COLD WIND gusted through the mare’s mane, a not-unwelcome departure from the desert heat that she was so accustomed to. Seraphina had travelled through the Arma Mountains before, accompanying envoys and historians, but walking the thin, precarious trail that dipped and wove through the rugged peaks still put her on edge. More unnerving, however, was the ever-present sense that she was trespassing, regardless of whether or not the Night Court actually had a Sovereign or a functioning set of laws. When she had walked these trails in the past, she had always had express permission to be doing so, and the thought of wandering into the lands of the Night Court without it made her stomach twist into knots. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She had managed to swallow her inherent opposition to her current invasion in favor of something that was not quite curiosity. Even in a land as vast as Novus, rumors spread quickly, and she had heard that a relic of Tempus, the first god, had emerged, though any specifics of its location were lost on her. (Though, she supposed, if it was a relic of the time god, it could be in many places at once, or constantly moving – she wasn’t especially philosophical, however, and spent little time considering it.) A relic of Tempus was bound to be quite powerful, and it was her duty to see if it presented a threat or an opportunity. In either case, she needed to return it to the Day Court, should her attempts to find it succeed. Seraphina did not want to risk allowing something with the potential to be so powerful to fall into hands that would misuse it.
She hugged the mountainside as she picked her way up the trail, eyes darting to keep careful watch on her surroundings. Much as she wanted to keep them trained on the icy, slick ground below her hooves, Seraphina was well aware that danger could present itself in many forms, and she was unwilling to allow herself to be caught off-guard, particularly in foreign lands – not to mention that, for all she knew, the relic could be somewhere in the mountains. She came to a momentary halt on a craggy ridge, shielded from the wind by a large overhang that dripped with icicles. The sun hung low in the sky, spreading rays of brilliant red-gold and peach across the sky; soon dusk would come creeping in, then night, and she would admit that she wasn’t looking forward to navigating the trails in the dark. For now, however, even Seraphina could admit that the view from her perch was stunning. Lands that seemed so large when she wandered through them sprawled out in miniature as far as the eye could see, cut open by glistening rivers and streams and coated in forests that looked like little more than weeds; she was looking down at Terrastella, at the moment, but if she turned just a bit she could find the familiar, golden sands of Solterra, glistening like a sea of diamonds in the dying light. It was rare for the woman to pause to enjoy the view, but she had never been alone in these lands. Solitude brought with it observation, and, with observation, appreciation. Seraphina knew that she couldn’t linger, however, and after a moment’s silence continued on her way. She needed to cover as much ground as she could before darkness fell.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
It appeared he'd lost his mind. Not that he'd ever had a mind to begin with - birth as an amorphous cloud of energy had a tendency to ignore the traditional equine physique. But glaring through slitted eyes at the howling mountain pass, Kaladin's sanity was once again forced into question. Not his determination, however - no, that remained quite intact. He'd been following the rumors of the powerful relic across Novus - abandoning his post at the Dawn court temporarily to chase down his only hope at freedom. Not that he cared much for his herd or their mortal ways- he had joined in pure curiosity, and held no care nor loyalty towards his rank. It pained him, however, to miss any opportunity of gaining knowledge amongst his trivial peers. But there were greater things at stake.
Even now, the diamond pendant of his collar rattled against the top of his neck, blown to and fro by the wind, a painful reminder of all he had lost. He would break it, he thought, he had to or he would be nothing. The hate whirling in the pit of his stomach and driving him onwards, keeping him upright in moment when he feared he might fall.
The pebbles of the thin trail dislodged and tumbled beneath his hooves, and he was forced to press his flank against the mountainside. Its coarse, cool surface sent shivers across his skin - he was reminded once again of the frozen stone tomb in which he'd been incarcerated. Swallowing back bile, he continued, cursing his father's name with every step. He would have this relic. He would, or he would die trying and squander every inch of his father's creations across the spire-strewn ravine below.
