 Moonlight plays through the overhead branches, casting strange shadows over the pale brown of her hide. The dark fingers attempt to trap her - to pin her down and keep her forever, but she seems oblivious - as if those fingers are not real - as if she isn’t real. She is untouchable - unscathed by shadow or beast. Faulkor has forgotten the feeling of purity. All births are messy, but usually there is joy in the newness of life. Not for him. No, from birth Faulkor was dipped deep into the tarry pool of life’s cruelties, and now he stands before his brother’s would-be lover an old and decrepit king of nothing. “It doesn’t seem to grow just anywhere.” she says, and Faulkor blinks expectantly. He needs more. “Magic is all around us - in the air we breathe, the water we drink, the grass we eat, and the very ground we walk on.” Oh, the taste of grass. Faulkor had forgotten the taste of grass long ago. No, caves are much to dark and dreary for such greenery. But, he does know that this mare must speak at least a semblance of truth, for since his reentry into the world above, the land has hummed with intangible magic. Closer. He needs more. “It seems to find us more than we find it unless you go on a quest.” There. “Is that how you escaped death at the fangs of a beast without a mark? A quest?” Faulkor asks as he draws nearer, and in the moonlight he is much more ghastly. His skin lay draped across his bones, his coat dingy and dull from years spent in darkness. His black eyes, sunken and terrible, rove thoroughly the line of her back, the crook of her neck, the wildness in her stare. He offers his nose to hers as if an exchange of breaths might tell him more than words ever could. Perhaps, in his younger years he may have sought to claim her as his own. But, tonight he is too old and too tired of the same old game. Tonight he needs more than flesh. |
@[keeper] - Yeah, forget timelines. Still playing this as if Faulkor is old and decrepit and missing his Balto.