07-16-2017, 10:13 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Great+Vibes" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.atrani{position: relative;z-index: 3;width: 560px;box-shadow: 0 0 8px #000;background: #1B305D;padding-bottom: 4px;border: 1px solid#000;border-radius: 120px 0px 0px 0px;}.atrpic{position: relative;z-index: 5;width: 560px;border-radius: 120px 0px 0px 0px;}.atrgrad{position: relative;z-index: 7;height: 100px;margin-top: -100px;background: rgba(27,48,93,0);
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background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(27,48,93,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(27,48,93,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#1b305d', endColorstr='#1b305d', GradientType=0 );}.atrwords{position: relative;z-index: 10;font: 13px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: justify;color: #DFD3C3;padding: 10px 20px;background: #252C3F;width: 480px;border-top: 4px double#352b3b;margin-top: -15px;box-shadow: 0 0 6px #000;}.atrname{position: relative;z-index: 12;color: #fff;text-shadow: 0px 0px 6px #fff, 0 0 10px #D6A85E, 0 0 30px #fff, 0 0 50px #fff, 0 0 70px #fff;font: 30px 'Great Vibes', cursive;letter-spacing: 3px;text-align: right;padding-right: 40px;margin-top: -20px;}.atrquote{position: relative;z-index: 14;color: #C1C7BF;text-align: left;padding-left: 33px;font: 11px 'Times New Roman', serif;font-style: italic;margin-top: 4px;}.atrcredits{position: relative;z-index: 17;color: #000;font: 11px 'Times New Roman', serif;}</style><center><div class="atrani"><img class="atrpic" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b0/3d/34/b03d341a453bc269f27e608fdd5e5125.jpg"><div class="atrgrad"></div><div class="atrname">Atrani</div><div class="atrwords"><i>”Sick games,”</i> her voice is barely a whisper, gentled by the howling wind and churning waves. She speaks to no one and nothing. In this world – her world – she is eternally alone. Her head drops down, a shield facing the oncoming wind as it batters her, tumbling past the titanic mountain like a river. Atrani doesn’t know how the land maps out around her. Everything is dark just as it has always been, as it always will be.
The muscles surrounding the empty sockets twitch and follow her ears.
The wind blows and sends a chill down the length of her spine. What had once been growling behind her has since hushed, or perhaps the looming storm has simply muffled its rumbling threats.
Atrani pauses to take a breath, as shallow and insufficient as it may seem. Her altitude is increasing and the oxygen is decreasing. For a moment, while her body adjusts, she shuffles her feet in place.
In… Out… In…
Her lungs are greedy in the way they expand, but it’s never enough. It briefly reminds her of Tephra. Barely. There had been a volcano there, ominous in how it stood watch. Of course, Atrani never saw it, but somehow she felt it as she does now. There is no acrid smoke clouding the air this time so she knows that she isn’t in the home of Magnus.
Why are you here?
The voice interrupts her thoughts and she jerks her head to the left, then the right. She desperately tries to listen for the voice again, but only the howling wind pursues. There is a roll of thunder and a crackle of lightning, but still her world is dark, never to be illuminated by the storm’s flashing light. <i>”Leave the eyeless girl in a storm. How kind,”</i> again, she is muttering to herself, assuming she remains alone as always. The voice has since diminished and there isn’t an eerie feeling of eyes tracing her body. <i>”Hello?”</i> she forces herself to ask while trying to avoid sounding pitiful.
No response.
Silence.
Then thunder again.
Then the rain.
It sinks cold, wet fingers down through her coat and into her skin. Atrani shudders, confused, lost. When she breathes in, she tries desperately to sift through the scents for something – anything – familiar, but there is nothing. Everything is different and new and foreign. Is she even in Beqanna anymore? Is she asleep? Of course, she wouldn’t know since both worlds would be just as black and abysmal.
