forward-dated summore @Thyri
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The drum of riverwater, the smell of drinkable fluid, had come just in time to the relief of Grievous, who had gone several days now without anything but the taste of salt and sand on his tongue. His pace among the dune quickened, kicking up splashes of finely warmed granules as he strode across the shoreline to the green stretch that would eventually head him to freshwater. His paws were welcomed by the flora, as dirt gave way to grass, and his toes steadily lost the clumps of sand and shedding fur that had collected there during his long trek down the beach.
It wouldn’t be too long, he thought, before he would turn back west— or maybe something out this way might make him forget about the coolwood he had thought to abandon. Would the journey back be worth it if he had not a soul but himself to tend to? His tail lashed as the sun-bathed moorland began to sprout trees in the distance, and he briefly forgot his imperious whims as his mind instead focused in on one, inerrable fact: water was near.
[/td][/tr][/table]It wouldn’t be too long, he thought, before he would turn back west— or maybe something out this way might make him forget about the coolwood he had thought to abandon. Would the journey back be worth it if he had not a soul but himself to tend to? His tail lashed as the sun-bathed moorland began to sprout trees in the distance, and he briefly forgot his imperious whims as his mind instead focused in on one, inerrable fact: water was near.
May 17, 2017, 08:06 PM
sleepy post~ i apologize if this post doesn't make any sense, lmao.
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Thyri’s path takes her west (and a little bit south) of Frostfire Ridge, unwilling to linger in the Taiga for longer than is absolutely necessary. There are too many unresolved feelings and the uncertainty of if she’ll ever get to make amends for them or not leave her eager to bury them and pretend they do not exist. Thyri tries to let it go and with more distance between herself and the ruined Sleeping Dragon the easier it becomes. A few hours after stumbles upon and lingers at the cusp of Ravensblood Forest she rouses awake, disoriented for a few seconds before awareness sets in. She has not slept much in the past few days in her eagerness to keep traveling, to keep putting that distance away from things she is trying to hard to bury. Plus, she hopes to avoid running into any unwanted interest; lest she stumble across another who is as coquet as the male that called her toots — even thinking the (still) foreign word sets her on edge and has her gnashing her teeth in seething annoyance. For her own sake, Thyri sincerely hopes another meeting like that is not in her future. She rises to her paws after a languid stretch, giving pelage of champagne and cremé a hearty shake to dispel any possible debris that may have accumulated during the few hours she’d been catching up on her sleep. Sleep is not something Thyri willingly indulges in where she can easily be found. That requires a level of trust that she believes she will never harbor for another.
She steps from her place of concealment and rest before she ventures towards with her back to the heart of Ravensblood heading north to the Totoko River trying to remember if she has visited it before. She cannot draw anything familiar about it besides that it rather looks like any other river she’s ever came across in her travels. Movement catches her eye and light caramel colored gaze snaps keenly to the stranger. His scent tells Thyri only that: that he is a he and the salty tang that clings to his pelage only speaks of where he has very recently been. The sylph’s pace slows and she hesitates for a fraction of a moment as she debates her options. She thinks she may be able to alter her course and continue on unnoticed but she wishes to sate her thirst and his path intercepts with her path to the upcoming banks of the river. Her thirst wins the debate and she lets out a low chuff to simply announce her presence as to avoid surprise and an unwanted quarrel.
[/td][/tr][/table]She steps from her place of concealment and rest before she ventures towards with her back to the heart of Ravensblood heading north to the Totoko River trying to remember if she has visited it before. She cannot draw anything familiar about it besides that it rather looks like any other river she’s ever came across in her travels. Movement catches her eye and light caramel colored gaze snaps keenly to the stranger. His scent tells Thyri only that: that he is a he and the salty tang that clings to his pelage only speaks of where he has very recently been. The sylph’s pace slows and she hesitates for a fraction of a moment as she debates her options. She thinks she may be able to alter her course and continue on unnoticed but she wishes to sate her thirst and his path intercepts with her path to the upcoming banks of the river. Her thirst wins the debate and she lets out a low chuff to simply announce her presence as to avoid surprise and an unwanted quarrel.
and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
May 18, 2017, 12:39 AM
it was a beautifully coherent post, i assure you <3
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Reflecting with lamp-warm sunlight, the river’s presence becomes visible even before Grievous can see the water himself. There is a subtle spray in the air, and a blinding glint on the horizon that tells him exactly where the river is; beckoning the thirsting wolf to its banks. He might have picked up his fluid gait to reach the water sooner, but his pace began to slow when it became apparent that he was about to cross paths with another wolf— a teenager. Blanketed in the palest earth tones, she had a severity to her whippish profile that made him think of the Wildlings from the Blacksea; for as far as he could tell, this girl was no pampered maiden, but a hardened survivor with steel in her eyes.
