02-12-2020, 01:35 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
Magic weaves into Castile’s veins, adding permanency to his body’s shift. In front of Lepis, his equine body sheds away. The hair falls only to be replaced by hardened scales, his hooves elongating into talons. It’s a seamless shift, no matter the drastic alterations.
Curious, Castile’s eyes cast down to Lepis in anticipation of her reaction, but she beckons him with an affirmative statement that piques his interest.
Underneath him, the ground trembles with his every step. There’s no sense to fly, not when Lepis’ company remains earthbound and grounded. Anger, ever present, rises in his throat but Castile says nothing yet as his thoughts race between hunger and recent events. Losing grip of himself, he finds himself more often drawn to sating his primal needs instead of handling the political avenues of his role as King.
Soon, this will end, and I will be back.
(No, there is no end in sight)
In his wake, the rocky soil is ragged and unsettled by his claws ripping into it, his weight crushing shrubs along the way; but Castile’s eyes are far too steadily trained on what lies ahead of him. With a deep inhalation, he notes Jesper’s arrival. A jagged grin peels back his lips, his mismatched eyes bright with foul mischief as he and Lepis reach their newest prisoner. Tucked at his sides, his wings just barely shuffle while Castile comfortably positions himself among them. A wave of arrogance washes across him, internalized so that nothing reads across his reptilian face. Of course, he also wants Brennen to be among them, but how the tides have changed and prevented their full success. Alas, the leader of the frosted island will suffice for now.
”Jesper,” his voice rolls like thunder, reverberating through each of them as Castile lowers his head to nearly level with his peers. But Lepis’ attention fixes on the bay stallion, not at all on their visitor. For a fleeting moment, Castile acknowledges the escort, noting traces of familiarity in his scent, but not at all in appearance. He would say something, but the cleric is already addressing him, her voice flattened by emotions that swirl inside her. Seizing the opportunity, Castile’s head turns to face the foreigner while battling his inner instincts to hunt. ”Welcome,” he says in bemusement, knowing well that Jesper is not keen on being – or staying – here in Loess.
Curious, Castile’s eyes cast down to Lepis in anticipation of her reaction, but she beckons him with an affirmative statement that piques his interest.
Underneath him, the ground trembles with his every step. There’s no sense to fly, not when Lepis’ company remains earthbound and grounded. Anger, ever present, rises in his throat but Castile says nothing yet as his thoughts race between hunger and recent events. Losing grip of himself, he finds himself more often drawn to sating his primal needs instead of handling the political avenues of his role as King.
Soon, this will end, and I will be back.
(No, there is no end in sight)
In his wake, the rocky soil is ragged and unsettled by his claws ripping into it, his weight crushing shrubs along the way; but Castile’s eyes are far too steadily trained on what lies ahead of him. With a deep inhalation, he notes Jesper’s arrival. A jagged grin peels back his lips, his mismatched eyes bright with foul mischief as he and Lepis reach their newest prisoner. Tucked at his sides, his wings just barely shuffle while Castile comfortably positions himself among them. A wave of arrogance washes across him, internalized so that nothing reads across his reptilian face. Of course, he also wants Brennen to be among them, but how the tides have changed and prevented their full success. Alas, the leader of the frosted island will suffice for now.
”Jesper,” his voice rolls like thunder, reverberating through each of them as Castile lowers his head to nearly level with his peers. But Lepis’ attention fixes on the bay stallion, not at all on their visitor. For a fleeting moment, Castile acknowledges the escort, noting traces of familiarity in his scent, but not at all in appearance. He would say something, but the cleric is already addressing him, her voice flattened by emotions that swirl inside her. Seizing the opportunity, Castile’s head turns to face the foreigner while battling his inner instincts to hunt. ”Welcome,” he says in bemusement, knowing well that Jesper is not keen on being – or staying – here in Loess.
castile