i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
He is not the only one to heed the storm's call, her wild abandon drawing more and more to witness her in all her magnificent glory and be bathed in the purifying rains. Moths to the flame might have been an appropriate statement, or more akin to a tired and world weary traveler coming home to the arms of those who soothed their aches and whispered sweet nothings. Each thunderclap overhead reverberated in his chest, waking his bones and setting his nerves alight with each new chorus the skies sang.
For one glorious moment, the winged stallion of moonlight and gold could of closed his eyes and imagined he was not stood on this very cliff surrounded by strangers. Instead he was on the Balcony of Suns Reach witnessing the storm rolling off the western waters, the smell of rain mingling with the salt of the ocean as it soaked him to the marrow of his bones.
The newcomer's touch isn't rejected, but it took him by surprise. He had been so focused on the storm, even if an a delicate ear had flicked back to acknowledge the newcomers presence. It's friendly, gentle as the smile on their lips before they moved away, leaving the Kirin off-kilter for a moment. Not many dared to touch him, even in friendly greeting, instead choosing to simply stare and keep a polite distance. Except that one, levender eyes observed them as his thoughts reformed and his composure smoothed over. A snort is swallowed by the howling wind and he shifted in place, choosing not to linger on such a small thing. Instead, he focused on the kind words shared by the mare of smoke and mist, whose pink eyes reminded him of rose quartz at dawn and the Stallion whose visage reminded him of scorched earth. Copper of his coat veins of fire, or embers refusing to die in a bed of soot and ash. Handsome, forged of the very core of fire lord's domain with the night sky trapped in his mane. If he had known the Stallion's innerworkings, he might've laughed. A true laugh lighter than air and brighter than the suns rays at it's zenith, and soothed him with a lilted murmur that bewitching mares were not his tastes, but rather rugged stallions.
Reichenbach, a fitting name he mused, introduced him to the gathered and each one received a small nod. Lavender eyes illuminated in the glow of the lightning, betraying the glint which glittered within their startling gaze as he committed them all to memory. Weir, the mare with the pink eyes, turned out to be one of his own Court. "I'm Isorath, Sage of the Dusk Court." His tones were not as deep as Reichenbach's, but lilted instead. Like the moons song to the starlit waters beneath her ethereal form, or the whisper of smoke on skin as twilight crept to claim the day for the mistress of the night.
Any word's he might've spared Weir were silenced at her cry, his own head turning to watch her in a mixture of surprise and mirth. Her proclamation a grand thing, spoken daringly to the elements, a challenge to let them try and take the future from their hooves. What would the God's think, above in their lofty thrones, witnessing the gathering upon the cliffs. It certainly set the tone for the rest of Novus, the die had been cast now and the elements had been their witness. He blinked the rainwater from his eyes, head turned upwards to let the lightning illuminate his pale frame.
"I know we shall be better." He hummed to the darker stallion, amethyst eyes once again glinting as he regarded him. Ever so slowly, his wings lifted and fanned out, their pale visage held aloft for the wind to caress and the water to gather upon, and should the others want it, a reprieve from the rain that sought to soak them to their bones. Isorath cared little in that moment for his appearance and his own vanity, welcoming the rain without question to wrap him tight in it's embrace. His hair now twisted in wet curls against his pale neck, down over a scaled shoulder to barely touch the grass beneath his cloven hooves. His tail flicked the long water logged strands it carried in one ecstatic sweep the next moment, as another flash of lightning danced across the sky.
"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.
He is not the only one to heed the storm's call, her wild abandon drawing more and more to witness her in all her magnificent glory and be bathed in the purifying rains. Moths to the flame might have been an appropriate statement, or more akin to a tired and world weary traveler coming home to the arms of those who soothed their aches and whispered sweet nothings. Each thunderclap overhead reverberated in his chest, waking his bones and setting his nerves alight with each new chorus the skies sang.
For one glorious moment, the winged stallion of moonlight and gold could of closed his eyes and imagined he was not stood on this very cliff surrounded by strangers. Instead he was on the Balcony of Suns Reach witnessing the storm rolling off the western waters, the smell of rain mingling with the salt of the ocean as it soaked him to the marrow of his bones.
The newcomer's touch isn't rejected, but it took him by surprise. He had been so focused on the storm, even if an a delicate ear had flicked back to acknowledge the newcomers presence. It's friendly, gentle as the smile on their lips before they moved away, leaving the Kirin off-kilter for a moment. Not many dared to touch him, even in friendly greeting, instead choosing to simply stare and keep a polite distance. Except that one, levender eyes observed them as his thoughts reformed and his composure smoothed over. A snort is swallowed by the howling wind and he shifted in place, choosing not to linger on such a small thing. Instead, he focused on the kind words shared by the mare of smoke and mist, whose pink eyes reminded him of rose quartz at dawn and the Stallion whose visage reminded him of scorched earth. Copper of his coat veins of fire, or embers refusing to die in a bed of soot and ash. Handsome, forged of the very core of fire lord's domain with the night sky trapped in his mane. If he had known the Stallion's innerworkings, he might've laughed. A true laugh lighter than air and brighter than the suns rays at it's zenith, and soothed him with a lilted murmur that bewitching mares were not his tastes, but rather rugged stallions.
Reichenbach, a fitting name he mused, introduced him to the gathered and each one received a small nod. Lavender eyes illuminated in the glow of the lightning, betraying the glint which glittered within their startling gaze as he committed them all to memory. Weir, the mare with the pink eyes, turned out to be one of his own Court. "I'm Isorath, Sage of the Dusk Court." His tones were not as deep as Reichenbach's, but lilted instead. Like the moons song to the starlit waters beneath her ethereal form, or the whisper of smoke on skin as twilight crept to claim the day for the mistress of the night.
Any word's he might've spared Weir were silenced at her cry, his own head turning to watch her in a mixture of surprise and mirth. Her proclamation a grand thing, spoken daringly to the elements, a challenge to let them try and take the future from their hooves. What would the God's think, above in their lofty thrones, witnessing the gathering upon the cliffs. It certainly set the tone for the rest of Novus, the die had been cast now and the elements had been their witness. He blinked the rainwater from his eyes, head turned upwards to let the lightning illuminate his pale frame.
"I know we shall be better." He hummed to the darker stallion, amethyst eyes once again glinting as he regarded him. Ever so slowly, his wings lifted and fanned out, their pale visage held aloft for the wind to caress and the water to gather upon, and should the others want it, a reprieve from the rain that sought to soak them to their bones. Isorath cared little in that moment for his appearance and his own vanity, welcoming the rain without question to wrap him tight in it's embrace. His hair now twisted in wet curls against his pale neck, down over a scaled shoulder to barely touch the grass beneath his cloven hooves. His tail flicked the long water logged strands it carried in one ecstatic sweep the next moment, as another flash of lightning danced across the sky.
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
@Aislinn @Weir @Reichenbach @Seree