Their gazes locked only briefly— like a stray bolt of lightning striking soundlessly between them— but upon seeing no challenge there, he returned his cavernous eyes to the water, and closed what distance there was left. He splashed into the the river, wading in chest-deep shallows as he lapped up the largest mouthfuls of water he could manage. Most of his focus was on coolness of the water snaking around him like an exposed stone, but he searched for the girl at the bank, keeping a curious gold eye on her as he could.
[/td][/tr][/table]Their gazes locked only briefly— like a stray bolt of lightning striking soundlessly between them— but upon seeing no challenge there, he returned his cavernous eyes to the water, and closed what distance there was left. He splashed into the the river, wading in chest-deep shallows as he lapped up the largest mouthfuls of water he could manage. Most of his focus was on coolness of the water snaking around him like an exposed stone, but he searched for the girl at the bank, keeping a curious gold eye on her as he could.
May 18, 2017, 05:00 AM
<3!
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Thyri observes him with a weariness that belays instinctual prudence. She does not venture looking for fights and she knows that as a lone wolf — even in the bountiful throes of summer — that a fight and resulting injuries could very well mean death. She may not have years of experience but the warrioress is a intellectual beast and the teachings of her parents hold strong regardless of how against her family she’d been at one point. The guilt of that time still lingers having only been intensified by acceptance into Sangeda. Unfortunately, her insurgence is weaved too intricately into who she is. Her ears cup forth, alert before they flutter back to rest at half mast atop the elegant curve of her skull. He appears as if he is carved of stone, all hard, impressive musculature, pewter, stone and snow as the colors wash and fade into his pelage. Realizing that her observation could be mistaken for staring she diverts her eyes to the river though he remains in her peripheral vision, and the true focus of her attention.
If he is bothered by her presence he does not give off any indicators to it and she ghosts toward the bank in the interest of sating her thirst while he plunges into the water. The thought of bowing her head to lap at the water, exposing the curve of her spine perturbs Thyri on instinct but once upon a time she used to imitate Gyda’s queenly air as a whelp back when she thought being the royalty of the Dragon held actual meaning, when fanciful dreams and fairytales were real. Now, she knows the truth and has become disillusioned. Her distrust does not equate to fear, however, and she stops at the bank, lowers her head and laps at the cool, refreshing water, eyes risen to keep him in view as she drinks. The sun is warm on her back and as the water ripples it glints and reflects off the water causing her eyes to narrow and casting him in an obscuring shadow until Thyri's head rises once more and she takes a step back from the bank, salmon pink tongue drawing across her jowls to collect the droplets of water collected upon her cremé colored chin.
He does not strike her as the same kind of man that Ashton (she thinks that is his name) is. This male seems much more quiet, more brooding and the mystery tickles at her curiosity despite her better judgement. She assumes that if she is to turn and leave he will not try to stop her but in surprise to herself she does not simply turn and leave. It would have been easier, she admits, as small talk has never been her forte and distrust makes her entirely unwilling to indulge in any conversation that speaks too much of who she truly is. It doesn’t matter, she admits, she is nothing special nor is she on the run. Nevertheless, she is guarded and secretive and enticed by the idea of using Skadi as a persona though who she is in correlation to who Thyri is and how different she could make the “character” is still unknown to the aspiring thespian. “Hello,” Her silence shatters as her vocal breach the distance between them; all the while wondering what it is about him that intrigues her so.
