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.
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.
@Máni
