and all their words for glory
well they always sounded empty
well they always sounded empty
Gazing out across the wide expanse of the rolling fields, he spies a chestnut man with ease as he announces himself with a snort. Tipping his dark ears forward, the roan devotes his attention to the stranger as he looked him over with mild, cautionary scrutiny. They had to be similar in height, but he was of a far more burly build than Ulric himself was. Two proud, ebony horns jut from the top of his head, and only when he comes to a halt a short distance away can he truly get a good look at the other three that line the bridge of his nose. In his company is also a canine who lingers just behind him in silence.
For now, however, there seems to be no cause for concern, but he has learned to be circumspect from a young age.
Still, the roan certainly does not lack manners, and he returns the stallion’s polite gesture with a short dip of his own head. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures as he lifts his head, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a small grin, “I’m not sure you can intrude on somebody who’s lost as hell.” Because, honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s even anywhere near the right place. The sage’s words had been vague, after all – Dawn in the northwest – and he hadn’t been given a chance to ask the specifics before the senior had succumbed to an exhausted slumber.
“I came across an old sage a couple days ago, who told me I could find something called the ‘Dawn Court’ somewhere northwest. I'm looking for it. Any idea where it might be?” Hopefully the aging stallion hadn’t been spinning tales the entire time; that would be embarrassing. Here, the roan pauses as though realizing his insolence, and quickly goes to remedy it. “The name’s Ulric, by the way.”
A moment later does a shadow skitter across the ground from above, and looking up, he squints his eyes to watch as a gilded Pegasus shifts in the air to land with cultivated poise. He expects it to be another unfamiliar face in this world so new, but there’s no mistaking the Vhallen chamberlain. The hybrid looks just as regal as he remembered, appearing just as sophisticated here in the wilds as the times he’d trailed near the Vhallen King, the dulcet lilt of his voice unmistakable. Unbidden, a broad grin stretches across his stygian features.
“Somnus,” he speaks with elation, moving to take a singular step closer to him and the bonded chestnut. “Yeah, it’s been a while. What are you doing here?” Wherever, exactly, here was.
For now, however, there seems to be no cause for concern, but he has learned to be circumspect from a young age.
Still, the roan certainly does not lack manners, and he returns the stallion’s polite gesture with a short dip of his own head. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures as he lifts his head, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a small grin, “I’m not sure you can intrude on somebody who’s lost as hell.” Because, honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s even anywhere near the right place. The sage’s words had been vague, after all – Dawn in the northwest – and he hadn’t been given a chance to ask the specifics before the senior had succumbed to an exhausted slumber.
“I came across an old sage a couple days ago, who told me I could find something called the ‘Dawn Court’ somewhere northwest. I'm looking for it. Any idea where it might be?” Hopefully the aging stallion hadn’t been spinning tales the entire time; that would be embarrassing. Here, the roan pauses as though realizing his insolence, and quickly goes to remedy it. “The name’s Ulric, by the way.”
A moment later does a shadow skitter across the ground from above, and looking up, he squints his eyes to watch as a gilded Pegasus shifts in the air to land with cultivated poise. He expects it to be another unfamiliar face in this world so new, but there’s no mistaking the Vhallen chamberlain. The hybrid looks just as regal as he remembered, appearing just as sophisticated here in the wilds as the times he’d trailed near the Vhallen King, the dulcet lilt of his voice unmistakable. Unbidden, a broad grin stretches across his stygian features.
“Somnus,” he speaks with elation, moving to take a singular step closer to him and the bonded chestnut. “Yeah, it’s been a while. What are you doing here?” Wherever, exactly, here was.
HISTORY HAS ITS EYES ON YOU
➳
all contact is permitted and encouraged