[/td][/tr][/table]If he is bothered by her presence he does not give off any indicators to it and she ghosts toward the bank in the interest of sating her thirst while he plunges into the water. The thought of bowing her head to lap at the water, exposing the curve of her spine perturbs Thyri on instinct but once upon a time she used to imitate Gyda’s queenly air as a whelp back when she thought being the royalty of the Dragon held actual meaning, when fanciful dreams and fairytales were real. Now, she knows the truth and has become disillusioned. Her distrust does not equate to fear, however, and she stops at the bank, lowers her head and laps at the cool, refreshing water, eyes risen to keep him in view as she drinks. The sun is warm on her back and as the water ripples it glints and reflects off the water causing her eyes to narrow and casting him in an obscuring shadow until Thyri's head rises once more and she takes a step back from the bank, salmon pink tongue drawing across her jowls to collect the droplets of water collected upon her cremé colored chin.
He does not strike her as the same kind of man that Ashton (she thinks that is his name) is. This male seems much more quiet, more brooding and the mystery tickles at her curiosity despite her better judgement. She assumes that if she is to turn and leave he will not try to stop her but in surprise to herself she does not simply turn and leave. It would have been easier, she admits, as small talk has never been her forte and distrust makes her entirely unwilling to indulge in any conversation that speaks too much of who she truly is. It doesn’t matter, she admits, she is nothing special nor is she on the run. Nevertheless, she is guarded and secretive and enticed by the idea of using Skadi as a persona though who she is in correlation to who Thyri is and how different she could make the “character” is still unknown to the aspiring thespian. “Hello,” Her silence shatters as her vocal breach the distance between them; all the while wondering what it is about him that intrigues her so.
and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
May 18, 2017, 01:20 PM
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He basks under her observation, casually peering away so that she might think he is unconcerned for a time. His banner trails in the water, limp and floating— threatening to be carried off by the current if he isn’t careful— but his focus had shifted entirely onto sating his abundant thirst, and the only thing to still him was her voice.
Grievous picked up his head abruptly, turning his long, dripping snout towards the wild girl so that he might take her in again. It was clear from his expression that she had even caught him off guard; his brows lifted to expose hawkish eyes, that traced her in naked ambition. He sees something there now, that he hadn’t bothered to notice before, and with his assumptions of her now shattered by the simple fact she’d called out to him, the iron gatekeeper now found himself invested in this particular situation.
The basilisk was slow to respond— deliberate, more like. He touched his tongue to sodden whiskers before he spoke, meeting her caramelized gaze evenly, without challenge. “Hail, wildheart,” he said in quiet command; his voice like distant thunder, declaring a decree of her spirit she would never be able to shake. Grievous eyed her for what seemed to be an eternity before he moved, surprisingly not towards her. In fact, his direction was diagonal, angled at the bank and away from her as if he intended to leave. Exiting the shallows, the titan gave himself a shake, and then flopped down on the ground facing the girl.
Languid and sphinx-like, he pressed his ears towards her, and beckons her nearer with the benign thumping of his wet tail on the ground behind him. He’s chosen this position because he does not fear her. She is small and cautious, while he is proud and misogynistic; but mainly because he knows he’s less intimidating without his staggering height. “I swear thee no harm,” he rumbled without preamble. “Come nearer, so that I might smell thee properly.”
Grievous picked up his head abruptly, turning his long, dripping snout towards the wild girl so that he might take her in again. It was clear from his expression that she had even caught him off guard; his brows lifted to expose hawkish eyes, that traced her in naked ambition. He sees something there now, that he hadn’t bothered to notice before, and with his assumptions of her now shattered by the simple fact she’d called out to him, the iron gatekeeper now found himself invested in this particular situation.
The basilisk was slow to respond— deliberate, more like. He touched his tongue to sodden whiskers before he spoke, meeting her caramelized gaze evenly, without challenge. “Hail, wildheart,” he said in quiet command; his voice like distant thunder, declaring a decree of her spirit she would never be able to shake. Grievous eyed her for what seemed to be an eternity before he moved, surprisingly not towards her. In fact, his direction was diagonal, angled at the bank and away from her as if he intended to leave. Exiting the shallows, the titan gave himself a shake, and then flopped down on the ground facing the girl.
Languid and sphinx-like, he pressed his ears towards her, and beckons her nearer with the benign thumping of his wet tail on the ground behind him. He’s chosen this position because he does not fear her. She is small and cautious, while he is proud and misogynistic; but mainly because he knows he’s less intimidating without his staggering height. “I swear thee no harm,” he rumbled without preamble. “Come nearer, so that I might smell thee properly.”
