprised halt and his face settled into one of curiosity.


Curiosity that was quickly sated, the stallion quickly uttered a welcoming phrase and he understood. Ah, another well wisher, a small smile played on his pale lips as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you." He murmured, his tones silken and charming in their cadence. His body half-turned toward his new companion, large draconian wings extending from his svelte frame to rest their taloned grip against the stone floor. The stallion was intriguing, now that he could settle his gaze upon him properly. The swathe of cream, gold and black were complimentary, and his eyes almost the same shade of his own. "I'm Isorath, the new sage. It is good to be back in a place that reminds me of home."




 "Isorath talks."



This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.

GUESSWHO

i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.


The oddity of himself had been recognized fairly early on as he'd traveled to the Dusk Court, after all it was hard not too notice that even among such a diverse crowd, he was odder still. Not that he minded too  much, he rather enjoyed it. He didn't look at it as a burden or a strike against his name. In his homeland he would be fairer than most, but also in welcome company of others whose scales gleamed like polished shields and antlers of many splendid and wonderful varieties. Not many, but that was a trivial fact. Here he glowed for the attention it brought, made his glittering eyes sparkle all the more in mirth and subtle smugness.

Isorath's faint smile remained as the violet-eyed stallion spoke, an ear perked forward and then the other. Too many were often focused on the art of war, the painstaking road of the warrior and it's hardships and tales, that they forgot that there was another equally deserving road for their adoration and admiration. He himself had been one such creature, until fate chose a different path for him to walk. Regent. "The pleasure is mine to meet a Lord Regent who realizes the importance of history and the arts." He mused in good humor, head dipped as he spoke Mani's title back to him. "I take it you are new to the position?" He inquired lightly, having picked up on the hesitance which had laced his tone. He remember feeling that when he had become an advisor, a would-be-king, and an emperor.

The kirin paused for a moment at the question, mirth bleeding away to fondness at the corners of his eyes. "Far to the north east of here, though I have not seen my homeland for a long time." He hummed thoughtfully, happy to indulge Mani's curiosity for now. "Cities built in white marble and precious metals and jewels. Dragon's roost in spires crafted for them, and grace the skies every day. There is magic everywhere to be found, there are few that are not born with it thrumming through their veins. It is beautiful. Wild, and yet not." There is a softness tinging the end of his words, despite the internal flinch at it. He was not supposed to be soft, but his homeland invited it in anyway. He was homesick every now and then, just as many other wayfarers and travelers. Longing for the comfort of familiarity and the company of his own blood. The pendant which hung around his neck felt heavier, the three dragons for three children of the Empress. Himself and his brother and sister.


"What of your homeland? Is it far, or were you born into these lands?" Quick to turn the question back on Mani, the Regent's curiosity reflected back in his own gaze. In his travels he'd met many particular equines, their stories as vast as the sea or as short as the brooks that led into bigger waters. Some had traveled farther than he had, while others had been blessed (or cursed) to be born to the land they all had come to reside in. What was this stallion's story? As a sage, and a member of the Dusk Court, he endeavored to find out.




 "Isorath talks."



This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.

GUESSWHO

i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.

The crown was a fickle thing, even for those that had been born for it and those that came to it through favor and fortune. Some were forged under the weight of it and others crumbled, but through it all, it would never truly become easy. Truthfully, Isorath would find it unnerving if a Monarch truly became comfortable in their seat, for comfort bred laziness and over indulgence. "In time it will become easier to manage." He assured with a wry smile. "The key is good advice and patience."


It was a fascinating place, filled with magic and wonderment. Isorath wagered there wasn't another place like it in the known World. The equines which inhabited it were just as mystical, ancient noble houses and their lesser vassals, the nomads on the plains and those that mastered the waves. If he was honest, he'd rather there wasn't a place like it out there. It's beauty and fierceness deserved to remain unique. Such tales he could tell, the old histories that he had learned and listened to in his youth were still fresh in his mind, just as the vivid images of Dragon's dancing in the sky were.

Isorath settled into a comfortable silence as he listened to Mani recount his own homeland, where his had been filled with warmth and dragon fire, the others had been ice and the cold seas. A fitting difference, one he might have laughed at one upon a time. The note about the Gods was an interesting one, something which struck another similar chord. Perhaps the Gods and Lands which belonged to the Northern places of the world were much more different than the rest. "It sounds like quite the place, the Gods walked among our people as well, not as freely, mind you." He hummed, musing at what kind of structures one would dwell in, he imagined the strong smell of pine wood burning and the caress of thick pelts upon the hide to keep the chill wind at bay. Hair threaded with sea salt and a touch of frost at the ends. It was oddly poetic. He could imagine it though, see it within his minds eye. What would their gods look like? Like Mani did, or were they made of coarser stuff, of the brine of the sea, the strength of the cliffs and hewn of the glacial ice that they governed over?