His field of vision narrowed until it he was focused on the misty air just before him, carefully placing his steps upon the mountain path. For a moment, he thought he saw his father in the mist- a figure built of obsidian glass, harsh silver eyes and wings that could have belonged to an angel of death. His breath caught in his throat and he halted, the diamond at his throat flaring bright blue in alarm. The light was enough to dispel the illusion – the mist parted to reveal the body of a muscular silver mare coming towards him at a steady pace. She must be looking for the relic, he realized. There seemed no other reason for him to find any other traveler in this accursed weather. These damn meddling mortals. He squinted at the oncoming figure – she moved with the resolute familiarity of someone who had made this trek before. She could be of help to him, he realized. He could use her knowledge of the mountainous region in order to find the relic – but she mustn’t know they had the same goal.
He paused, form highlighted in a halo by the fading light of the cursed collar. He found it hard to find his voice – he had very little practice in lying. But he managed to formulate a rather convincingly piteous vocalization. ”Hello? Are you a traveler? I appear to have been lost.” He made his most convincing confused expression, one he’d seen on the faces of begging foals at the Dawn Court. “I- I’m stuck.”
Sinuous curve led into sinuous curve, dragging her into obscurity as the final rays of light flickered, then disappeared, beneath the horizon. The fog rolled swift and sudden as a summer storm, cloaking the already-monochromatic mare in a blanket of thick grey. Seraphina kept her watchful gaze focused on the ground in front of her hooves, flank shivering as it brushed the cold, wet stone that formed the face of the mountain. If she was lucky, a missed step would send her rolling down to one of the paths that riddled the foothills below and get away with little more than a few bruised ribs; if she was not, she would plummet to her death among the bony crags that poked out like great spines between the peaks. Even in the musty darkness and the ghostly mist, the thought did nothing to deter Seraphina from her passage. She pressed on in silence.
Seraphina caught the scent of the stallion just before she saw him – there was a certain sweetness to the denizens of the Dawn Court, lush with flowers and fresh grass, but his was muddled with humidity and night. Before she could fully process the dark silhouette in the fog just ahead of her, a flash of blinding cerulean flooded her gaze. It died down almost immediately, leaving her blinking in the sudden darkness. Her eyes adjusted rapidly, as a faint glow remained, engulfing the slender figure in a ball of soft, eerie blue light. He was a patchwork of gentle browns and whites, with no oddity to his coloration save his eyes; they reminded Seraphina of her own. Only two things about the stallion struck her as particularly interesting - the pair of ram horns that curled back from his skull and the collar around his neck, which appeared to be the source of his present illumination. He greeted her with a pitiful, drooping stare that struck Seraphina as childish and informed her, in wilting tones, that he was lost. Presumably, he was hoping that she would guide him through the mountains. His stammered plea had no obvious effect on the mare, who fixed him with a look that could most easily be described as stony.
A mare more inclined towards sympathy might have felt pity for the delicate young stallion, but Seraphina felt little more than a hint of suspicion that began to dissipate as she finished sizing him up. Regardless of what his motivations might be, she was confident that she could eliminate him with relative ease if he proved to be a problem, unless he had some power or magic that was beyond her scope of knowledge. She did wonder what a denizen of the dawn was doing in the Armas - he couldn't be a diplomat, as neither court had a government at the moment, so she imagined that his business had to be something personal or the same as her own. She wasn’t especially interested in helping him, but a second set of eyes – particularly one that she could keep her own on – would benefit her in her search. With that in mind, she offered him a monotone, “I see. I am a traveler, though I cannot guarantee we are seeking the same destination. Follow if you wish.” Seraphina paused for a fraction of a second, considering him, then began to walk again without so much as another glance in his direction. “You are of the Dawn Court, correct? What brings you to Denocte?” He could easily counter her question by asking why a member of the Day Court was in Denocte, if he recognized her scent or accent, but Seraphina had no interest in hiding her own motives, so she didn’t bother to consider the opening. In fact, she did little more than stare him down with the same apathy she used to greet all others, awaiting his response with obligation, rather than interest.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-03-2017, 06:11 PM - This post was last modified: 06-03-2017, 06:12 PM by Seraphina
Damascus, a child of the sun and stars had found himself wishing for nothing more than to hug his feathers to his sides and shield the cold from his supple hide. Though, being at such a vulnerable altitude with no land in sight, the black bird would have to stay put, allowing the wind to continue it's flogging, tossing him to and fro, dragging his path further east rather than his goal of west.