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Hail. He speaks to her and her ears rise smoothly atop her skull now cupped forth and attentive. His lantern gaze meets her keen caramel gaze without challenge. Thyri holds it steadily. She will not look away in the consideration that diverting her gaze could be mistaken for subordination. Wildheart. The name he addresses her with reminds the warrioress of the name(s) Ashton bestowed upon her expect she feels no contempt in being addressed as wildheart. It is not her name — nor her moniker — but there is no reason to find this particular “nickname” as offensive. Thyri watches as he moves out of the water, diagonal from her as if he intends to leave. She would not have stopped him if he had. To her surprise, he lingers settling into a sphinx-like position facing her. There is ample distance between them and despite the inviting thump of his tail against the earth her lips tug into a terse line and she remains where she stands upon the bank leaving the distance between them.
Her intrigue and his physical assurances are not enough to convince Thyri to lower her guard. Regardless of how smooth this meeting was going so far the fact remains that he is transient to her. An unknown that she assumes will be passing like all the others. He speaks strangely, like Ashton but also not like the far too casual male she’d met …however many days has passed since she departed the Ridge. Her lack of proper sleep has caused the days and nights of travel to blur together. They bleed into one another because they were all the same. “You can smell me just fine from where I stand.” Tenacious and adamantine as ever Thyri remains in place, refusing to budge. If that wasn’t good enough then it was unfortunate for him; but nearing him as he requests demands a trust she does not feel; and no amount of intrigue is enough to cancel her natural dubiety towards strangers.
[/td][/tr][/table]Her intrigue and his physical assurances are not enough to convince Thyri to lower her guard. Regardless of how smooth this meeting was going so far the fact remains that he is transient to her. An unknown that she assumes will be passing like all the others. He speaks strangely, like Ashton but also not like the far too casual male she’d met …however many days has passed since she departed the Ridge. Her lack of proper sleep has caused the days and nights of travel to blur together. They bleed into one another because they were all the same. “You can smell me just fine from where I stand.” Tenacious and adamantine as ever Thyri remains in place, refusing to budge. If that wasn’t good enough then it was unfortunate for him; but nearing him as he requests demands a trust she does not feel; and no amount of intrigue is enough to cancel her natural dubiety towards strangers.
and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
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She refused to join him, which was far less surprising than her addressing him as she had. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if he had made a mistake— if she was far too mistrustful to be of any use to him— and Grievous huffs out his apathy, so that he might yet goad her into boldness. For despite her straight face and lack of a quiver, the only thing her lack of approach made certain was that she was afraid. She might have called it wariness, or proper caution, but such things were only needed when one didn’t think they had the advantage. She obviously didn’t believe in her own prowess, if she was too wary to brave the prone male’s invitation for a decent sniff.
“Apparently not,” he snorted, his tail ceasing to wag and his expression falling neutral. “This distance hath already fooled me, for I thought thee as brave... worthy, perhaps. But now thy fear blinds me.” Grievous turned his gaze away from her, to the river, indifference swelling in his chest as surely she was too young— too headstrong— to hear any truth in his impotent venom. “Thy loneliness will suit thee, as long as that fear of the Others remains.”
She was capable, and wild— these were not things he disputed— but for how long did a wolf hold on to its pride without constant socialization and other bodies to best or possess. He attributed her particular tactic to her age, and assuming her haughtiness and preference for solitude did not send her skittering away, Grievous imagined that he had much to show her.
“Apparently not,” he snorted, his tail ceasing to wag and his expression falling neutral. “This distance hath already fooled me, for I thought thee as brave... worthy, perhaps. But now thy fear blinds me.” Grievous turned his gaze away from her, to the river, indifference swelling in his chest as surely she was too young— too headstrong— to hear any truth in his impotent venom. “Thy loneliness will suit thee, as long as that fear of the Others remains.”
She was capable, and wild— these were not things he disputed— but for how long did a wolf hold on to its pride without constant socialization and other bodies to best or possess. He attributed her particular tactic to her age, and assuming her haughtiness and preference for solitude did not send her skittering away, Grievous imagined that he had much to show her.