His head tilted a fraction to the side as Mani mentioned the elders, his mother and the father with no face but only features to name. Only at the mention of Dragon's and Ice Giants did he utter a small laugh. "My mother didn't speak much of my father, or my brother's and sister's fathers. They were from noble houses, chosen through specific rituals and political alliances. Purple and Pink eyes are the symbol of our royal house, and our wings. Those not of royal blood lose their wings when they under go the burning." He explained thoughtfully, something which he hadn't seen anywhere else. "The dragons did not always perch among us, there were times when they roamed wild and ravaged the land with little care to it's inhabitants. It is only through strange and unusual happenings our species found peace with one another. I have never seen an ice giant though," he trailed off, "...what do they look like? Other than big." He added the last part with a chuckle.



 "Isorath talks."



This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.

GUESSWHO

i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.

Isorath was much the same, he enjoyed the company of himself more often than not, it was only by virtue of taking up the mantle of a Sage that he forced himself into social situations. History and wisdom were not shared in silence after all, for that caused quite the opposite. Silence was the death of great legends and noble heroes, the etched stone of the halls they stood in would be lost in the absence of voice and the careful stroke of ink on parchment. Joining a Court also required him to be social and place himself in a light which countered his often acidic tongue, and lower his barbed spines he'd wrapped around himself as a defense against the world. Better he strike first before it had a chance to lance him.

Mani however, provided to be an enjoyable person to talk to in these crucial first moments, which either styled him as an charismatic creature made of gold and moonlight, or a snarling dragon with fire licking at it's jaws. "It's good that you both have one another to lean on, but do not dismiss the advice and support of your people. They will be invaluable in times of great joy, and even more when there is uncertainty on the horizon." He offered with a slight nod of his antlered head.

Not all strangers had a love for their homeland, like Mani and himself appeared to have. Some refused to talk about it, or their words were spat and their brows furrowed in a volatile mix of frustration and bad memories left to fester. So he listened intently, nodding every now and then to let the Regent know he was soaking up what he had to share. He wondered how he might fair in a land such as that, something to ponder on later as the moon crested at her peak. "As it should be. Too many times have I heard tales of Gods becoming corrupt, or mortals thinking themselves above their Gods and breaking them. It's good to hear that despite the harshness of your land, there is balance." He mused, recalling old tales he had heard in his travels about equines trying to bend the power of gods to their will.

It was hard not to miss the curiosity laced in Mani's words, it was filed away to answer after the Regent had answered his own questions, his mind already formulating the best way to explain such a happening. His mind easily painted a vivid picture with the descriptors he was supplied with,  the haunting yellow of their eyes paired with the sword like teeth. Truly a thing of terror, like the golems then that lurked the deep roads of the western mountains. Fascinating creatures they were, and equally deadly. Made of elementals given sentience and a form to call their own. "They sound terrifying," he breathed, and then his maw broke into a smile, eyes alight with wonder, "and fascinating. Your soldiers are brave to face such things, maybe they could teach the western horses a thing or two in my land, how to deal with the golems of the deeps which plague them every now and then."

Golden talons clicked lightly against the stone floor as he mulled over how to explain the burning, his tail flickering across the floor in one elegant curl, the wavy silver strands like rivers of pure moonlight across the stone. He owed Mani an answer, since the stallion had inquired and answered his own curiosities. "It is a ritual where one is unmade and remade, the burning." Isorath began, words thoughtful and slow off his tongue. "A sacred rite of passage undertaken by many but not all of my people, as it is quite painful and one of great risk. One puts their very essence on trial to the flame. If it finds you worthy, you will be remade anew in dragon fire with the very essence of the winged creatures. If it does not find you worthy,  the punishment is swift, you burn until you're no more than ash." He explained, head tilted as he recalled his own burning. He had built his own pyre, and he had walked into the flames and it had been agony. He had burned for what seemed like eternity, until the fires forged him a body pale as the moon with scales the colour of gold richer than the veins found it the earth. Even as a small foal, he had watched his own fair share of burnings, his mother never one to shield them from the realities of their world, just as many succeeded and from the ashes of the dragon smoke and burned wood they would emerge glittering and new, and just as many failed. Their wails echoed into the ember filled air and into the annals of history, joining those who had tried and failed, remembered as a solemn warning.


"Isorath talks."



This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.

GUESSWHO