IT MUST BE LONELY
when you're up there looking down
How long has it been since he has found himself in Solterra? Since his hooves have graced the sands of a land he's called home?
Leviathan feels the grains slide under him, the shift of his colossal weight as he steps into the Court at last. His gaze scans for an old run down shack on the outskirts, sand scattered across tiles and hanging cobwebs blowing in the hot breeze. The old blacksmith's shed has seen better days ( it's been too long since he's squeezed into its doors ). So now he does it again, horn catching webs and tearing the delicate strands down as he wiggles into the structure, sweeping a large feathered leg forward to brush dust and sand away.
It's been far too long.
The old champion leans his head down, brushing his nose against an ancient grinding wheel before drawing up, releasing a soft sigh. Whoever rules over Solterra now ... he'll have to talk to them. Perhaps make an arrangement to have this place back and remake the armor and weapons he had been so passionate about. But that depends on who rules; he's seen so many hierarchies rise and fall in his lifetime, so this would be yet another to add into his memory.
Snorting, Leviathan draws away from the forge, squeezing himself back out an old wooden doorframe and shaking himself from head to hoof, sending up dust and sand, as well as a few cobwebs here and there. This is still home, no matter how much it has changed, and he wonders .... oh, he wonders if Torstein is still here. So he can dig at him a little and tease the other with a smirk on his lips.
For now, he settles on stepping away from the shack and exploring the Court once more, hooves thundering on the tiles with every step he takes.
Leviathan feels the grains slide under him, the shift of his colossal weight as he steps into the Court at last. His gaze scans for an old run down shack on the outskirts, sand scattered across tiles and hanging cobwebs blowing in the hot breeze. The old blacksmith's shed has seen better days ( it's been too long since he's squeezed into its doors ). So now he does it again, horn catching webs and tearing the delicate strands down as he wiggles into the structure, sweeping a large feathered leg forward to brush dust and sand away.
It's been far too long.
The old champion leans his head down, brushing his nose against an ancient grinding wheel before drawing up, releasing a soft sigh. Whoever rules over Solterra now ... he'll have to talk to them. Perhaps make an arrangement to have this place back and remake the armor and weapons he had been so passionate about. But that depends on who rules; he's seen so many hierarchies rise and fall in his lifetime, so this would be yet another to add into his memory.
Snorting, Leviathan draws away from the forge, squeezing himself back out an old wooden doorframe and shaking himself from head to hoof, sending up dust and sand, as well as a few cobwebs here and there. This is still home, no matter how much it has changed, and he wonders .... oh, he wonders if Torstein is still here. So he can dig at him a little and tease the other with a smirk on his lips.
For now, he settles on stepping away from the shack and exploring the Court once more, hooves thundering on the tiles with every step he takes.
open for anyone !