A moment of reflection funnels her attention on that voice that had crooned to her. It has only been minutes and yet seems like hours. She struggles to determine a direction from where it came. Another breath is a futile attempt for familiarity. When her ears swivel, she can hear the river to the north. She can hear the water gurgling and struggling over the rocks. No, she would fall and the water would further destroy her intent to seek out certain scents.
So she continues forward, stumbling over an occasional rock. When the path winds precariously, Atrani slows herself and inches her muzzle toward the surrounding rocks, letting her whiskers glide across the gravely surfaces before determining a place to turn. It’s rather slow work as her senses tediously rally together to navigate her along the uneven, rocky trail. Every few yards, she takes pause to breathe again and attempt to nourish her atrophied body. Her ribs protrude much like her hips, and her neck is ewed by a lack of topline. The skin is pulled taut. How she is alive, many would wonder. She is a walking skeleton with no eyes – an ugly thing, really – but she doesn’t allow her shortcomings to hinder her.
Little does she know of the advantage she has. All of her senses are more attuned to compensate for her blindness. There are others, certainly, but they are struggling in this new, dark world while Atrani just continues on as though it’s another normal day.
There is no way for her to keep track of the time passing. All she notices is how the temperature drops and the air continues to thin. It’s enough as her body doesn’t need quite as much – her muscles already malnourished and meager – and so she is able to finally ascend to what she assumes to be the peak. Is this where the voice had originated? <i>”Sick humor,”</i> her tongue licks her cracked lips as she breathes, becoming more greedy for air. She doesn’t push herself anymore. When her voice extends in all directions, she knows to stop for now and to recover. <i>”Where am I?”</i> She whispers to herself as her head tilts from one side to another, the muscles in the sockets twitching again.
</div><div class="atrquote">dove into her eyes and starved all the fears</div></div><div class="atrcredits">picture by <a href="http://www.boredpanda.com/death-like-skeleton-drawings-haenuli-shin/?utm_source=androidapp&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=androidapp">haenuli shin</a>- HTML by Call - words: ________</div></div></center>
[Image: callwolf_zpsasro4cel.png]
the mountain didn't mention creating creatures or having dragon vision, so hopefully this is ok
Atrani stumbled her way to the peak rather than go around the base.
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background: -webkit-gradient(left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%, rgba(27,48,93,0)), color-stop(100%, rgba(27,48,93,1)));background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);background: -o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(27,48,93,0) 0%, rgba(27,48,93,1) 100%);
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#1b305d', endColorstr='#1b305d', GradientType=0 );}.atrwords{position: relative;z-index: 10;font: 13px 'Times New Roman', serif;text-align: justify;color: #DFD3C3;padding: 10px 20px;background: #252C3F;width: 480px;border-top: 4px double#352b3b;margin-top: -15px;box-shadow: 0 0 6px #000;}.atrname{position: relative;z-index: 12;color: #fff;text-shadow: 0px 0px 6px #fff, 0 0 10px #D6A85E, 0 0 30px #fff, 0 0 50px #fff, 0 0 70px #fff;font: 30px 'Great Vibes', cursive;letter-spacing: 3px;text-align: right;padding-right: 40px;margin-top: -20px;}.atrquote{position: relative;z-index: 14;color: #C1C7BF;text-align: left;padding-left: 33px;font: 11px 'Times New Roman', serif;font-style: italic;margin-top: 4px;}.atrcredits{position: relative;z-index: 17;color: #000;font: 11px 'Times New Roman', serif;}</style><center><div class="atrani"><img class="atrpic" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b0/3d/34/b03d341a453bc269f27e608fdd5e5125.jpg"><div class="atrgrad"></div><div class="atrname">Atrani</div><div class="atrwords"><i>”Sick games,”</i> her voice is barely a whisper, gentled by the howling wind and churning waves. She speaks to no one and nothing. In this world – her world – she is eternally alone. Her head drops down, a shield facing the oncoming wind as it batters her, tumbling past the titanic mountain like a river. Atrani doesn’t know how the land maps out around her. Everything is dark just as it has always been, as it always will be.The muscles surrounding the empty sockets twitch and follow her ears.