The boy was beyond panic; it was much too late for that. Rather than fretting the delay of his arrival in Terrastella he now had concerns for whether he'd arrive anywhere intact, and so, like the warrior he was or was attempting to be, he would press on through the night with crippled sight.
Until the past half-hour or so his journey had been quite splendid. The rumours and whispers of a relic had ushered him from the land of his nest, and up and away he'd flown in search of any signs of it. They'd run afoul of no nasty creatures, run into no tricky situations, and he had even remembered to stop for Dohv to find snacks. All was well until the currents snatched at his wings with their greedy claws and pulled him into the eye of a storm, sending him east instead of west.
It did seem that he was making it out of the other side, though, and at last the craggy ridges of mountains were in sight.
Dohv, who had buried his long-eared head under a mountain of his own (only this one was composed of feathers) finally plucked his cranium up into the breeze to look down as the gullys and rivers streaking below. "T'e storm - It spits us out!" the jerboa would coo to Damascus with a hoot of triumph. "Mayhaps it don't like 'orseys!"
Damascus hadn't smiled quite so wide all day, but that quickly changed as his wings were caught by another gale which once again set his course swooping toward the mountains. Flaring his wings to the best of his ability, fighting with all his strength against the rip and brute strength of the wind current, Damascus managed to slow his dive enough to land without splatting upon the rocks (and thus breaking into a thousand pieces). Instead, he landed with one great stumbling thud, rolling forward onto his neck and wings which were heavy enough to weigh him down, thus preventing him from snowballing any further. Dohv, of course, was sent flying like a missile in the direction of a near-by pair of innocent bystanders, his elephantine ears the only element of wind-catching to slow his bullet-speed down.
Laying upon his pulsing spine, Damascus groaned as the air seeped back into his lungs, his wingtips curling as his legs dangled over his ribs. That was one vicious crash-landing, and still as he lay there on the turf he hadn't noticed whether Dohv had hit the two onlookers or not but somehow the creature had survived - he knew this only from the violent tirade of abuse already echoing through their telepathic bond.
Another groan fell from the colt's lips as he spilled over onto his side, looking with wide eyes at the male and female who had been so lucky to have witnessed such a moment. He hardly knew what to say to them, so settled on "Sorry," and then went on to introduce himself. "Damascus is I".
When he'd decided on a lonely and lengthy trek across a perilous mountain pass, he certainly had not expected it to become a party. And yet, he somehow found himself in the company of not one, but two mortals, and thoroughly questioning how his lonesome quest had become a travelling circus.
At first, there had only been the storm-grey mare who had stomped confidently across the treacherous mountain path and eyed him with thinly-veiled suspicion, demanding what brought a Dawn Court member so far out into Denocte - wherever that was. After all, he had not put much care into understanding the flimsy construct of the local politics, so he was not surprised when he found the scaffolding of his pity-grabbing lie suddenly lain bare before him.
He had to thank Father for leaving him with naught else but a quick-thinking mind and eight-hundred years in a stone tomb to ponder the art of charisma, because he was able to formulate a convincing reply in quick succession. "I am a Dawn Caretaker," He explained. That much, at least, was true. "I was on my way to Denocte to gather herbs," he shook his mane, dispelling droplets off his lashes, "When I lost my way in these mountains. But I would continue with you, if you are so willing."
