05-10-2016, 04:56 PM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
The scent hits him like a wall. The bricks tumble down and blocks any glimmer of light or thought. Suddenly Tiphon is on alert, his muscles quivering. How does he know it? How is it triggering him like this?
A breath catches in his throat as he tries hard to remember, but it’s just beyond his reach. The answer is there, hovering just above him, but he can’t quite grasp it. For a long moment Tiphon stands in the embrace of the Dale and in the sunlight. What consumed him were his children, namely his two undead children, but they’ve slipped into the darkness of his mind as the scent overwhelms him. It’s a thorn in his side that he lingers with until his curiosity can no longer be reined in. After determining the direction from which the scent drifted Tiphon’s wings sprout from his shoulder blades. Such large and magnificent things they are that it takes but two sweeps before he has caught enough wind to ascend into the azure sky. As much as he’d enjoy soaring with the clouds and biding his time there is an eagerness eating away at him. There is a bud of anger blooming in his stomach.
With his urgency chiseling away at time it doesn’t take long for Tiphon to reach the stranger. His altitude drops with a simple tilt of his body that spirals him toward the green grass below. The foreigner almost camouflages with the birds-eye view of the kingdom but with attuned precision he lands directly in front of him. Rather than folding his wings they instead dissipate into nothingness leaving the sentinel almost normal – almost. ”What brings you to the Dale?” His voice is stone, hardened by years of mistrusting strangers. Memories of Dalean invaders flash before his eyes, but it shimmers away as he again tries to think of where he may have seen or met this stallion. Taking a slow step forward and narrowing his eyes, Tiphon asks, ”Have we met?” They must have if this green stallion elicits so much distaste, so much anger, in him.
A breath catches in his throat as he tries hard to remember, but it’s just beyond his reach. The answer is there, hovering just above him, but he can’t quite grasp it. For a long moment Tiphon stands in the embrace of the Dale and in the sunlight. What consumed him were his children, namely his two undead children, but they’ve slipped into the darkness of his mind as the scent overwhelms him. It’s a thorn in his side that he lingers with until his curiosity can no longer be reined in. After determining the direction from which the scent drifted Tiphon’s wings sprout from his shoulder blades. Such large and magnificent things they are that it takes but two sweeps before he has caught enough wind to ascend into the azure sky. As much as he’d enjoy soaring with the clouds and biding his time there is an eagerness eating away at him. There is a bud of anger blooming in his stomach.
With his urgency chiseling away at time it doesn’t take long for Tiphon to reach the stranger. His altitude drops with a simple tilt of his body that spirals him toward the green grass below. The foreigner almost camouflages with the birds-eye view of the kingdom but with attuned precision he lands directly in front of him. Rather than folding his wings they instead dissipate into nothingness leaving the sentinel almost normal – almost. ”What brings you to the Dale?” His voice is stone, hardened by years of mistrusting strangers. Memories of Dalean invaders flash before his eyes, but it shimmers away as he again tries to think of where he may have seen or met this stallion. Taking a slow step forward and narrowing his eyes, Tiphon asks, ”Have we met?” They must have if this green stallion elicits so much distaste, so much anger, in him.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION