he is possessed of marble and shade, cascaded over brusque delineation and haughty, boyish height – as often, the elegant slope of his skull is raised, fitted with the strains of gold and silver that match the veins cut across his own likeness. a horn faintly scrapes the wall as he does, taking with it a hiss and breath of white dust. he is almost surprised that the temple about them is even tangible, though his attentions waxed more over the pinto mare that scoffed at his ignorance. or was it his existence, alone? something rolled about in his chest, curled around his ribs and rose in throat like a somber wolf growl, too low to be acknowledged to any but himself. there was little satisfaction to be had in discovering that she, too, was clueless as to the temple's origins, and found it oddly bold to find herself hostile considering. it's mine, anyways. whispered his blood, shrugging softly beneath his shoulders. he was just as unamused by her presence in the temple as she may have been of his, and her first impression did little to lessen (but perhaps greaten) those crawling feelings of misanthropy. there was some sliver of her arrogance that was of some entertainment to him, that hinted to some recklessness he could approve of, sparingly. in truth, her oddity and spite to his being there made him want to linger even longer.
a spark caught his eye then, a warm glow that unraveled itself into the apparition of another mare – a new kind of pride, warring wages with the first mare with a kinship bred in hell. she arrived with equal wariness as she did a casual hubris, and despite seeming wildly misplaced she loitered as if she belonged. soon after a peculiar bird took flight to her quarters, an odd thing swarmed in flame and fluttering feather unburned. he had never seen one, though the previous meeting with a dragon and talented alchemist left him jaded to much else. there was little left to disbelief here, he found, that made the wilds seem as quaint and primitive as they truly may have been. erasmus did not bother to spare his breath, no words seemed fit or worth their merit to either parties. this new audience was an odd sort, and while he found little conniving in the way she rode her eyes over the pair of them, he wondered if the hint of condescension was true or misinterpreted. she regarded them as an outsider, moreso than a plain stranger. little did he know the light show was enough to instigate on its own – he caught the air of her grin and it rose like the sharp rinds of daggers in the back of his skull – and the former woman sought its nary innocence for a bartering chip in the head of a quarrel.
priceless.
the painted woman shot back with a tongue sharp as arrowheads, slicking her words with venom and an honorable loathing he found fine to place on anyone but himself. perhaps they would bloody each other on their own and forget that he existed entirely, and he would be left again to his own devices. one could hope. he loosened his body again, returning to the oddly warm stone (bone, moonrock, cement?) that enveloped him in welcome, and he wondered if he tried hard enough that he may disappear into its texture. then he could watch unbothered, as two strangers fought over something so small as a perceived misinterpretation. maybe they would even kill each other, and all would be silent again, and he would be free to explore his temple in true peace. he took care to make as little noise as possible, leaning his side against the smooth alabaster, but could not help the wolfish grin that found its crooked way across his lips, plucking soft flesh from over a peeking fang.
a spark caught his eye then, a warm glow that unraveled itself into the apparition of another mare – a new kind of pride, warring wages with the first mare with a kinship bred in hell. she arrived with equal wariness as she did a casual hubris, and despite seeming wildly misplaced she loitered as if she belonged. soon after a peculiar bird took flight to her quarters, an odd thing swarmed in flame and fluttering feather unburned. he had never seen one, though the previous meeting with a dragon and talented alchemist left him jaded to much else. there was little left to disbelief here, he found, that made the wilds seem as quaint and primitive as they truly may have been. erasmus did not bother to spare his breath, no words seemed fit or worth their merit to either parties. this new audience was an odd sort, and while he found little conniving in the way she rode her eyes over the pair of them, he wondered if the hint of condescension was true or misinterpreted. she regarded them as an outsider, moreso than a plain stranger. little did he know the light show was enough to instigate on its own – he caught the air of her grin and it rose like the sharp rinds of daggers in the back of his skull – and the former woman sought its nary innocence for a bartering chip in the head of a quarrel.
priceless.
the painted woman shot back with a tongue sharp as arrowheads, slicking her words with venom and an honorable loathing he found fine to place on anyone but himself. perhaps they would bloody each other on their own and forget that he existed entirely, and he would be left again to his own devices. one could hope. he loosened his body again, returning to the oddly warm stone (bone, moonrock, cement?) that enveloped him in welcome, and he wondered if he tried hard enough that he may disappear into its texture. then he could watch unbothered, as two strangers fought over something so small as a perceived misinterpretation. maybe they would even kill each other, and all would be silent again, and he would be free to explore his temple in true peace. he took care to make as little noise as possible, leaning his side against the smooth alabaster, but could not help the wolfish grin that found its crooked way across his lips, plucking soft flesh from over a peeking fang.
@Israfel @Morrighan fight fight fight fight