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May 18, 2017, 07:20 PM
short, sleepy post is short but i wanted to reply to this before i went to bed. :-)
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Thyri knows better than to rise to the goading. She knows but she cannot help the way his words itch beneath her skin — one that she can only scratch by proving him wrong. Fear? He thinks she is afraid? She fumes. She is not afraid. Caution is not fear, she desires to snap at him but bites down on her tongue to keep the words back. Caution isn’t fear but when does too much caution began to equalize to it? “I am not afraid.” The words lash from her with a keen narrow of her light caramel gaze in his direction, her stare leveled and unrelenting as she backs her words up with action and minimizes the distance between them with confident steps. The flare of her temper is brief and well honed forbearance is quick to cool the swell of heat within her that his bold declaration of his assumption of her fear caused. There is still distance between them when her short lived temper dissipates but she does not stop until she is directly in front of him, staring down at him. She closes the distance because she wants to, because the impulse to prove him wrong is too strong to ignore; because she wants to prove him wrong.
[/td][/tr][/table]and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
May 18, 2017, 08:07 PM
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A sudden blaze reared up behind flaxen mirrors— her eyes flared and he saw how hard it was for her to resist her temper. He smiled at her declaration, watching her crumble to her instinct and toss reason to the side. His teeth glimmered neatly as the straw-haired naiad stormed forward on stiff, powerful legs. He watched her come bristling and determined— eager to prove to him just how not afraid she was. Grievous remained quite still, unwilling to temper her flames or face her in a skirmish by reacting to her sudden unreasonablness.
And though he thought she had handled this poorly, and now looked terribly young gazing down at him with all her furious might, he dared praise her; his voice a low, cautionary rumble. “That is more like it.” If she wished to take it further, his eyes widened in a way that assured her he would oblige her gladly— but for now she had done as he wished, which only served to make him feel superior, and then (oddly enough) a strange desire to instill in her the superiority he felt.
[/td][/tr][/table]And though he thought she had handled this poorly, and now looked terribly young gazing down at him with all her furious might, he dared praise her; his voice a low, cautionary rumble. “That is more like it.” If she wished to take it further, his eyes widened in a way that assured her he would oblige her gladly— but for now she had done as he wished, which only served to make him feel superior, and then (oddly enough) a strange desire to instill in her the superiority he felt.
May 19, 2017, 03:20 AM
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A flare of the sylph’s nostrils is given as she drinks in his scent though it tells her what it has already told her, what she already knows. Even so, his musk still carries the tangy brine of the sea and she thinks briefly of Sangeda with a small pang. She misses her parents but Sangeda was not her place. She did not fit in any more than she did in Sleeping Dragon. She struggles to adhere to culture. There is a distinct feeling of contained unity that it provides that perhaps the warrioress is not yet ready to embrace; or perhaps she does not just want to fit in. She wants to be individual without feeling like the outlier. Her mother was an outlier of Sangeda, just as she’d been of Sleeping Dragon but Gyda, somehow, managed to belong despite this, melding herself into a culture that is close but not her’s. Thyri applauds her mother’s talent for it but it is not a talent they share. He praises her and her gaze narrows further at him until she is almost squinting at him. Champagne ears flutter back against her skull though the action is not meant to be demure. “Take your sniff.” She commands of him. That was, after all, his whole purpose to goading her into drawing nearer, wasn’t it? “What is your name?” She inquires upon the next breath, figuring she has a right to at least a moniker if she is going to allow him to sniff at her. It is an exchange of information, after all, or so she thinks, anyway.
[/td][/tr][/table]and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
May 19, 2017, 01:20 PM
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Grievous was terribly amused, and simultaneously glad she did not come to him for a fight. If he had been forced to put her down, then his little game would have been over before beginning— but there was still time to render her disheveled, he supposed in wry silence. His ears pressed forward even as her fell back, sure where she was not, and eager to lead where she would follow. But despite her deferential body language, she opened her mouth (as she had the first time) to breed conversation between them. “I have already,” he responded, his tone fluid where hers rightly remained terse. “Thy smell is of the mountains— and of fire.” The latter scent was his impression of her rather than having detected any trace of where she had been. There was no ash or heat on her either, but that mattered very little to the wolf who tended to associate newer acquaintances with things and instances he thought they related to. Little did he know, she had been born to ground with flames underneath.
“Grievous,” he responded immediately in this rather slow, resonating voice that belonged to no one else. Instead of asking hers, he ponders aloud: “Did thy have a reason to address me? I hath my own opinion on the matter, but first I might like to know thine truth.” Her standoffishness meant little to him as long as she brought him no harm, but he wondered if she regretted calling out to him now— or if she still felt the same quiet marvel as he did for her.
