Thunder Dome ❝arwa macilo matsë yétalyë rúcim' ulundo acolë caurë❞

AW but paging @Grimsley!

Her ears tilt forward, eyes making a reverent pass over the barricade of daunting, pocked stone that holds her Vale like two hale arms. Heavy shadows draped across the brushwood and stony earth, seizing her dwellsome Courtiers in unassuming dark. She had throated her departure to the skies an hour hence, and now takes a breath; hitches in her throat as it always does, escaping back again as a small gasp—Home. Finally, for every moment spent listless amongst these Wilds is a chasming of her soul. Argent halfsight alights upon this slumberous volcano, flames long since guttered, a shiver cracks up her spine like lightning—

It is a phantom thing;
a simmering welding into the welts that have gnarled into tapestry nearly two  (three?)  moons ago. And as the fairylight looks upon this for-everly sunknived stone, she cannot help but wonder what that very same mark must look like, fed into her own flesh. She hadn't known how the constellations had thread themselves for four dawns and moonrises, then; but now, the fae knows somewhere high above, veiled by evening, is Remmirath, looming over the westward tines of the Sunspires like watchful sentinels.

Mahler.

The nightingale presses onward; the airs without petrichor but held by harvest chill; wondering if there might be some green, tucked away and tittering amongst all this desolation.

The mountain he weaved upon now was far more hostile than the one he had been born to. It was barren, as many mistakenly assumed a mountain to be, and the wind whipped at his fur like lashing teeth. That wasn't to say that Grimsley was entirely unhappy with the peak - or where he found himself on it - but he'd certainly had better days as he made his way methodically, and with ever steadiness, up and over the shafts of stone and deep ridges.

If he were to make a home, it would not be here. If it were not suitable for even him, he would not have subjected any followers to the conditions. But that was far in the future.

He did spot, eventually, something with a beating heart on the inhospitable expanse. He saw the pale coat, the odd affliction that marked it. It sparked his curiosity as much as it turned him away from the idea of approaching her. He ignored any trepidation, however, and made his way toward her without hesitation in his step. He called as he approached, with no interest in scaring her - "Hello, traveler." He had no respect for her and so she gained no honorable name - he called her only what she was to him, at least until he had a name for her.

"Where do you go? And why, if I may ask?" He was hoping, and felt that he was correct, that should could tell him both where he was and how best to exit.

sorry for the wait! ;a; small post but hopefully it's enough (if not lmk!)

A beckoning, by none other than a meandering skullgrin;
she cannot help but think that at long last it is the crest-lord she had, once upon a brine-time, traipsed into the very sands of without ever a notice or care of his claim of the bay. In time, those that had been lost to her had again been found — and perhaps, if her bloodbrother stood before her now, she might not turn him from her sights so harshly as she once had. She was not now without reason to be so flightful and featherly. No—

“Suilánte,”  the stricken chirrups to the thrumming tones of inked ivory.  “I have heard musings of a hollow that rests within this very stone. It would be such a fortune to find it, if ever I may,”  no matter the blustering winds here; it would prove a favorable alternative than exhausting the lair still so near to Diaspora's past and present claim, however temporary.  “May I ask if you have ever had ze chance of coming across such a place?”