09-03-2016, 01:39 PM
<center><link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Quattrocento' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Pathway+Gothic+One' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><div style="width: 564px; background-color: #E0E0E0; box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000000;"><br><div style="font-family: 'Pathway Gothic One', sans-serif; color: #434343; font-size: 10.5pt; text-align: center; padding-top: 12px; padding-bottom:10px; line-height: 15pt; letter-spacing: 3.3px;">YOU CAN STAND ME UP AT THE GATES OF HELL, BUT I WON'T BACK DOWN.</div><div style="width: 500px; border-bottom: 1px solid #aaaaaa; margin-top: 5px;"></div><br><div style="padding-left: 35px; padding-right: 35px; font-family: Times; font-size: 12px; color: #635d5d; text-align: justify; line-height:105%; letter-spacing: 1.5px;">
The frigidity of the gentle, sweeping breeze presses against his taut, shining skin - the bright, unfiltered sunlight places a burden onto his shoulders that he cannot merely shrug off. Beneath it, he feels like a beacon; stark in contrast to the obscenely serene landscape that lay before him and it leaves him with a festering wave of discomfort. Tension builds just below the surface of his solemn expression, his jaw growing tight as he clenches in - anxiety gently plagues him, and though stoicism is something he has long since mastered externally, his heart aches for the answers that he knows will not come if he is to remain in a single spot.
His brief reverie is broken, and his dark eyes meet with something unfamiliar - a blinding light radiating around a broad body of sinewy muscle and brawn, and he very nearly has to look away from the purity of the light surrounding him. After a moment of adjustment, his brow furrows as his dark eyes of fire and brimstone focus on the pristine gilded, angelic form before him. A svelte voice rises, laced with a dark humor of its own, and though he is still wholly uncertain, his nerves begin to ease, if only slightly.
<b><font color="#444444">"I daresay that may be an understatement, Tiphon,"</b></font> He utters gruffly, his voice still raw from disuse and rough from the fatigue that pulls at him like the gentle ebb and flow of a rising tide. <b><font color="#444444">"Offspring, though you seem to already know. The Tundra is no more - though I will stand by those I have served, and I seek to find them again, as I imagine you intend to do with your own kin."</b></font> He murmurs, his gaze intently meeting with the angel's before him - <i>those who served below him</i> were <i>his family</i>. His everything.
The crown meant nothing and little; it was the emotional and blood bond that meant the most.
He draws his attention away from him at last, meeting with the magician and his weakened lover who leans against him feebly for support. A flicker of concern stirs within his eye, but with a solemn nod <i>(his sight momentarily obscured by the fall of his forelock across his dark, dangerous gaze)</i>, he gestures with his broad jaw towards the edge of the mountain. <b><font color="#444444">"You are right, Sahm - we have many more to find. Take Newton and begin moving to lower ground. I will follow shortly."</b></font>
Something tugs at his instinct as he moves a single, swiveling eye to the angelic being once more - <i>there is something more to be said.</i> Something left unsaid.
<b><font color="#444444">"And you? What will the Dale do?"</b></font>
</div> <center><div style="width: 500px; border-bottom: 1px solid #aaaaaa; margin-top: 10px;"></div><br><br>
<center><div style="font-family: 'Quattrocento', serif; font-size: 55pt; color: #434343; letter-spacing:12px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height:30pt; align:center; text-shadow: 2px 1px 20px #aaaaaa;">OFFSPRING</div>
<div style="width: 564px; height: 639px; background-image: url('http://i.imgur.com/TB7XHz0.png'); background-repeat: no-repeat;"></div></div></center>
The frigidity of the gentle, sweeping breeze presses against his taut, shining skin - the bright, unfiltered sunlight places a burden onto his shoulders that he cannot merely shrug off. Beneath it, he feels like a beacon; stark in contrast to the obscenely serene landscape that lay before him and it leaves him with a festering wave of discomfort. Tension builds just below the surface of his solemn expression, his jaw growing tight as he clenches in - anxiety gently plagues him, and though stoicism is something he has long since mastered externally, his heart aches for the answers that he knows will not come if he is to remain in a single spot.
His brief reverie is broken, and his dark eyes meet with something unfamiliar - a blinding light radiating around a broad body of sinewy muscle and brawn, and he very nearly has to look away from the purity of the light surrounding him. After a moment of adjustment, his brow furrows as his dark eyes of fire and brimstone focus on the pristine gilded, angelic form before him. A svelte voice rises, laced with a dark humor of its own, and though he is still wholly uncertain, his nerves begin to ease, if only slightly.
<b><font color="#444444">"I daresay that may be an understatement, Tiphon,"</b></font> He utters gruffly, his voice still raw from disuse and rough from the fatigue that pulls at him like the gentle ebb and flow of a rising tide. <b><font color="#444444">"Offspring, though you seem to already know. The Tundra is no more - though I will stand by those I have served, and I seek to find them again, as I imagine you intend to do with your own kin."</b></font> He murmurs, his gaze intently meeting with the angel's before him - <i>those who served below him</i> were <i>his family</i>. His everything.
The crown meant nothing and little; it was the emotional and blood bond that meant the most.
He draws his attention away from him at last, meeting with the magician and his weakened lover who leans against him feebly for support. A flicker of concern stirs within his eye, but with a solemn nod <i>(his sight momentarily obscured by the fall of his forelock across his dark, dangerous gaze)</i>, he gestures with his broad jaw towards the edge of the mountain. <b><font color="#444444">"You are right, Sahm - we have many more to find. Take Newton and begin moving to lower ground. I will follow shortly."</b></font>
Something tugs at his instinct as he moves a single, swiveling eye to the angelic being once more - <i>there is something more to be said.</i> Something left unsaid.
<b><font color="#444444">"And you? What will the Dale do?"</b></font>
</div> <center><div style="width: 500px; border-bottom: 1px solid #aaaaaa; margin-top: 10px;"></div><br><br>
<center><div style="font-family: 'Quattrocento', serif; font-size: 55pt; color: #434343; letter-spacing:12px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height:30pt; align:center; text-shadow: 2px 1px 20px #aaaaaa;">OFFSPRING</div>
<div style="width: 564px; height: 639px; background-image: url('http://i.imgur.com/TB7XHz0.png'); background-repeat: no-repeat;"></div></div></center>