[/td][/tr][/table]“Grievous,” he responded immediately in this rather slow, resonating voice that belonged to no one else. Instead of asking hers, he ponders aloud: “Did thy have a reason to address me? I hath my own opinion on the matter, but first I might like to know thine truth.” Her standoffishness meant little to him as long as she brought him no harm, but he wondered if she regretted calling out to him now— or if she still felt the same quiet marvel as he did for her.
May 19, 2017, 02:06 PM
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Thyri’s ears flicker lazily atop her skull as he speaks that he has already given her the closer sniff that he desires, informing her of what he has gleamed from her pelage. Mountains and fire, he claims. Mountains she passes over because it is not necessarily untrue but fire? As Thyri knows she has not been in or near any sort of wildfire, nor had she gotten close enough to the Dragon to accumulate any scents of smoke or soot that she is left to assume that it is merely his observation; and if it is that he isn’t wrong. She would always be a dragon regardless that her relationships with more than half her family are murky (and outright terrible for some) at best. It is a precipice she does not stare too long into lest she fall off either side. She thinks, though, that the damage she has done is irreversible. It is her assumption that Gyda and Gavriel have forgiven her because she is their daughter and a parent’s love is not nearly as easy to destroy as a sibling’s. Or of a family that is not bound to her by blood and flesh. Her ears twitch forth once more as he gives his name. Grievous.
Thyri is assuaged, satisfied that her answers to her demands though she does not delude herself. She fully believes that like her he humors her because he desires to, not because he feels inferior to her. She could be wrong but there is a nagging voice in her intuition that tells her that she is not wrong. The sylph’s face is contemplative as he poses his question. “I don’t know,” It is a partial truth as it spills from betwixt her lips. Only a partial lie because while she has a reason for calling out to him it is an uncertain one and not anything she can define (in any of the three languages she knows). Light caramel gaze assess him carefully, slowly, like a painter studying her subject so she does not miss any detail in her rendition. “There is …something,” She gives a small pause, salmon pink tongue drawing across her jowls. “— about you that intrigues me.” There is an unexplained draw, not unlike gravity that is the root of the impulse to stop and further to call out to him. There is nothing (yet) to explore of it and she is content to simply acknowledge that it is there. For now, it is enough.
[/td][/tr][/table]Thyri is assuaged, satisfied that her answers to her demands though she does not delude herself. She fully believes that like her he humors her because he desires to, not because he feels inferior to her. She could be wrong but there is a nagging voice in her intuition that tells her that she is not wrong. The sylph’s face is contemplative as he poses his question. “I don’t know,” It is a partial truth as it spills from betwixt her lips. Only a partial lie because while she has a reason for calling out to him it is an uncertain one and not anything she can define (in any of the three languages she knows). Light caramel gaze assess him carefully, slowly, like a painter studying her subject so she does not miss any detail in her rendition. “There is …something,” She gives a small pause, salmon pink tongue drawing across her jowls. “— about you that intrigues me.” There is an unexplained draw, not unlike gravity that is the root of the impulse to stop and further to call out to him. There is nothing (yet) to explore of it and she is content to simply acknowledge that it is there. For now, it is enough.
and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
May 19, 2017, 02:46 PM
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At first she claimed not to have an answer, but then... she revealed as honestly as she could, that she had been drawn in like the tide, unable to curb her interest as she might have with another. He would admit that he had assumed this of her— that she would sooner use her teeth before greeting someone levelly— and he remembered his surprise from minutes ago, when she had first decided to lure the basilisk to her riverbank. Grievous could not deny either, that he was a willing insect to this Venus flytrap, although he felt more in control of the situation despite the way the dynamic could seem to another. She loomed before him as tall as her height would allow, and the wolf, who fancies himself a king, sees the fashioning of a young queen in her— one he might could groom to his powerful preferences.
She is no where near old enough to be of any particular use to him— with his ideology of a misanthropic cur— but he wanted quite plainly to feed her his ambition. Hoping, that in doing so, she would battle any woman to take his side, when the time became appropriate. But his ideas were farfetched and reaching further, going well beyond this tentative interest they held in one another for now. “Our kind,” he mused, rising very suddenly to his feet in a motion that seemed too fast for a man of his size and stature; “are drawn only towards those we deem as worthy packmates. Wolves such as we doth not care for the weak.”
