12-03-2019, 02:12 PM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Fredericka+the+Great|Marcellus+SC|Special+Elite|Tangerine" rel="stylesheet"><style> .castcont {position:relative;z-index:1;width:560px;border:2px solid black;padding-top:20px;background:#061212;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px black;border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;} .castquote {position:relative;z-index:2;text-align:right; font: 9px 'time new roman'; color: #f07e73;padding-bottom:20px;left:-10px;} .castmessage {position:relative; z-index:2;border-left:1px solid #f07e73;padding-right:50px;padding-left:10px;left:20px;text-align:justify;font:12px 'times new roman'; color:#AEB0AF;} .castgradient {position:relative;z-index:3;width:560;height:50px;top:20px;background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%, rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%)} .castimage {position:relative;z-index:2;width:560px;margin:-30px;} .castname {position:relative;z-index:3;color:#f07e73;font:30px 'tangerine';top:-351px;left:190px;letter-spacing:15px;text-shadow: 13px 0px 4px #AEB0AF;}</style><div class=castcont> <div class="castquote">and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left<br>a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was</div><div class="castmessage">
He doesn’t notice, not at first. With an intense, unwavering stare, Castile falls into the abysmal hole of his thoughts.
There is Straia’s voice echoing to him. It’s almost overpowering with its temptation, like a net thrown down and entrapping him. There is his family, Sochi and the children, but just out of reach. There is also Oceane and Loess in the foreground, but still, beyond his influence and standing like forbidden fruits. An attempt to call them is futile as it dies in his throat, a low gurgle before silence ensues. When he tries to walk forward, his hooves weigh as heavily as iron.
Lost in his thoughts, Castile does not feel or see the mist encompassing him. It curls against his legs sweetly at first, kissing his skin as he stands beneath the Loessian sun. Little does he even realize that his eyes have shut and all his thoughts are just a dream. It all seems so real as he peers up to watch a hawk fly overhead, and then to the right to see the familiar cliffs and rocky ledges of his kingdom. A breeze tousles his metallic locks, framing his baroque features as he stands vigilant, resigning to motionlessness. Oceane and Sochi regard him, and the children all turn and run in his direction as they call out ‘dad.’ A smile stretches across Castile’s lips, but it wavers when more faces emerge while his loved ones recede. There is Sabra and Solace, even Ciri. Mother, father. They crowd around him with hooded stares, but he cannot speak nor move.
In his sleep, Castile twitches.
The mist crawls up his body, slithering like snakes.
It hisses, translating into his dreams, before slipping into his ears and into his head, swallowing him in entirety while he slumbers.
Those around him snap and hiss, murmuring maliciously all while Castile struggles to move. Desperately, he jerks his legs in effort to elude them all, but it’s almost like tar underfoot. When his head drops, he realizes it is quicksand. Panic claws at him as he sinks down. Those surrounding him still creep nearer until they hover above him in the last seconds. Fear glazes his eyes as the quick sand finally pulls him underneath, pouring into every crevice and opening, down his throat and into his lungs.
The faces of his (mostly) past disintegrate into ashes, blowing away with a breeze with only the pit of quicksand left behind.
Seconds seem like hours and minutes seem like days.
A rumble suddenly ensues. The ground angrily quakes as Castile’s body trembles with power and growth. Spines rip through his flesh and scales tear away his skin. Why is the shift so painful this time, so awkward? Every bone snaps and screams painfully as muscles unnaturally stretch until he is as himself, a dragon, clawing from the pit and emerging from its weakening grasp. First, a claw emerges from where his face sank beneath view. His leg, then his face, neck, and other front leg. Almost as though reborn from the earth, Castile breaches and coughs up the quicksand that had poured into his mouth. Flames pursue and pierces the sapphire sky. A roar rattles through him as the remainder of his immense body climbs from the sandy, dark depths.
He expects to see Loess as he awakens, stirred alive by the nightmare.
However, when he blinks, he is surrounded by a desert. The dunes rise high, shifting with periodic heavy wings. His eyes narrow in resistance as the grains pelt his hide. A dissatisfied grumble vibrates through his core, but he is quieted by the soft voice in his head that urges him to <b>go</b>. Between his closing lashes, Castile sees the distant oasis. Without a face to the voice, Castile hesitates, but behind him the quicksand pit has grown. It warns him with a slow ripple, daring him to step back and thus lose himself in its larger, stronger grip. With a grunt, the dragon looks forward toward the oasis, taking a slow step only to find that he still sinks. The sand shifts underfoot, making a simple walk difficult and awkward. He tries again but his talons gouge the earth and create resistance. Castile pauses, his neck arching to look to his left as a low rumble – one that dwarfs his own – shatters the lonely quiet.
