09-07-2021, 07:16 PM
Skandar’s skin itches, crawling eerily as if something was begging to be set free; or perhaps it is merely the sight of that lumbering volcano in the distance that sets the slender stallion on edge. He is a scowling mess at Obscene’s right, his indigo and orange head lowered as if the height could hide the angry angles of his face. He hated this place and everything it stood for - it represented how easily he had been forgotten, a blemish on an otherwise royal family. A son of disaster sent to hide in the shadows and hope that he would never reappear.
Twice he has come since that fateful day when he had finally found the nerve to leave the ashen landscape and never return. Once was for her (to guide her to the healing waters cloaked as his own father, to mend the scars laced across her golden chest - a path he would easily take again if only she would ask) and now because Obscene had come to him in the middle of the dying Pampas, desiring his company on the no doubt political venture. The Prince did not need Skandar as a bodyguard - the black stallion has enough bulk and height that he would find it odd if anyone would attack him outright. No, Skandar is here for other reasons entirely, he is sure.
Skandar agreed, of course, solely because of his own ambitions - to learn about those in power around him, to memorize their subtleties and behaviors, to sort through their past and their present, to become omnipotent.
The duo are standing at the base of the volcano and while Obscene maybe stares up at the grumbling mass of lava and rock and ash, Skandar refuses to gaze up into its sentience. There is a scoff that resounds in his throat in reply to Obscene’s comment, accompanied with a quick flick of his ombre tail that could only be interpreted as his agreement. Skandar did not know much about Obscene, but he finds that the black stallion is quickly becoming a story unraveled.
In the jungle.
Skandar raises his head for the first time, surveying Obscene with a silent gaze. Those burning orange irises flicker into the depths of the jungle that is swathed in darkness and humidity despite the bite of winter that has covered most of Beqanna already. Skandar’s jawline becomes terse as orders are given (and the orange of his eyes burn a glowing red, bright as embers, accompanied with the soft whistling hum behind his eyes), a nonverbal response that tells Obscene that he understood completely. The glowing of his eyes dies as the other stallion slinks off into the forest and as he moves to begin his own search, his galaxy-marked skin ripples and churns grotesquely, flitting against each other in slices until they settle on a more subtle color to hide him better beneath the jungle’s canopy.
Cloaked as a plain and easily overlooked bay stallion, he searches the jungle for the mare Obscene had described to him.
Twice he has come since that fateful day when he had finally found the nerve to leave the ashen landscape and never return. Once was for her (to guide her to the healing waters cloaked as his own father, to mend the scars laced across her golden chest - a path he would easily take again if only she would ask) and now because Obscene had come to him in the middle of the dying Pampas, desiring his company on the no doubt political venture. The Prince did not need Skandar as a bodyguard - the black stallion has enough bulk and height that he would find it odd if anyone would attack him outright. No, Skandar is here for other reasons entirely, he is sure.
Skandar agreed, of course, solely because of his own ambitions - to learn about those in power around him, to memorize their subtleties and behaviors, to sort through their past and their present, to become omnipotent.
The duo are standing at the base of the volcano and while Obscene maybe stares up at the grumbling mass of lava and rock and ash, Skandar refuses to gaze up into its sentience. There is a scoff that resounds in his throat in reply to Obscene’s comment, accompanied with a quick flick of his ombre tail that could only be interpreted as his agreement. Skandar did not know much about Obscene, but he finds that the black stallion is quickly becoming a story unraveled.
In the jungle.
Skandar raises his head for the first time, surveying Obscene with a silent gaze. Those burning orange irises flicker into the depths of the jungle that is swathed in darkness and humidity despite the bite of winter that has covered most of Beqanna already. Skandar’s jawline becomes terse as orders are given (and the orange of his eyes burn a glowing red, bright as embers, accompanied with the soft whistling hum behind his eyes), a nonverbal response that tells Obscene that he understood completely. The glowing of his eyes dies as the other stallion slinks off into the forest and as he moves to begin his own search, his galaxy-marked skin ripples and churns grotesquely, flitting against each other in slices until they settle on a more subtle color to hide him better beneath the jungle’s canopy.
Cloaked as a plain and easily overlooked bay stallion, he searches the jungle for the mare Obscene had described to him.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Obscene