i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
Summer Storms had raged when he had been born too. The rain had done little to stifle the humidity in the air as the thunder loomed overhead and shook the foundations of the palacial home he would come to know and love. The sea's had battered the cliffsides his ancestral home had perched upon for eons, and the dragon's had joined in the thundering chorus as they'd taken wing to revel in the dangerous dance. So he had come to marvel them fondly, ears perked forward and eyes turned skyward to drink in the lightning which lanced across the sky in dazzling arcs of light. Lately, he had sought out the solace of the storm to drown out the storm which raged in the confines of his gilded rib cage, the rain which caressed his scaled body wiping clean the doubts and worries for one tender moment.
He'd seen many storms since his departure from his homeland, both in hours of great joy and great sorrow, but none had been so wonderful. Maybe he longed to hear the dragon's song among the thunder, if only for a glimpse at happier, freer times.
The rumble of the thunder was familiar quake in his chest as he approached the cliffs, his soul stirred, longing for him to stretch his leathery wings and take flight. Glide on the whipping winds and dance between the furious squalls out at sea. He is not the only one, it appeared, drawn to the beauty of such a display. Part of him can't help but flinch, shared spaces especially in such moments have come to be a sore spot for the winged kirin, yet he swallowed it down. He would stay, and perhaps something good would come of it.
His silver hair billowed in the wind as he neared, the long silken tendrils adrift in unruly curls, having escaped the confines of the hair pieces now clinging desperately to the few strands that remained in their grip. The sage isn't blessed with the hues of night or the tones of the earth and overcast skies like two of the gathered equines are blessed with, he much more resembled the mare of moonlight and striped with moon dust. He cannot appear and disappear so easily from the dark as the stallion had, or disappear into the raging skies as he assumes the winged mare can, but he is still effortless and serene in his stride despite his oddness, the iridescence of his coat reflecting in the last dying light of the sun. "Room for one more?" Isorath murmured, his dulcet tones carrying over the harshness of the wind. He stilled a small distance from the pale mare, lavender eyes watching the group with a curious gaze before they slid out toward the sea.
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
Summer Storms had raged when he had been born too. The rain had done little to stifle the humidity in the air as the thunder loomed overhead and shook the foundations of the palacial home he would come to know and love. The sea's had battered the cliffsides his ancestral home had perched upon for eons, and the dragon's had joined in the thundering chorus as they'd taken wing to revel in the dangerous dance. So he had come to marvel them fondly, ears perked forward and eyes turned skyward to drink in the lightning which lanced across the sky in dazzling arcs of light. Lately, he had sought out the solace of the storm to drown out the storm which raged in the confines of his gilded rib cage, the rain which caressed his scaled body wiping clean the doubts and worries for one tender moment.
He'd seen many storms since his departure from his homeland, both in hours of great joy and great sorrow, but none had been so wonderful. Maybe he longed to hear the dragon's song among the thunder, if only for a glimpse at happier, freer times.
The rumble of the thunder was familiar quake in his chest as he approached the cliffs, his soul stirred, longing for him to stretch his leathery wings and take flight. Glide on the whipping winds and dance between the furious squalls out at sea. He is not the only one, it appeared, drawn to the beauty of such a display. Part of him can't help but flinch, shared spaces especially in such moments have come to be a sore spot for the winged kirin, yet he swallowed it down. He would stay, and perhaps something good would come of it.
His silver hair billowed in the wind as he neared, the long silken tendrils adrift in unruly curls, having escaped the confines of the hair pieces now clinging desperately to the few strands that remained in their grip. The sage isn't blessed with the hues of night or the tones of the earth and overcast skies like two of the gathered equines are blessed with, he much more resembled the mare of moonlight and striped with moon dust. He cannot appear and disappear so easily from the dark as the stallion had, or disappear into the raging skies as he assumes the winged mare can, but he is still effortless and serene in his stride despite his oddness, the iridescence of his coat reflecting in the last dying light of the sun. "Room for one more?" Isorath murmured, his dulcet tones carrying over the harshness of the wind. He stilled a small distance from the pale mare, lavender eyes watching the group with a curious gaze before they slid out toward the sea.
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
@Aislinn -- hopefully you don't mind one more <3
