Ravin
11-15-2025, 07:40 AM
If she can hear his thoughts, Ravin has no doubt that the ghoulish creature in front of him can hear the thundering beat of his heart, a dead giveaway to the building fear in his chest. He takes a deep breath, near certain that the next sound to come out of him could be a screech, and then the sun begins to rise.
The silvery grey of light of dawn blushes into a faintly pink daybreak, the streaks of purplish blue at the edges of the horizon a match to the young stallion.
Ravin doesn’t notice the light at all, only its effect on the ghoul. The rapid reversal of her wounds is gruesome, but far less so to Ravin who has lost count of the wounds he has seen heal in an equally rapid manner. Never without the welcome blur of the water of the magical waterfall though, and the young stallion’s displeasure at the binding skin is undisguised. Nor is he a stranger to the transformative power of the Moon, a magic that his father insists rivals that of the Mountain.
She seems as bewildered by the change as Ravin had been, and as he watches the no-longer-a-ghoul queen shake off whatever odd magic that had been, he easily convinces himself that it was mostly the worms in her eyeballs that had made him feel panicked, and not concern for his life and soul.
The mare in front of him looks fairly normal now, and when she speaks, her voice is softer, and more importantly: not in his head.
A princess of the Gates, she says, the child of a soft ruler. Ravin’s youth is disconcertingly similar, though his own sire is a moon-addled seer and his mother is the gentle leader. He is not yet entirely sure that he shouldn’t turn tail and run, but her attempts at friendly smiles remind him very much him of Luvi trying her best. He remains. Remains, but doesn’t quite let down his guard.
“I’m also from the Gates. My mother is the Queen, and my father the Moonspeaker. My name's Ravin. What's yours??”
@Topsail
The silvery grey of light of dawn blushes into a faintly pink daybreak, the streaks of purplish blue at the edges of the horizon a match to the young stallion.
Ravin doesn’t notice the light at all, only its effect on the ghoul. The rapid reversal of her wounds is gruesome, but far less so to Ravin who has lost count of the wounds he has seen heal in an equally rapid manner. Never without the welcome blur of the water of the magical waterfall though, and the young stallion’s displeasure at the binding skin is undisguised. Nor is he a stranger to the transformative power of the Moon, a magic that his father insists rivals that of the Mountain.
She seems as bewildered by the change as Ravin had been, and as he watches the no-longer-a-ghoul queen shake off whatever odd magic that had been, he easily convinces himself that it was mostly the worms in her eyeballs that had made him feel panicked, and not concern for his life and soul.
The mare in front of him looks fairly normal now, and when she speaks, her voice is softer, and more importantly: not in his head.
A princess of the Gates, she says, the child of a soft ruler. Ravin’s youth is disconcertingly similar, though his own sire is a moon-addled seer and his mother is the gentle leader. He is not yet entirely sure that he shouldn’t turn tail and run, but her attempts at friendly smiles remind him very much him of Luvi trying her best. He remains. Remains, but doesn’t quite let down his guard.
“I’m also from the Gates. My mother is the Queen, and my father the Moonspeaker. My name's Ravin. What's yours??”
@Topsail