Perhaps, if their search proved fruitless, he would truly follow the tempestuous road to this Denocte in hopes of gathering information about the surrounding lands. But now, he realized, amberglass eyes slitted against the wind's frigid fingers, it seemed that they would have quite the challenge ahead - the wind only howled louder about them with every passing moment.
It was this same wind that would usher in the next oddity that Kaladin was rapidly becoming weary of. In a rather gracelessly grandiose flurry, a shape appeared in the sky, careening towards them in a concerning melee of tangled limbs and torn feathers. Before he had the chance to even inspect the approaching object, it somehow managed to angle itself into a barely-survivable position and slide to a struggling stop directly in front of them, dislodging a small creature from its head as it went and sending quaking pebbles tumbling at Kaladin's feet.
"What in the – " his curse was lost in the wind as he took in the fallen creature. He was an aliferous equine, dressed in a deep chocolate hue, boasting a roached mane and an astonishingly extensive tail that drooped off the edge of the path into the chasm below, so that Kaladin could not even gauge it’s true length. He stood there, shocked into stillness, before remembering that he, in fact, was a Caretaker – this was the time he could establish his previous half-truths to his companion. He approached cautiously, blatantly ignoring the cluelessly friendly greeting. "What in the hells were you doing?" he asked coldly, eyes systematically skimming along the stallion’s body to assess damage. Nothing seemed broken, at least. Pity, he thought. The idiot could have learned a valuable lesson about flying in storms. Finally, he narrowed his eyes at the newcomer and said, loud enough to be heard over the wind’s howl, “You seem to have taken quite the fall. Can you get up?”
The wind was beginning to howl, and, looking up, she saw the creeping silhouettes of charcoal-grey clouds on the edge of the horizon. If a storm was approaching, they would need to find shelter as quickly as possible, and it was sparse on the narrow, winding trails of the Armas. Her more immediate worry, however, was her newfound companion; he was quick to offer her an answer. A Dawn Court caretaker, searching Denocte for herbs? Although Seraphina still refused to trust a stranger on principle, she supposed that it was a reasonable answer, though she would have expected the Dawn Court would have sent someone to guide him, if he was so unfamiliar with these trails. Then again, none of the courts had leadership, at the moment – they might be short-handed. In any case, Seraphina didn’t have a reason to question him further, so she replied with a flat, “I see. You have picked a good time, in that case. The Night Court does not have a sovereign, for the time – they will not punish you for trespassing in their realm.” She glanced back at him, offering a slight nod. “I am heading to Denocte, so we are going in the same direction. These trails are safer to travel in groups.” This was likely the closest to genuine approval that could be garnered from Seraphina. She would likely have been content to proceed in silence, had they not immediately been interrupted by something streaming down from the sky towards them.
Reflexes honed from years of careful training sent her hooves skidding into a more defensive posture the moment that she caught sight of the creature hurtling towards them; body twisted to the side, bracing for potential impact or threat from ahead. It was moving too quickly for her to catch it with her telekinesis, though she did have enough time to extend her thoughts and adjust its traction. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried to grip the ball of what appeared to be fur and flappy skin – ears? -, barely managing to twist it downward and slow it enough to keep it from slamming into the face of the mountain. As the little creature skidded to a stop in front of her hooves, Seraphina found herself jerking up at the sound of a much larger thump just ahead of her.
The youth that had just made a rather dramatic collision with their path was black as ink, save for what appeared to be a spattering of golden hues on the bonier portions of his massive wings; he was imposingly tall, but lanky, though she imagined his stature would make him a viable threat in combat, unlike the last stallion she’d encountered. She was positive, however, that the ridiculous expanse of his tail would have to serve as some form of inhibition in combat. (Seraphina wasn’t even entirely sure how he could walk with that thing tumbling around behind him.) A look at his embarrassed expression told her that she likely needn’t have sized him up in the first place. He offered a quick apology, his accent thick and foreign against her ears, then proceeded to introduce himself. His pronunciation was clumsy, and his words were in a jumbled order, but she couldn’t fault him for that. Damascus, was it? It didn’t seem that he came by her language natively, and Seraphina knew from experience the difficulties of learning a new one. She could, however, fault him for interrupting her travels all over again.
