07-02-2017, 07:45 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
”It’s hot, humid, and filled with ash.”
His voice is heavy, laden with brimstone and fire – his throat is dry, and thus his tone is rough, parched from the dry air that lay between the two islands. The salty brine of the sea is trickling down the broad surface of his back, where beads of perspiration become emulating steam – the fire within him is burning brightly, moreso than usual. Along the slope of his spine lay a thick line of fire, flickering beneath the bright, unyielding sunlight – the sun is much less hindered by ash and smoke in Ischia comparatively, and it settles onto his already scalding skin.
His dark, searing eyes peer first towards Jord, giving her a faint nod of acknowledgement (he had sensed a reluctance when she had set off on her task – uncertain, but she would learn and develop her own sense of confidence in time – diplomacy could be difficult, and interpersonal communication between tense and terse kingdoms could be stifling – impossible, even).
However, the burning embers of his bright, vivid eyes are soon settled upon Kylin, youthful, draped in ivory and lavender (of Silver Cove, no doubt – and perhaps, Kerberos too, covered in blinding, shining metal), before tracing the gleaming, metallic surface of Kerberos’ skin, if it could even be referred to as such. He is stoicism personified, and neither the corner of his mouth nor his intense gaze bares any semblance of a flinch. He had heard rumors, but rumors were merely at, and without any clarification, he would not bear any judgment on those he did not know.
”It’s our own oasis on the sea, not unlike your own,” he says quietly to Kylin, his gaze flickering from one and to the other (though there is a softness when he is looking upon her – he has always had a soft spot for children, and though she is caught between her youth and her womanhood, there is still a tendril of innocence clinging to her). ”with cool streams and watering holes, tall grasses – a volcano.” The fire that sheaths him flares then, as his darkened eyes meet with Kerberos’ own.
”My name is Offspring, King of Tephra, and as Jord stated, we are only curious as to where you stand.”
His voice is heavy, laden with brimstone and fire – his throat is dry, and thus his tone is rough, parched from the dry air that lay between the two islands. The salty brine of the sea is trickling down the broad surface of his back, where beads of perspiration become emulating steam – the fire within him is burning brightly, moreso than usual. Along the slope of his spine lay a thick line of fire, flickering beneath the bright, unyielding sunlight – the sun is much less hindered by ash and smoke in Ischia comparatively, and it settles onto his already scalding skin.
His dark, searing eyes peer first towards Jord, giving her a faint nod of acknowledgement (he had sensed a reluctance when she had set off on her task – uncertain, but she would learn and develop her own sense of confidence in time – diplomacy could be difficult, and interpersonal communication between tense and terse kingdoms could be stifling – impossible, even).
However, the burning embers of his bright, vivid eyes are soon settled upon Kylin, youthful, draped in ivory and lavender (of Silver Cove, no doubt – and perhaps, Kerberos too, covered in blinding, shining metal), before tracing the gleaming, metallic surface of Kerberos’ skin, if it could even be referred to as such. He is stoicism personified, and neither the corner of his mouth nor his intense gaze bares any semblance of a flinch. He had heard rumors, but rumors were merely at, and without any clarification, he would not bear any judgment on those he did not know.
”It’s our own oasis on the sea, not unlike your own,” he says quietly to Kylin, his gaze flickering from one and to the other (though there is a softness when he is looking upon her – he has always had a soft spot for children, and though she is caught between her youth and her womanhood, there is still a tendril of innocence clinging to her). ”with cool streams and watering holes, tall grasses – a volcano.” The fire that sheaths him flares then, as his darkened eyes meet with Kerberos’ own.
”My name is Offspring, King of Tephra, and as Jord stated, we are only curious as to where you stand.”
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING