09-02-2016, 03:33 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lato|Libre+Baskerville' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.tiphonback{position: relative;z-index: 4;width: 520px;border-radius: 150px 150px 0px 0px;box-shadow: 0 0 6px #000;background: #0A111B;}.tiphonpic{position: relative;z-index: 6;border-radius: 150px 150px 0px 0px;width: 520px;}.tiphongrad{position: relative;z-index: 8;height: 110px;margin-top: -110px;background: rgba(10,17,27,0);
background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);
background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(10,17,27,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(10,17,27,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);
filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#0a111b', endColorstr='#0a111b', GradientType=0 );}.tipgrad{position: relative;z-index: 10;height: 100px;width: 480px;margin-top: -100px;background: rgba(20,49,47,0);
background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);
background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(20,49,47,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(20,49,47,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);
filter: progidXImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#14312f', endColorstr='#14312f', GradientType=0 );}.tiphonwords{position: relative;z-index: 12;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 30px;padding-bottom: 70px;text-align: justify;background: #14312F;width: 420px;}.tiphonname{position: relative;z-index: 14;color: #e6e4e7;font: 16px 'Libre Baskerville', serif;margin-top: -31px;}.tiphonquote{position: relative;z-index: 18;color: #e6e4e7;font: 10px 'Lato', sans-serif;}.tiphonlines{position: relative;z-index: 21;color: #e6e4e7;font: 10px 'Lato', sans-serif;}</style><center><div class="tiphonback"><img class="tiphonpic" src="http://i.imgur.com/teIx1oJ.jpg"><div class="tiphongrad"></div><div class="tiphonquote">BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING<BR><I>OF MOVING ON</I></div><div class="tipgrad"></div><div class="tiphonwords">There are others (of course there are) that ripple with change, their minds and souls being stripped of all they’ve known. Tiphon was aware; a tingling had creeped up his back before the world began to shift and roar. The mountains and valleys, rivers and deserts, had all disintegrated then rose from the ashes. Beqanna was being rebuilt, and Tiphon had lied there in awe as he watched the debris finally settle. Their world, the one they’ve only ever known, was reborn and it was nothing recognizable. He had hoped it was a dream and blinked away the haziness of his sleep, but nothing shifted.
The magic pooled in that mountain and it was trapped; he can sense it as he stands close to the border. It’s humming to him, crooning for him to step foot in its midst, but Tiphon hesitates. It’s as though his heart was been clawed from his chest and the blood in his body drained; he isn’t himself like this. And these wings – these God awful things – open and close questioningly as he looks over his shoulder at them. They aren’t great or resembling of himself; they are small and he questions their power, but he says nothing. The magic of their home is angry, stripping them all of what they know. A pang of worry hits him and deters him from complaining aloud in case more would be taken.
There are horses clambering up the mountainside, their shadowed figures traipsing the rocks and uneven footing. From afar Tiphon watches until his heart lurches forward and he follows in pursuit.
It’s like a veil falling across him when the magic returns. What normalcy had stricken him suddenly dissipates and his own powers immediately flood into his veins. The feeble replacement wings fall to the ground in a pile of feathers to be replaced by his own magnificent wingspan. They unfurl as though trying to reach the winter sun above before coiling back to his sides.
How funny this new world is.
He materializes in front of the first one he sees, the first one that can also feel the surge of power in his core, but he is joined by two other males. <i>”We’ve really pissed someone off,”</i> his voice is weighed by concern but somehow, despite their world flipping on itself, there is humor subtly twisted into what he says. <i>”What will the Tundra do?”</i> When he draws in a breath he can smell the permafrost, but he can also sense the Dale on his own skin. His eyes are searching before they drift to the ridge below them, contemplating what is next to happen to him, to them all. <i>”I’m Tiphon,”</i> he finally adds as an afterthought before finding the ex-King’s eyes again knowing well that magic and ranks mean nothing now.
</div><div class="tiphonname">TIPHON</div><div class="tiphonlines">STARLACE AND INFECTION</div></div></center>
background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);
background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(10,17,27,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(10,17,27,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(10,17,27,0) 0%, rgba(10,17,27,1) 100%);
filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#0a111b', endColorstr='#0a111b', GradientType=0 );}.tipgrad{position: relative;z-index: 10;height: 100px;width: 480px;margin-top: -100px;background: rgba(20,49,47,0);background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);
background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(20,49,47,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(20,49,47,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(20,49,47,0) 0%, rgba(20,49,47,1) 100%);
filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#14312f', endColorstr='#14312f', GradientType=0 );}.tiphonwords{position: relative;z-index: 12;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 30px;padding-bottom: 70px;text-align: justify;background: #14312F;width: 420px;}.tiphonname{position: relative;z-index: 14;color: #e6e4e7;font: 16px 'Libre Baskerville', serif;margin-top: -31px;}.tiphonquote{position: relative;z-index: 18;color: #e6e4e7;font: 10px 'Lato', sans-serif;}.tiphonlines{position: relative;z-index: 21;color: #e6e4e7;font: 10px 'Lato', sans-serif;}</style><center><div class="tiphonback"><img class="tiphonpic" src="http://i.imgur.com/teIx1oJ.jpg"><div class="tiphongrad"></div><div class="tiphonquote">BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING<BR><I>OF MOVING ON</I></div><div class="tipgrad"></div><div class="tiphonwords">There are others (of course there are) that ripple with change, their minds and souls being stripped of all they’ve known. Tiphon was aware; a tingling had creeped up his back before the world began to shift and roar. The mountains and valleys, rivers and deserts, had all disintegrated then rose from the ashes. Beqanna was being rebuilt, and Tiphon had lied there in awe as he watched the debris finally settle. Their world, the one they’ve only ever known, was reborn and it was nothing recognizable. He had hoped it was a dream and blinked away the haziness of his sleep, but nothing shifted. The magic pooled in that mountain and it was trapped; he can sense it as he stands close to the border. It’s humming to him, crooning for him to step foot in its midst, but Tiphon hesitates. It’s as though his heart was been clawed from his chest and the blood in his body drained; he isn’t himself like this. And these wings – these God awful things – open and close questioningly as he looks over his shoulder at them. They aren’t great or resembling of himself; they are small and he questions their power, but he says nothing. The magic of their home is angry, stripping them all of what they know. A pang of worry hits him and deters him from complaining aloud in case more would be taken.
There are horses clambering up the mountainside, their shadowed figures traipsing the rocks and uneven footing. From afar Tiphon watches until his heart lurches forward and he follows in pursuit.
It’s like a veil falling across him when the magic returns. What normalcy had stricken him suddenly dissipates and his own powers immediately flood into his veins. The feeble replacement wings fall to the ground in a pile of feathers to be replaced by his own magnificent wingspan. They unfurl as though trying to reach the winter sun above before coiling back to his sides.
How funny this new world is.
He materializes in front of the first one he sees, the first one that can also feel the surge of power in his core, but he is joined by two other males. <i>”We’ve really pissed someone off,”</i> his voice is weighed by concern but somehow, despite their world flipping on itself, there is humor subtly twisted into what he says. <i>”What will the Tundra do?”</i> When he draws in a breath he can smell the permafrost, but he can also sense the Dale on his own skin. His eyes are searching before they drift to the ridge below them, contemplating what is next to happen to him, to them all. <i>”I’m Tiphon,”</i> he finally adds as an afterthought before finding the ex-King’s eyes again knowing well that magic and ranks mean nothing now.
</div><div class="tiphonname">TIPHON</div><div class="tiphonlines">STARLACE AND INFECTION</div></div></center>