The howling grew worse, more vicious – her yet-nameless companion was yelling at the newcomer to be heard above it, his tone stiff with frustration.
She strode up the fallen youth, then, her eyes skimming his frame for any signs of major damage; she was not a caretaker, like her companion, but she had enough experience in battle to recognize broken bones when she saw them. It seemed that he’d been lucky enough to come out of his fall unscathed, but that didn’t prevent her from offering something of a dull reprimand. “If you are unfamiliar with this region, it is unsafe to travel it – especially by flight, because the weather changes so rapidly at these higher altitudes, and especially at night. You came very close to shattering your soul,” She offered a pointed glance at the small, furry creature, “and you could have very easily lost your life. There is a reason why the Night Court worries little about invaders.” For all her chiding, her expression and tone revealed no concern – Seraphina remained cold as ever. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rolling banks of clouds, sucking in a breath, before she returned her steely gaze to the two stallions. “I am Seraphina, warrior of the Day Court. Assuming that you can walk,” She nodded at Damascus, “I would suggest we attempt to find some form of shelter – an overhang, or a ridge. It seems a storm is coming.” Her voice was raised just enough to be heard over the wail of the wind, projected with the air of stiff authority she took when dealing with younger soldiers in court.
@Kaladin @Damascus
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-04-2017, 10:59 PM - This post was last modified: 06-04-2017, 11:50 PM by Seraphina
The adolescent was met with a stern gaze from those he had fallen at the feet of. A nose quivering with the urgency of new smells, tail cascading off the mountain side in one heaving banner, and wings remaining flayed over the mountainside, Damascus remained a great heap of flesh and feather as he continued his attempt to pluck himself from the groove he had imbedded in the earth upon his crash. The man spoke first, a tail similar to his only not half the size and a rosey hide that immediately Damascus came to oogle with envy. This male's words, though, were closer to scolding than concerned, so wit his jacks slacking the child rose from the ground in one great have. Finally upon all fours, Damascus looked to the lady of gosling's fur and pale snips of white who offered her own sharp words of advice, though truthfully he knew that they meant little harm. He had shocked them as much as he had shocked themselves, and a few degrees off and he could have injured either one of them.
"Sorry" He would repeat, holding his sore wings aloft as an umbrella for the witnesses "Not skill with flying me - storm grabs mine wing, let go not!" he explained to them, trudging forward with his wingspan open and inviting for the two to take advantage of the shelter they could provide in the meantime.
"Stand I can" He confirmed, though that was easy enough to see by just looking at him. Standing, walking, talking, and Dohv was soon to join him once again by climbing up the ladder-like strands in his tail. "Shelter find we hill down?". He spoke this with a glance to the eye of the storm and the gathering clouds, knowing it would not do them well to ascend any further. If they wished to carry on, though, he would follow them.
Damascus knew not where to look for things like shelter, all he knew was that he was greatly afeared of that rugged storm and the mountaintop where the gail was the strongest. A gangly top-heavy fellow such as himself would surely be hit down like a bowling pin (or so he imagined). Instead of continuing the traverse upwards, Damascus began the treacherous jourey downwards to where the ice turned to rock, the rock to earth, the earth to pine. "Sit we under tree?" He quizzed the wiser pair, having no clue about the fundamental storm survival rule of never huddling under trees (because THAT was a textbook way to get struck by lightning).
Sometimes, it felt like the world was decidedly ending, and he had not even had to move a hoof. With every passing moment, Kaladin swore that the storm could not get worse - and then it would, howling like a thousand moaning souls lost in the mist, like the peaks of the mountains themselves were screaming for the strangers stomping across their carefully carven paths to get away, to leave them be.
