10-29-2016, 11:34 AM
He is not God's perfect creature. He was a product of creation from a monstrous horse and some sort of magic that was beyond his comprehension. A blood offering with the devil in return for a punching bag, a chew toy. At one point, not long ago, Beqanna's own blessing vibrated through his veins and engulfed his very being. He could change, morph, be who ever he wanted at a whim. Wings had spread thickly in coarse black feathers to blot out the sky. Lior had been powerful, wild.
But then the Reckoning had happened.
Gone were his abilities, the wings, the callous hatred for all things. In it's place stood a simple man, naked and vulnerable...but truly free.
Gray eyes had fallen upon her long before she sensed him. When Lior no longer relied on the magic, his senses became sharper, clearer. The large black stallion stands amongst the dense thickets of thorns and dying foliage with no inclination of emotion. The mare, teetering on the edge of a frightful collapse, moves passed him with the audible 'crunch-crunch' of brown dry leaves. He is not one to bother with others, preferring a life of solitude. He notes the way her moves, the hesitant steps, the dilation of seeking nostrils, the carefully placed heather green wings. For a moment, Lior feels a tiny pang of jealousy before it is banished by the idea of Gunsynd...his maker.
The stallion prefers to only move from his rooted place when he can feel the static of her fear growing. One large feathered hoof finally draws him towards her, coming from his place of seclusion. He emerges with a small grunt as he eyes her carefully, swallowing the blue of her irises with his own gray reflections. "I am." One would never considered Lior a stunning or enthusiastic linguist for he spared no words for sheer conversation in effort to thrust aside the comfortable silence that he has learned to adore. Every syllables tip toes from his tongue strategically while the steel of his gaze fixates on her softer form.
He does not smile to ease electricity that practically pops in the atmosphere around them but instead, Lior allows it to hang between them. Long lashes fall over the darkness of his eyes in a slow blink. Inhale. Exhale. "Lior." He offers his name calmly as it seemed the right thing to do. A moment passes as he notices the freckles that scatter over her feminine features like constellations and Lior can feel a small tug on his lips absentmindedly in response to this small realization
But then the Reckoning had happened.
Gone were his abilities, the wings, the callous hatred for all things. In it's place stood a simple man, naked and vulnerable...but truly free.
Gray eyes had fallen upon her long before she sensed him. When Lior no longer relied on the magic, his senses became sharper, clearer. The large black stallion stands amongst the dense thickets of thorns and dying foliage with no inclination of emotion. The mare, teetering on the edge of a frightful collapse, moves passed him with the audible 'crunch-crunch' of brown dry leaves. He is not one to bother with others, preferring a life of solitude. He notes the way her moves, the hesitant steps, the dilation of seeking nostrils, the carefully placed heather green wings. For a moment, Lior feels a tiny pang of jealousy before it is banished by the idea of Gunsynd...his maker.
The stallion prefers to only move from his rooted place when he can feel the static of her fear growing. One large feathered hoof finally draws him towards her, coming from his place of seclusion. He emerges with a small grunt as he eyes her carefully, swallowing the blue of her irises with his own gray reflections. "I am." One would never considered Lior a stunning or enthusiastic linguist for he spared no words for sheer conversation in effort to thrust aside the comfortable silence that he has learned to adore. Every syllables tip toes from his tongue strategically while the steel of his gaze fixates on her softer form.
He does not smile to ease electricity that practically pops in the atmosphere around them but instead, Lior allows it to hang between them. Long lashes fall over the darkness of his eyes in a slow blink. Inhale. Exhale. "Lior." He offers his name calmly as it seemed the right thing to do. A moment passes as he notices the freckles that scatter over her feminine features like constellations and Lior can feel a small tug on his lips absentmindedly in response to this small realization