The wind blows and sends a chill down the length of her spine. What had once been growling behind her has since hushed, or perhaps the looming storm has simply muffled its rumbling threats.
Atrani pauses to take a breath, as shallow and insufficient as it may seem. Her altitude is increasing and the oxygen is decreasing. For a moment, while her body adjusts, she shuffles her feet in place.
In… Out… In…
Her lungs are greedy in the way they expand, but it’s never enough. It briefly reminds her of Tephra. Barely. There had been a volcano there, ominous in how it stood watch. Of course, Atrani never saw it, but somehow she felt it as she does now. There is no acrid smoke clouding the air this time so she knows that she isn’t in the home of Magnus.
Why are you here?
The voice interrupts her thoughts and she jerks her head to the left, then the right. She desperately tries to listen for the voice again, but only the howling wind pursues. There is a roll of thunder and a crackle of lightning, but still her world is dark, never to be illuminated by the storm’s flashing light. <i>”Leave the eyeless girl in a storm. How kind,”</i> again, she is muttering to herself, assuming she remains alone as always. The voice has since diminished and there isn’t an eerie feeling of eyes tracing her body. <i>”Hello?”</i> she forces herself to ask while trying to avoid sounding pitiful.
No response.
Silence.
Then thunder again.
Then the rain.
It sinks cold, wet fingers down through her coat and into her skin. Atrani shudders, confused, lost. When she breathes in, she tries desperately to sift through the scents for something – anything – familiar, but there is nothing. Everything is different and new and foreign. Is she even in Beqanna anymore? Is she asleep? Of course, she wouldn’t know since both worlds would be just as black and abysmal.
A moment of reflection funnels her attention on that voice that had crooned to her. It has only been minutes and yet seems like hours. She struggles to determine a direction from where it came. Another breath is a futile attempt for familiarity. When her ears swivel, she can hear the river to the north. She can hear the water gurgling and struggling over the rocks. No, she would fall and the water would further destroy her intent to seek out certain scents.
So she continues forward, stumbling over an occasional rock. When the path winds precariously, Atrani slows herself and inches her muzzle toward the surrounding rocks, letting her whiskers glide across the gravely surfaces before determining a place to turn. It’s rather slow work as her senses tediously rally together to navigate her along the uneven, rocky trail. Every few yards, she takes pause to breathe again and attempt to nourish her atrophied body. Her ribs protrude much like her hips, and her neck is ewed by a lack of topline. The skin is pulled taut. How she is alive, many would wonder. She is a walking skeleton with no eyes – an ugly thing, really – but she doesn’t allow her shortcomings to hinder her.
Little does she know of the advantage she has. All of her senses are more attuned to compensate for her blindness. There are others, certainly, but they are struggling in this new, dark world while Atrani just continues on as though it’s another normal day.
There is no way for her to keep track of the time passing. All she notices is how the temperature drops and the air continues to thin. It’s enough as her body doesn’t need quite as much – her muscles already malnourished and meager – and so she is able to finally ascend to what she assumes to be the peak. Is this where the voice had originated? <i>”Sick humor,”</i> her tongue licks her cracked lips as she breathes, becoming more greedy for air. She doesn’t push herself anymore. When her voice extends in all directions, she knows to stop for now and to recover. <i>”Where am I?”</i> She whispers to herself as her head tilts from one side to another, the muscles in the sockets twitching again.
</div><div class="atrquote">dove into her eyes and starved all the fears</div></div><div class="atrcredits">picture by <a href="http://www.boredpanda.com/death-like-skeleton-drawings-haenuli-shin/?utm_source=androidapp&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=androidapp">haenuli shin</a>- HTML by Call - words: ________</div></div></center>
[Image: callwolf_zpsasro4cel.png]
the mountain didn't mention creating creatures or having dragon vision, so hopefully this is ok
Atrani stumbled her way to the peak rather than go around the base.