There were times where Kaladin felt a kinship with those towering fortresses of stone - he too knew what it was like, to lie rooted to the spot, to feel cold stone skin and to have darkness press in against him, an eternal obscurity. He knew what it was like, watching the world pass by, frustrated by the ethereal untouchability and ever-growing distance that could only divide but never conquer. Unable to touch, to affect, to leave a mark. Only watch.
He would have to be that mountain now. Caught in a roaring storm, on one side a bumbling boy with the ridiculous length of tail and on the other the ever-scrutinizing cold wall that was the silvered woman, he would have to remain powerful and distant. He realized with a sudden frustration that calling his companions by 'woman' and 'boy' might have been enough to suit his interests - which were mild at best - but they were discourteous in the world of mortals. Or at least from what he had learned. The winged boy managed to stand to his feet, and Kaladin found to a petty amount of envy that though he had initially deemed the pegasus to be of equal age to his own mortal form, he also stood considerably taller, holding himself with a regal sort of grace that Kaldin's genetics had not thought to award him.
The kid began to head downwards from where Kaladin had come - a good call, Kaldin had to admit grudgingly, as a lesser altitude would bring stiller winds and warmer air. He may talk like a fool and act like one, but his thinking is competent at least, he admitted grudgingly. He fell into step alongside his companions, glad at least that their flanks would provide some meager shelter from the rain's frigid touch. This time, he remembered their customs and said, "Since we are to be allies in this unforgiving gale, I supposed we should introduce ourselves. I am Kaladin."
With that out of the way, he fell silent once more, awaiting the introductions that they would soon give. Mortals, he'd found, had an odd way of courtesy - for every bit of information that was given, the same amount would be returned, until enough was shared that information could be given without compensation. They called this trust. He'd learned quite quickly in his first days that the word described an illusion.
As they moved, he scoured their surroundings for shelter, but his eyes found naught but a distant silhouette that would soon to prove as useless as a cane to a dead man. A tree, branches reaching out desperately to the sky as if it itself was trying to escape the desolate landscape of stone. It was then that the kid made the suggestion that made Kaladin wish he himself could sink roots into the earth, extend branches to the sky, and never see another mortal again. "No," he replied, his voice brusque but weak, shivering embarrassingly from the cold wind. "We do not want to get struck by lightning." It was then that he spotted a nearby outcropping, overshadowed by stones and of greater depth then the had initially assumed. He narrowed his eyes - sure enough, it appeared to be a small stone cavern. "There!" he exclaimed. "There's a small cave. It'll be a tight fit, but it should last us the storm."
The youth apologized again, but he offered a small protest to their scolding. It occurred to her that they might have overwhelmed the boy as he stumbled to his feet, extending his massive wings to provide a meager shelter from the howling wind. He was still a child, and she supposed that it was likely unreasonable to expect him to have sound judgement, much less if he were as foreign as his accent implied. Viceroy would have had the boy’s head for this incident, she imagined – when she was younger and foolish and wrong (wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong), Seraphina, barely a yearling, had tried to creep away from the court when night fell. She’d wandered for nearly a day before she found herself caught in a sandstorm, and it was Viceroy, again, who found her. He’d yelled at her for what felt like hours – she might have expected (no, wanted) concern, but he was only angry that she’d broken rules. Seraphina might have hoped for more from him, at first, but her memories were so scattered and dry, tainted from years of his touch, that they might as well have belonged to someone else, and whatever she'd felt then was incomprehensible now. He’d reached inside her head and twisted harder than he’d ever twisted before. She didn’t walk for a week, and she thought that she remembered the sting of betrayal whenever she tried to stand.
Seraphina did not sneak out again.
