09-28-2025, 10:47 PM
T U M U L T
He is an oddity in the brightness of the meadow, and while usually the thought of standing out even slightly would have been enough to discourage him from even coming here, his curiosity has gotten the better of him.
There have been stirrings, as of late.
Nothing too extreme — more like a single drop that has sent a series of subtle ripples out into the world, and he caught the fading edge of it.
There are new voices that have joined the murmuring of others, and a rumor of a new queen in the Chamber. He has never really paid close attention to the politics of Beqanna, having always felt like somewhat of an outsider (because he is an outsider; he was not born here, and despite fathering a handful of children he also has not forged any lasting connections), but it is easier to track the changes when everything is so quiet.
And so here he is, a storm cloud in the sunshine drifting across a sea of wavering grass, his lightning a strange flicker across his darkened body. He stands, those odd wings of his settled at his sides, the rain only a very sporadic drip as his eyes sweep across the land. She is a flicker at the corner of his vision and he turns, holding her captive with his gaze. It takes him a moment to realize that he is staring; he forgets that others find that rude, and sometimes unsettling. In an attempt to appear at least somewhat normal he starts off toward her, eyeing her carefully for a reaction — not everyone cared for the storm clouds that rolled across his skin, or the living lightning that sparked amongst them — before greeting her the low rumble that is his voice, “hello.”
There have been stirrings, as of late.
Nothing too extreme — more like a single drop that has sent a series of subtle ripples out into the world, and he caught the fading edge of it.
There are new voices that have joined the murmuring of others, and a rumor of a new queen in the Chamber. He has never really paid close attention to the politics of Beqanna, having always felt like somewhat of an outsider (because he is an outsider; he was not born here, and despite fathering a handful of children he also has not forged any lasting connections), but it is easier to track the changes when everything is so quiet.
And so here he is, a storm cloud in the sunshine drifting across a sea of wavering grass, his lightning a strange flicker across his darkened body. He stands, those odd wings of his settled at his sides, the rain only a very sporadic drip as his eyes sweep across the land. She is a flicker at the corner of his vision and he turns, holding her captive with his gaze. It takes him a moment to realize that he is staring; he forgets that others find that rude, and sometimes unsettling. In an attempt to appear at least somewhat normal he starts off toward her, eyeing her carefully for a reaction — not everyone cared for the storm clouds that rolled across his skin, or the living lightning that sparked amongst them — before greeting her the low rumble that is his voice, “hello.”
CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?
@Tipitina