11-17-2017, 08:24 PM
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
Her thick alabaster wings flex as she arrives, shaking her bristling feathers free of the sparse leaves and twigs that have found themselves tangled within them from a journey elsewhere, far beyond the shoreline. The sun is lost to the rising of the wayward moon, and yet the vivid colors of sunset still caress the distant horizon, illuminating the churning ocean tide in a glow. She had searched far and wide for the one whispered to be a trespasser; intruder. Invader.
Karaugh is none of these things, not to the iron Queen. She cares little for mindless, pathetic games played by one feigning strength, by a wolf cloaked in sheepskin. Her purpose, to terrorize, is thinly veiled, and Ellyse does not have the time nor the patience to dance with her. Ellyse is not concerned; merely annoyed at best. Karaugh is no threat. Dismay is what her presence is met with – not shock, nor surprise.
Disdain, distaste, dismay.
Her gaze searches the sullen darkness of the descending nightfall, as the soft bristling of her feathered appendages tuck along her barrel and brush along the broad rib cage of Dahmer. She had been told of her presence long before by those who had attempted to intercede, when the sun was still high in the sky and bathing the dry grassland in its vivid splendor, but Karaugh had hidden - oh so clever, she is, wicked and wry, but Ellyse would have the last laugh.
Karaugh is fluttering, flapping frantically (fat little thing, she is – broad and supple with child, she supposes, or merely obese) toward the monument centered on the island. The air is slowly thickening with each passing moment as the volcano is awakened, pluming thick clouds of smoke into the otherwise clear atmosphere. As if it sensed the tension. As if it knew trouble hung below.
Her shoulder presses against Dahmer’s, as the golden flecks of her hazel eye seek his own, a glacial blue. ”Would it be too much to ask of you to knock her into the volcano? Or must I pluck her fickle little wings off of her myself?”
Karaugh is none of these things, not to the iron Queen. She cares little for mindless, pathetic games played by one feigning strength, by a wolf cloaked in sheepskin. Her purpose, to terrorize, is thinly veiled, and Ellyse does not have the time nor the patience to dance with her. Ellyse is not concerned; merely annoyed at best. Karaugh is no threat. Dismay is what her presence is met with – not shock, nor surprise.
Disdain, distaste, dismay.
Her gaze searches the sullen darkness of the descending nightfall, as the soft bristling of her feathered appendages tuck along her barrel and brush along the broad rib cage of Dahmer. She had been told of her presence long before by those who had attempted to intercede, when the sun was still high in the sky and bathing the dry grassland in its vivid splendor, but Karaugh had hidden - oh so clever, she is, wicked and wry, but Ellyse would have the last laugh.
Karaugh is fluttering, flapping frantically (fat little thing, she is – broad and supple with child, she supposes, or merely obese) toward the monument centered on the island. The air is slowly thickening with each passing moment as the volcano is awakened, pluming thick clouds of smoke into the otherwise clear atmosphere. As if it sensed the tension. As if it knew trouble hung below.
Her shoulder presses against Dahmer’s, as the golden flecks of her hazel eye seek his own, a glacial blue. ”Would it be too much to ask of you to knock her into the volcano? Or must I pluck her fickle little wings off of her myself?”
Ellyse
(The nightmare) I built my own world to escape
@[Karaugh] @[Dahmer] @[Levi] - I had to just wing it with pregnant Karaugh flapping around all over the place, lolol.