LET ME SHOW YOU
what you've been missing
This is the land, is it not? The land that all can come to in order to whisper their prayers to the gods, to the deities that have shown themselves to the lands of Novus. Yes, they've been here before, but it's been too long now. The deities perhaps have forsaken them, for their abandonment. Novus is a stranger to them now.
Being a Star Walker has always been something of a saddening venture, always alone. Immortality is a gift and a curse, and they were born with it, freezing their mortal looks only at a certain age, their body still young in look but their soul and mind? Centuries have passed, millennia even. The years had come and gone with nothing but a blink, and their old lands had been washed away with dust and time, nature overtaking what was once hers. Their people no longer existed except in soft rumors and whispers, with Star Walkers being scattered to the winds. Certainly there are descendants as well, aren't there? An existence somewhere of what once was, that carried the knowledge of what Star Walkers were and where they came from.
It's this hope that allows Cicatrix to not feel as alone.
A deep breath is taken, wings sweeping forth as they flap, effortlessly cupping the air and allowing their large frame to land, ever so delicate for someone so tall. Gilded hooves press into the ground, nearly to the dewclaw, before it relents and bounces back. Stones skitter away, and finally, Cicatrix cups their wings close to their body once settled, as to not disturb the land.
The golden halo of light bounces off of the rocky crevices and jutting stone, but seems to only be absorbed by the growing darkness around them. This time, they don't whisper to the winds, to the deities. The last time they were here, they'd tilted their head and spoken to the stars, to the silence of the night. Now they bow their head as the gravity around them flexes and shifts. Their cloak moves slowly, as if they've come from the vacuum of space itself, walking with an eerie lightness for their massive height.
There's a soft ruffling of accented feathers, the gilded edges shimmering in the falling rays of the sun, and their gaze settles on the horizon, the silence of the moment. This is .... lonesome. But they've always been lonesome, always wandered the lands near and far. Here however, they have stepped away from responsibility and from those they cared about.
Being a Star Walker has always been something of a saddening venture, always alone. Immortality is a gift and a curse, and they were born with it, freezing their mortal looks only at a certain age, their body still young in look but their soul and mind? Centuries have passed, millennia even. The years had come and gone with nothing but a blink, and their old lands had been washed away with dust and time, nature overtaking what was once hers. Their people no longer existed except in soft rumors and whispers, with Star Walkers being scattered to the winds. Certainly there are descendants as well, aren't there? An existence somewhere of what once was, that carried the knowledge of what Star Walkers were and where they came from.
It's this hope that allows Cicatrix to not feel as alone.
A deep breath is taken, wings sweeping forth as they flap, effortlessly cupping the air and allowing their large frame to land, ever so delicate for someone so tall. Gilded hooves press into the ground, nearly to the dewclaw, before it relents and bounces back. Stones skitter away, and finally, Cicatrix cups their wings close to their body once settled, as to not disturb the land.
The golden halo of light bounces off of the rocky crevices and jutting stone, but seems to only be absorbed by the growing darkness around them. This time, they don't whisper to the winds, to the deities. The last time they were here, they'd tilted their head and spoken to the stars, to the silence of the night. Now they bow their head as the gravity around them flexes and shifts. Their cloak moves slowly, as if they've come from the vacuum of space itself, walking with an eerie lightness for their massive height.
There's a soft ruffling of accented feathers, the gilded edges shimmering in the falling rays of the sun, and their gaze settles on the horizon, the silence of the moment. This is .... lonesome. But they've always been lonesome, always wandered the lands near and far. Here however, they have stepped away from responsibility and from those they cared about.
@open !!!
