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+--- Thread: Duskfire Glacier нет покоя нечестивым (/showthread.php?tid=65623)
нет покоя нечестивым - Iosef - April 13, 2025
aw! working on his merc trade < 3
beneath the light of the full moon the soldier makes his rounds. blazing a heavy path along the eastern borders where glacier meets the frigid sea. the crash of wave against ice as old as time. a backdrop that might be soothing to most, but only serves to fan the flame that flickers inside. the war would come soon. they would march their way into saatsine and take the life of the one they call sun eater. the name means nothing to him, as the man would be another target. another head to rip from a neck to place upon a pike.
he would be nothing more than a message, when the dust settles. and his body lay to fucking rot.
Iosef would not rest. his place now was among the borders to ensure not a single soul would slip onto the glacier unnoticed. if they did, he would hunt them down. toss their headless body into the sea to be swallowed by dark currents. muscle is coiled tight beneath fur and scar. a restlessness only brought upon by the anticipation of battle.
RE: нет покоя нечестивым - Astier - April 14, 2025
I will snatch this if you don't mind! <3
The snow had thinned with the thaw, leaving the glacier bare in places, the blue heart exposed to the sea’s breath. Ice melted in rivulets down the slope, winding around pale paws as Astier moved, silent, deliberate, through the softened terrain where frost met stone and sea. Mist still clung to the edge of the world, curling in ghostly tendrils, but there was a warmth to the air now. Subtle, but present. The kind that foretold blood on the winHe spotted the other before he spoke; a soldier made of grit and scar, muscle wound taut beneath a coat weathered by more than just the cold. A sentinel carved into the land itself. The full moon lit the frayed edges of his form, casting a silver halo across old wounds and new tension.
Astier stopped a few lengths away. Not to startle. Only to observe. A faint breeze stirred the softening frost at his feet, carrying the brine of the sea and the distant hush of waves. His breath curled faintly in the spring air, no longer sharp, but still crisp enough to remind them winter was not yet gone.
„You stand as if war has already begun,” he said, voice low, measured, cut from stillness itself; There was no hesitation as he stepped forward. Quiet, confident. The kind of approach that bore no threat, only purpose.
„I have no desire to grow soft while the snow recedes. Would you test me?” And though his tone bore no challenge, only resolve, the look in his pale eyes hinted at the frost that still lingered beneath spring’s thaw.