He was looking down at her now, his posture dominant but non-threatening. He turned away from her, still unafraid to expose himself to attack; though it was difficult to tell if this was out of confidence, or just reckless casualty. He seemed to want to depart from her, but he turned his head over his shoulder, and looked her directly in the eye. “There be no glory, or true challenge in solitude. Do thy choose strength and daring... or detachment and cowardice?”
[/td][/tr][/table]She is no where near old enough to be of any particular use to him— with his ideology of a misanthropic cur— but he wanted quite plainly to feed her his ambition. Hoping, that in doing so, she would battle any woman to take his side, when the time became appropriate. But his ideas were farfetched and reaching further, going well beyond this tentative interest they held in one another for now. “Our kind,” he mused, rising very suddenly to his feet in a motion that seemed too fast for a man of his size and stature; “are drawn only towards those we deem as worthy packmates. Wolves such as we doth not care for the weak.”
He was looking down at her now, his posture dominant but non-threatening. He turned away from her, still unafraid to expose himself to attack; though it was difficult to tell if this was out of confidence, or just reckless casualty. He seemed to want to depart from her, but he turned his head over his shoulder, and looked her directly in the eye. “There be no glory, or true challenge in solitude. Do thy choose strength and daring... or detachment and cowardice?”
May 19, 2017, 05:58 PM
[table width=85%][tr][td]
He speaks and his voice is like the rumble of thunder to her: commanding but not unpleasant. He speaks of their kind, grouping them together like they are similar. Perhaps, Thyri muses to herself, they are. Perhaps they are cut from the same cloth. He reveals things about himself as he speaks but with a terse tightening of her lips and a flick of her tail the sylph realizes these are true of her too. Weak can go beyond just the physical, she thinks. There are those that are intellectually weak, as well. Weak is subjective at best and to each it’s definition differs. He looms over her, his turn to stare down at her but despite their size difference Thyri does not submit to him. She holds strong, keeps her posture and meets his gaze. She is no one’s inferior. Not anymore. She watches as he turns from her and begins to walk away. She does not expect him to stop, yet he does and turns his head to view her from over his shoulder. The warrioress’ ears cup forth to catch his words as they fall from betwixt his lips, seemingly giving her the choice. Venture forth with him or go her own way. She remembers the ache of loneliness she has been feeling for some time and how she spurred and chased Ashton’s company away. Then again, essentially calling her a hot piece of ass was guaranteed to do that. Her teeth gnash at his use of the word cowardice. Cowardice. She is no coward and she dislikes how he twists it to his advantage. Perhaps he does not mean to and that is truly how he sees solitariness; regardless Thyri hates the word. She is no coward. “I am no coward.” She states decisively, her words confident and adamantine as she moves towards him. She knows little of him and he of her but she figures there will be plenty of time to become acquainted with one another, especially if they are to travel together. As she moves to his side she contemplates on which name she desires to give him and for some reason she cannot comprehend she feels the heavy weight of truth on her shoulders: she does not wish to take Skðdi’s role when around him. It would be far too exhausting, she thinks. “I am Thyri.” A name for a name.
[/td][/tr][/table]and she speaks in a voice that sets men trembling,
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
with eyes painted gold and a throne built on the bones of
those who would challenge her rule
May 20, 2017, 06:54 PM
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Grievous, for all his cleverness and natural menace, made it nearly impossible to discern whether his worming under her skin had been by design or not. And regardless of his intention, he had temporarily come out a victor with the prize— though only time would tell how valuable a thing it was he had won by pressing the buttons of a fiery egoist. She took up mantle at his shoulder, her small, tawny frame and regal bearing out of place beside the skulking colossus, his tall shoulders hunched and his posture loose and dangerous. A dark and violent titan beside the unyielded amazonion— a pair at odds and equally made to challenge the other.
Thyri. He carried her name with only the acknowledgement of flicking ears and a slyly pursed smile, eager to take the young queen to task.
[/td][/tr][/table]Thyri. He carried her name with only the acknowledgement of flicking ears and a slyly pursed smile, eager to take the young queen to task.
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