07-01-2016, 04:37 PM
BROTHER, LET ME BE YOUR FORTRESS, WHEN THE NIGHT WINDS ARE DRIVING ON.
I CAN BE THE ONE TO LIGHT YOUR WAY; I WILL BRING YOU HOME.
He is at ease within the icy walls and caverns of his Kingdom of frost, and yet something spurs him to step past the thick shield of ice that borders their terrain so menacingly, his massive, scarred form moving with deliberate ease. His deep crimson eyes study the ground below as his heavy prints leave lasting impression, the frigid frost of a waning winter fading from sight as he enters into the mild, temperature climate below the mountain crown.
The sun bathes his thick obsidian coat, the old pink puckered scars of battles won and lost glinting beneath its light as his muscles ripple beneath - he savors the sensation, if only for a moment. It is not often that he can feel its warmth so saturated against his skin.
A gentle breeze drifts through as he travels on, the day growing long as he paces heavily towards a darkened land he has not seen in some time. He has no ill will in mind; simply an alliance to force. He is alone with his mind, a scattering of thoughts loosely rattling within his brain. The tall grasses of the thick plain stroke beneath the underside of his belly and caress his flank, and for a moment, he breathes deeply, inhaling the sweetness of another season changing.
With the gentle blossoming of foliage and fauna and melting of ice and frost, something else lingers within his senses - the stark, burning incense of magma and fire. It reeks heavily, saturating his senses with its nauseating scent, and he knows immediately what creature - and who - such an acrid, nauseatingly heavy scent could come from. Long overdue is the meeting between three monarchs - two Kings and a Queen, two having met one, but alas, not all three at once. It is time to push aside the formalities of diplomacy, to press past the tired cloak of ceremonial conformity and come together.
His darkened, marred coat of puckered scars covers itself in a sheen of ice, as the warm magma that followed beneath the Earth radiates its own heat still from beneath the moist soil. He follows closely, nostrils flaring as he picks up a heavy, galloping pace, weaving his massive form through the winding foliage as he nears the dark valley border. The ground trembles beneath his behemoth weight as he finally simmers down to a saunter at best, thick tresses falling in the way of his dark crimson gaze as he finally comes across two figures - both familiar.
The stench of sulfur lingers still in the air, but it simmers beneath the surface. He observes as the grulla Queen (beautiful, to be certain - powerful in her gaze and stance) quietly for a moment as he begins to shield himself in a thick layer of frost, which crawls along his powerful legs and tangles itself into his matted tresses. Though he has not seen her circus trick before, he has heard enough about it to have prepared for it - or so he thought. There is something unnervingly menacing about the way her reptilian eyes flash, and her scales are remarkably flexible.
He can only imagine what her sharpened claws are capable of.
His eyes peer between the two as he comes along Killdare's side; the ice is merely to keep his own flesh cool near the radiating heat of the other. He has never handled heat well, with his formidable size and dark obsidian pelt, but even less so after years of dwelling within the land of ice. His heavy crown nods as he studies Topsail, ignoring the hackles of wolves surrounding them.
"It seems Killdare and I have had the same idea this evening," He muses softly, though his voice is rough and gravelly from disuse. "and at last, we meet, at once. I would say that this is long overdue, wouldn't you?"
The sun bathes his thick obsidian coat, the old pink puckered scars of battles won and lost glinting beneath its light as his muscles ripple beneath - he savors the sensation, if only for a moment. It is not often that he can feel its warmth so saturated against his skin.
A gentle breeze drifts through as he travels on, the day growing long as he paces heavily towards a darkened land he has not seen in some time. He has no ill will in mind; simply an alliance to force. He is alone with his mind, a scattering of thoughts loosely rattling within his brain. The tall grasses of the thick plain stroke beneath the underside of his belly and caress his flank, and for a moment, he breathes deeply, inhaling the sweetness of another season changing.
With the gentle blossoming of foliage and fauna and melting of ice and frost, something else lingers within his senses - the stark, burning incense of magma and fire. It reeks heavily, saturating his senses with its nauseating scent, and he knows immediately what creature - and who - such an acrid, nauseatingly heavy scent could come from. Long overdue is the meeting between three monarchs - two Kings and a Queen, two having met one, but alas, not all three at once. It is time to push aside the formalities of diplomacy, to press past the tired cloak of ceremonial conformity and come together.
His darkened, marred coat of puckered scars covers itself in a sheen of ice, as the warm magma that followed beneath the Earth radiates its own heat still from beneath the moist soil. He follows closely, nostrils flaring as he picks up a heavy, galloping pace, weaving his massive form through the winding foliage as he nears the dark valley border. The ground trembles beneath his behemoth weight as he finally simmers down to a saunter at best, thick tresses falling in the way of his dark crimson gaze as he finally comes across two figures - both familiar.
The stench of sulfur lingers still in the air, but it simmers beneath the surface. He observes as the grulla Queen (beautiful, to be certain - powerful in her gaze and stance) quietly for a moment as he begins to shield himself in a thick layer of frost, which crawls along his powerful legs and tangles itself into his matted tresses. Though he has not seen her circus trick before, he has heard enough about it to have prepared for it - or so he thought. There is something unnervingly menacing about the way her reptilian eyes flash, and her scales are remarkably flexible.
He can only imagine what her sharpened claws are capable of.
His eyes peer between the two as he comes along Killdare's side; the ice is merely to keep his own flesh cool near the radiating heat of the other. He has never handled heat well, with his formidable size and dark obsidian pelt, but even less so after years of dwelling within the land of ice. His heavy crown nods as he studies Topsail, ignoring the hackles of wolves surrounding them.
"It seems Killdare and I have had the same idea this evening," He muses softly, though his voice is rough and gravelly from disuse. "and at last, we meet, at once. I would say that this is long overdue, wouldn't you?"
OFFSPRING
the ice king of the tundra