I S O R A T H He imagines this is how the meeting of titans is, beckoned forward by the fickleness of mortal affairs. Drawn to the conflicting emotions and the precipice on which they stood. If one could dare to turn their gaze skyward and listen, is this how their souls blazed and emotions pulsed like stars threatening to go supernova? As they listened and debated, let their emotions shake the cosmos while they remained unspoken upon the tongue? Reichenbach is the shadows and storms at sea, the harsh rain and the lancing lightning strikes which part the air. War and anger, with smelted weapons swirling in his eyes. Summer's wild fires and ravaged earth, blazing and splitting under hoof. Florentine is the earth in spring, the song of youth and it's hopefulness, the changeability of it all when it's weaving threads are threatened. With flowers in her eyes and leaves in her hair, spun from the Sun's gold. Isorath is winter glowering at the evergreen which bloomed defiantly despite the blistering cold, hissed at the sun that dared to try and thaw the frozen forest. Howling wind and shards of ice. The cold marble statues beneath the canopy of stars, eyes wide open while another has them shut. Memories of something he was and wasn't. Lysander, what is he? The Spring knows, but Summer and Winter do not. Yet, despite everything they are, and are not. The fragility of innocence threatened and an already shattered heart beating in stoccato goes on, humming a tune of distress, guilt and longing. Isorath does not respond to Florentine's statement about Dragon's and their hoard of gold, but his ear twitched in acknowledgement of her next words, backwards into the plush locks of starlight which wreath him in curls. Silence reigns on Reichenbach's side, but he can feel the roiling heat beneath his skin, the rage which must be building like a tempest and subtly watches for any flicker of shadows which he had spied coiled in charcoal. The Night King's look of consternation aimed at him is a spear, the hum of distress in his heart grew and stuttered, stumbled as it steeled itself in indignation, the fires of the stars crackled between the pieces and lashed out. It bubbled up on his face, like a dragon bearing it's teeth. What would he have him do? "Of course." Composure and elegance back in his next words, though his accent is noticeably thicker. Too musical, too much like finely spun silk and the threat of daggers woven into the clothing it would make. "I would be happy to indulge any questions you have of my people, over a glass or three of wine and a dance." He does not wait for Florentine's dismissal, and does not look for the King Crow's silver gaze. His wings reach out to press against the earth momentarily as he turned and waited for Lysander to join him before he set off toward the Castle — his long tail giving an elegant and pronounced sweep to send the long strands of hair into the breeze and falling snow. TAG: @Reichenbach @Lysander @ Isorath making his exit! <3 I'll get a thread up for us, Griffin! "isorath talks" |
