i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
Once upon a time he might have entertained the halls Summer and the Sun, his roots were twined intricately with the blazing orb in the sky, and he was no stranger to an existence within a place that punished those with weak conviction and determination. It was a mutual thought, shared between the two as they observed one another. Isorath wagered that the stallion opposite him would look at home in Winter's embrace, her frost enhancing the winter-grey of his coat and bringing out the silver ore of his eyes.
No Isorath did not belong to the Summer Court, it's large families foreign to him just as he was foreign to them. His homeland was steeped in mysticism, strangers with wanderlust would often make port in the coastal cities whose backdrop was the arid deserts which stretched for miles. It was those tales which spread outward into the known world he wagered, tales of grand cites whose sea air mingled with the rich perfumes merchants peddled as dragons circled overhead.
He wondered if this stallion had ever heard of such a place, and what place the unicorn called home, if he was not of these lands.
For all the troubles such a mane caused him, such as mild suffocation in the early hours after a particular roll of his body wrapped the unnaturally long strands around his face, he couldn't bring himself to cut it. He certainly envied those who had shorter hair some days, when it was unruly and refused to remain in it's braids and ornate styles. How easy his morning routine would become if his hair was less than half it's length, and no need of maintainence at all if he sheared it to the roach Morozko had. "It's not always like this." He offered in good humor, a faint smile now on his own pale lips. "Most days it cooperates."
Large wings dropped from their snug embrace against his scaled sides, talon fingers extending to spread out on the stone floor beneath their hooves as he shifted himself, not wanting to block the doorway also, if another happened to sail by the pair. The gilded claws glinted in the rosy hue of the morning, softly haloed whenever they flexed. The Unicorn's inquiring gaze doesn't bother him much, he's long grown accustomed to strangers glancing his way as he passed, either in awe or curiosity of his unusual visage.
Soon the inevitable question came, and the winged kirin turned his lavender gaze back to his new companion's face in a contemplative look. "I am," he began with a dip of his head, and then a short laugh, "I suppose that is true, I would hope it would be in a more acceptable style at the meeting though." He straightened his lithe frame after that, one that echoed of a life made to hold himself to lofty standards and proper etiquette, the trappings of a fine courtier. "I'm Isorath, the new Sage of the Dusk Court. I'm afraid I arrived after the meeting, so I'm still learning faces and names as I find them." He admitted the last part with a breath, it was always mildly frustrating, having to relearn faces and names whenever he moved on.
"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.
Once upon a time he might have entertained the halls Summer and the Sun, his roots were twined intricately with the blazing orb in the sky, and he was no stranger to an existence within a place that punished those with weak conviction and determination. It was a mutual thought, shared between the two as they observed one another. Isorath wagered that the stallion opposite him would look at home in Winter's embrace, her frost enhancing the winter-grey of his coat and bringing out the silver ore of his eyes.
No Isorath did not belong to the Summer Court, it's large families foreign to him just as he was foreign to them. His homeland was steeped in mysticism, strangers with wanderlust would often make port in the coastal cities whose backdrop was the arid deserts which stretched for miles. It was those tales which spread outward into the known world he wagered, tales of grand cites whose sea air mingled with the rich perfumes merchants peddled as dragons circled overhead.
He wondered if this stallion had ever heard of such a place, and what place the unicorn called home, if he was not of these lands.
For all the troubles such a mane caused him, such as mild suffocation in the early hours after a particular roll of his body wrapped the unnaturally long strands around his face, he couldn't bring himself to cut it. He certainly envied those who had shorter hair some days, when it was unruly and refused to remain in it's braids and ornate styles. How easy his morning routine would become if his hair was less than half it's length, and no need of maintainence at all if he sheared it to the roach Morozko had. "It's not always like this." He offered in good humor, a faint smile now on his own pale lips. "Most days it cooperates."
Large wings dropped from their snug embrace against his scaled sides, talon fingers extending to spread out on the stone floor beneath their hooves as he shifted himself, not wanting to block the doorway also, if another happened to sail by the pair. The gilded claws glinted in the rosy hue of the morning, softly haloed whenever they flexed. The Unicorn's inquiring gaze doesn't bother him much, he's long grown accustomed to strangers glancing his way as he passed, either in awe or curiosity of his unusual visage.
Soon the inevitable question came, and the winged kirin turned his lavender gaze back to his new companion's face in a contemplative look. "I am," he began with a dip of his head, and then a short laugh, "I suppose that is true, I would hope it would be in a more acceptable style at the meeting though." He straightened his lithe frame after that, one that echoed of a life made to hold himself to lofty standards and proper etiquette, the trappings of a fine courtier. "I'm Isorath, the new Sage of the Dusk Court. I'm afraid I arrived after the meeting, so I'm still learning faces and names as I find them." He admitted the last part with a breath, it was always mildly frustrating, having to relearn faces and names whenever he moved on.
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
@Morozko -- no it's perfectly fine! <3
