06-07-2019, 02:06 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
It’s to be expected to see how the churning waves affect not only Tephra and Loess, but their neighbors as well. There is turbulence in the world where there had been peace and quiet. Castile, hungry for chaos, fed himself on the madness that blossomed in the kingdoms. It fueled him to unimaginable heights, but with every peak, there is a valley.
The dust is settling now, but reminders have been placed that Loess is not stagnant. It thrums wildly with life and passion that cannot be reigned it. It cannot be tethered by empty threats.
Loess acts while the others sit.
Castile has frequented the borders for this reason, knowing well that envoys will reach out in curiosity and anticipation. When not walking the foothills, he is soaring above the clouds, unseen by outsiders even as he predatorily watches them below.
Today, of all days, he is standing on a small knoll with darting, attentive eyes on the western border. The Sanctuary wavers in its position, a revolution he likes to think he spurred with recent events and political ties. Whether he actually did is another story from another perspective. And while anticipating Kensa to find him, he is instead surprised to see – and smell – someone drenched by the Silver Cove. A hum vibrates in his core as he meets her at the metaphorical wall, his mismatched eyes following the outline of her face before meeting her eyes. ”I didn’t expect anyone from the Cove to visit,” they have been solitary, confining themselves to their home with minimal exploration beyond.
They’ve been boring to keep tabs on.
Inhaling, he inclines his head and ignores the sharp discomfort of a healing wound. ”Castile, and who might you be?” Simple and direct, but at least he forced aside his presumption that everyone already knows of him.
The dust is settling now, but reminders have been placed that Loess is not stagnant. It thrums wildly with life and passion that cannot be reigned it. It cannot be tethered by empty threats.
Loess acts while the others sit.
Castile has frequented the borders for this reason, knowing well that envoys will reach out in curiosity and anticipation. When not walking the foothills, he is soaring above the clouds, unseen by outsiders even as he predatorily watches them below.
Today, of all days, he is standing on a small knoll with darting, attentive eyes on the western border. The Sanctuary wavers in its position, a revolution he likes to think he spurred with recent events and political ties. Whether he actually did is another story from another perspective. And while anticipating Kensa to find him, he is instead surprised to see – and smell – someone drenched by the Silver Cove. A hum vibrates in his core as he meets her at the metaphorical wall, his mismatched eyes following the outline of her face before meeting her eyes. ”I didn’t expect anyone from the Cove to visit,” they have been solitary, confining themselves to their home with minimal exploration beyond.
They’ve been boring to keep tabs on.
Inhaling, he inclines his head and ignores the sharp discomfort of a healing wound. ”Castile, and who might you be?” Simple and direct, but at least he forced aside his presumption that everyone already knows of him.
castile
@[Dawn]