IT MUST BE LONELY
when you're up there looking down
He hasn't even had the chance to meet the Champions of the court, an age old position he's even occupied himself, once a warrior. The blood of fighters roils in his veins, and it will never fade from him. He'd been a soldier, but authority never really sat well with Leviathan; listening to them is the equivalent of in one ear and out the other, until he's deemed them respectable. Too many march with their heads held high and an authority born of privilege rather than experience and worth. Rather than trials to earn the spot.
The old scar that runs from his left shoulder and down his spine seems to tingle with the thought. The fight with the teryr those years ago . . . it's something he longs for. A Solterra built on cooperative effort, a great hunt that he's sorely missed.
But that's the past, a Solterra that is written in memories and spoken between citizens, rather than living it.
Thus, Leviathan has turned himself to being a Merchant, and hoping to meet a damn Champion so he can move himself to being a blacksmith again. He's missed his little shack, with the cobwebs strewn between old weapons once again, in horrible shape, like it had been the day he had stepped into it those years ago. Of course he comes when there's a new Sovereign crowned, and a festival lifts its head.
Part of him hopes to potentially see old faces, but he doubts it. Bexley. Torstein. Seraphina. They're all names that only live in his head at this point.
The smells waft over him as he wanders among the other citizens of Solterra, towering over most of them and catching glances cast toward him and his scarred body. He knows how he looks, but he doesn't give a shit about the rumors that swirl around him. Leviathan, the monster warrior that had crawled out of the Teryr's cave itself.
His lips purse, and he dips his head a moment to sniff at a cake, only to lift up once more with a wrinkle of his nose, taking a sidestep and pausing as he nearly bumps someone. His head turns with a gruff snort, large ears swiveling forward and a growl in his throat before he shakes his head a little, glancing over the pegasus. "So you're Adonai, the new Sovereign?" There is no greeting, mostly because he doesn't think anyone remembers who he is.
He's nothing but a phantom in Solterra, one from the older days, lifting his head again as if he matters.
The old scar that runs from his left shoulder and down his spine seems to tingle with the thought. The fight with the teryr those years ago . . . it's something he longs for. A Solterra built on cooperative effort, a great hunt that he's sorely missed.
But that's the past, a Solterra that is written in memories and spoken between citizens, rather than living it.
Thus, Leviathan has turned himself to being a Merchant, and hoping to meet a damn Champion so he can move himself to being a blacksmith again. He's missed his little shack, with the cobwebs strewn between old weapons once again, in horrible shape, like it had been the day he had stepped into it those years ago. Of course he comes when there's a new Sovereign crowned, and a festival lifts its head.
Part of him hopes to potentially see old faces, but he doubts it. Bexley. Torstein. Seraphina. They're all names that only live in his head at this point.
The smells waft over him as he wanders among the other citizens of Solterra, towering over most of them and catching glances cast toward him and his scarred body. He knows how he looks, but he doesn't give a shit about the rumors that swirl around him. Leviathan, the monster warrior that had crawled out of the Teryr's cave itself.
His lips purse, and he dips his head a moment to sniff at a cake, only to lift up once more with a wrinkle of his nose, taking a sidestep and pausing as he nearly bumps someone. His head turns with a gruff snort, large ears swiveling forward and a growl in his throat before he shakes his head a little, glancing over the pegasus. "So you're Adonai, the new Sovereign?" There is no greeting, mostly because he doesn't think anyone remembers who he is.
He's nothing but a phantom in Solterra, one from the older days, lifting his head again as if he matters.
@
