07-01-2016, 03:20 PM
THE EARTH IS ALIVE, AND MAN IS A PARASITE.
AND HEAVENLY BODIES MAKE US FIGHT.
Monstrous is only one of many words to describe - physically, at least. He towers over many with statuesque height and massive weight; he is foreboding in his appearance with a thickened obsidian coat, marred by many puckered pink scars from battles both won and lost. With himself, and with others. His searing red eyes are intense and calculating, and at times, intimidating - a long stare would be enough to unnerve anyone, as it is much more difficult to see within the window of one's soul when the window is painted with the saturated color of blood.
Alas, it is only a word to describe his appearance, for within, he is anything but. Unless provoked, he is hardly a beast to be reckoned with. The threat always remains, simmering beneath the surface, a raging fury always bubbling like a steady brook within his heavily beating heart - but he has had little reason to act upon it; yet he would be no formidable foe if he were to allow his guard down completely. A lover, and a fighter, he remains.
His stark presence is seen along the dreary landscape long before his dark eyes are seen or his heavy footfalls felt; his weight echoes through the permafrost as he steps forward, approaching the pair after hearing the distant call of an old friend. The morning has been a long one, frigid and icy as most were, but he had grown accustomed to it. Covered in a thin sheen of ice, with his tangled tresses wrapped in frost, the King of ice has long since adapted to their lands, and has come to savor its brutal frigidity. He is one with the landscape, and it is one with him.
He observes the coal-stained female so near to his dappled companion, and he sees the weariness in her eyes. He pauses, a short distance away. He can sense the apprehension and concern, and he merely nods to each. He maintains his firm positioning for a moment, lowering his crown to seem less imposing. The air is stagnant today and the striking wind is absent, and so he moves forward enough to take in her scent and allow her to take in his own.
A stranger, though her scent reeks of her nervous disposition. He can hardly blame her; a land of ice and men is nothing to take lightly.
Nonetheless, he offers a warm smile, which tugs at the corners of his whiskered lips.
"Welcome. I see you have met Brynmor," He glances to his second-in-command, giving him a solemn nod. "and I am Offspring. There are many men, women and children here, though many are along the east side of the border as of now where the heaviest rays of sunlight are. The seasons are formidable here. Frigid, icy. There are a few caves in which you can escape the wind and snow, and there is privacy and companionship, whichever you need most of. You are welcome to stay. What is your name?"
Alas, it is only a word to describe his appearance, for within, he is anything but. Unless provoked, he is hardly a beast to be reckoned with. The threat always remains, simmering beneath the surface, a raging fury always bubbling like a steady brook within his heavily beating heart - but he has had little reason to act upon it; yet he would be no formidable foe if he were to allow his guard down completely. A lover, and a fighter, he remains.
His stark presence is seen along the dreary landscape long before his dark eyes are seen or his heavy footfalls felt; his weight echoes through the permafrost as he steps forward, approaching the pair after hearing the distant call of an old friend. The morning has been a long one, frigid and icy as most were, but he had grown accustomed to it. Covered in a thin sheen of ice, with his tangled tresses wrapped in frost, the King of ice has long since adapted to their lands, and has come to savor its brutal frigidity. He is one with the landscape, and it is one with him.
He observes the coal-stained female so near to his dappled companion, and he sees the weariness in her eyes. He pauses, a short distance away. He can sense the apprehension and concern, and he merely nods to each. He maintains his firm positioning for a moment, lowering his crown to seem less imposing. The air is stagnant today and the striking wind is absent, and so he moves forward enough to take in her scent and allow her to take in his own.
A stranger, though her scent reeks of her nervous disposition. He can hardly blame her; a land of ice and men is nothing to take lightly.
Nonetheless, he offers a warm smile, which tugs at the corners of his whiskered lips.
"Welcome. I see you have met Brynmor," He glances to his second-in-command, giving him a solemn nod. "and I am Offspring. There are many men, women and children here, though many are along the east side of the border as of now where the heaviest rays of sunlight are. The seasons are formidable here. Frigid, icy. There are a few caves in which you can escape the wind and snow, and there is privacy and companionship, whichever you need most of. You are welcome to stay. What is your name?"
OFFSPRING
the ice king of the tundra
Sorry for the long wait, guys!
Offy has been fickle with muse.