After confirming that he could, indeed, stand, the youth asked if they might find shelter downhill. “More likely than up here,” She said, “and it is less dangerous besides.” She began to retrace her own steps, moving towards the foothills with the others at her side. The first stallion that she’d met – the caretaker – introduced himself as Kaladin, and, though she found little virtue in small talk, obligation prompted her response. “Seraphina. Warrior of the Day Court.” She offered a slight nod of her head. “I’d say it’s a pleasure,” She added, though it would likely sound hollow coming from her anyways, “but, under the circumstances…” Seraphina trailed off, allowing herself to fall into an uneasy rhythm and keeping her eyes trained on the trail ahead of them. Occasionally her gaze would flicker up to examine her companions; they lingered longest on Kaladin, who seemed to be wilting in the cold. Her coat was not thick enough to withstand it, but Seraphina was well-accustomed to pain, and she’d learned that it was often worse to let it show on her face. Allowing anything to slip through the cracks – or, in fact, allowing cracks at all – would open floodgates, and open floodgates were more than she could handle.
Her searching gaze stumbled over jagged rocks and skeletal trees, cast like great, wizened monsters against a horizon that fluctuated wildly between ink-black and murky grey as starlight flickered in and out of obscurity; she felt mindless, though she knew she was lucid. The youth asked if they should seek shelter beneath a tree, and Kaladin was quick to rebuff him. She wondered what sort of boy would not know of the dangers of lightning, but her thoughts were drowned out by a distant clap of thunder. If the storm was within hearing range, it was dangerous. They had little time to move out of the open before it would break.
Kaladin, gesturing into the distance, indicated the presence of a cave. “Good eye,” She remarked, finding the dark opening among the weathered face. Her tone still wasn’t warm, but it was, perhaps, a bit kinder than before. She could appreciate capability, but little else. Seraphina strode up to the opening, but stayed just aside of it, nodding to her companions. “Hurry in. We don’t have much time.” If they both stepped inside, she would follow, quiet in her uncertainty. She was never good at carrying conversations.
@Kaladin @Damascus - this post contains blatant abuse of italics. it also might be completely incoherent. it's 1:20 in the morning,
and I can no longer tell up from down.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-06-2017, 12:26 AM - This post was last modified: 06-06-2017, 12:26 AM by Seraphina
Introductions were soon made, and immediately Damascus felt far better acquainted with the strangers he had fallen before and hwile they both seemed full of wise words, remarks and their own opinions, Damascus was happy to take after their comments and direction (because truthfully, he had no clue what he was doing). The woman was a warrior - a fierce and nimble kind, or so she looked. Seraphina. Damascus wasted little time practising her name like he normally might, so instead rehearsed it in his airy head as he traced his eyes over the mountainside in search of shelter, his wings remaining open and wide with the offer of a makeshift umbrella. Obviously this was a man who had little experience in traversing mountains - in fact, this was his first time ever stood upon a mountain's top and while normally he would be quite in his element up so high, right now he was very unnerved by the oncoming tempest.
The other was Kaladin, a brutish man who despite being at least six inches shorter than the colt seemed so much bigger. Perhaps it was the strength that resided under his skin or the calloused, hardy frown he seemed to wear relentlessly upon his countenance; intimidating to say the least. Damascus who while frightened of the man had not allowed his fear to grip him and, after the brute bellowed something about lightning in his direction the gangly stag simply turned tail and took his place beside him, ready to follow. The lad's tail which by now was becoming overwhelmingly heavy from the rain would be the next obstacle - raking it in once they had found a hiding place would make for one hideous task. Kaladin spoke, soon followed by a sharp compliment from Seraphina. As the woman of glass skin and eyes of swords and fists spoke, Damascus found himself wishing to retreat ever-so-slightly, fearing the wisdom of both those in his company. This woman, though; she did seem gentler - as gentle as any warrioress could be. Or perhaps she appeared to him like the fox to a gaggle of geese. A mirage.
To the cave Daascus would attempt to flee, pinned almost in place by the weight of his tail. Dragging the lofty banner along the ground begin him, Damascus set out to pull the appendage like he might a sled - only this was a great deal more painful. Gritting his teeth, grunting and pulling, the young fellow soon managed to heave his masses of hair up and over the last of the ascending terrain until he could step inwards toward the caves mouth, not thinking nor fearing what could possibly be inside.
"!!!”