It's a first to see a sandstorm, to watch as it accumulates and dangerously powers toward him. A snarl curls his lips as he takes flight, pounding against the air and desperately battling gravity to ascend from a standstill. The sand, initially, is unwilling to release him, but Castile rips himself away and climbs higher, higher.
The altitude is possible and within his grasp, a norm in his everyday life as he ascends higher than the sandstorm’s reach. Wind still pommels him, wavering his balance, but he manages to avoid the suffocating storm and remain afloat until it has passed.
Once it has, Castile drifts down toward the oasis. It blocks him at first, a trespasser.
With hesitant resignation, Castile shifts back into his horse body, retracting his wings and all draconic features. Sweat and sand lather his coat, but he doesn’t move closer to the oasis despite how alluring the water is as it twinkles in the daylight. Parched, Castile swallows his own saliva as his mismatched eyes curiously observe the lush spot of oasis, fascinated that something so vibrant can survive in a world of sand.
</div> <div class="castgradient"></div> <img class="castimage" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3a/f6/0c/3af60ca3191f811e43ba97ce40851796.jpg"> <div class="castname">castile</div> </div></div></center>
Reiteration that Castile is loyal to loess
He doesn’t notice, not at first. With an intense, unwavering stare, Castile falls into the abysmal hole of his thoughts.
There is Straia’s voice echoing to him. It’s almost overpowering with its temptation, like a net thrown down and entrapping him. There is his family, Sochi and the children, but just out of reach. There is also Oceane and Loess in the foreground, but still, beyond his influence and standing like forbidden fruits. An attempt to call them is futile as it dies in his throat, a low gurgle before silence ensues. When he tries to walk forward, his hooves weigh as heavily as iron.
Lost in his thoughts, Castile does not feel or see the mist encompassing him. It curls against his legs sweetly at first, kissing his skin as he stands beneath the Loessian sun. Little does he even realize that his eyes have shut and all his thoughts are just a dream. It all seems so real as he peers up to watch a hawk fly overhead, and then to the right to see the familiar cliffs and rocky ledges of his kingdom. A breeze tousles his metallic locks, framing his baroque features as he stands vigilant, resigning to motionlessness. Oceane and Sochi regard him, and the children all turn and run in his direction as they call out ‘dad.’ A smile stretches across Castile’s lips, but it wavers when more faces emerge while his loved ones recede. There is Sabra and Solace, even Ciri. Mother, father. They crowd around him with hooded stares, but he cannot speak nor move.
In his sleep, Castile twitches.
The mist crawls up his body, slithering like snakes.
It hisses, translating into his dreams, before slipping into his ears and into his head, swallowing him in entirety while he slumbers.
Those around him snap and hiss, murmuring maliciously all while Castile struggles to move. Desperately, he jerks his legs in effort to elude them all, but it’s almost like tar underfoot. When his head drops, he realizes it is quicksand. Panic claws at him as he sinks down. Those surrounding him still creep nearer until they hover above him in the last seconds. Fear glazes his eyes as the quick sand finally pulls him underneath, pouring into every crevice and opening, down his throat and into his lungs.
The faces of his (mostly) past disintegrate into ashes, blowing away with a breeze with only the pit of quicksand left behind.
Seconds seem like hours and minutes seem like days.
A rumble suddenly ensues. The ground angrily quakes as Castile’s body trembles with power and growth. Spines rip through his flesh and scales tear away his skin. Why is the shift so painful this time, so awkward? Every bone snaps and screams painfully as muscles unnaturally stretch until he is as himself, a dragon, clawing from the pit and emerging from its weakening grasp. First, a claw emerges from where his face sank beneath view. His leg, then his face, neck, and other front leg. Almost as though reborn from the earth, Castile breaches and coughs up the quicksand that had poured into his mouth. Flames pursue and pierces the sapphire sky. A roar rattles through him as the remainder of his immense body climbs from the sandy, dark depths.
He expects to see Loess as he awakens, stirred alive by the nightmare.
However, when he blinks, he is surrounded by a desert. The dunes rise high, shifting with periodic heavy wings. His eyes narrow in resistance as the grains pelt his hide. A dissatisfied grumble vibrates through his core, but he is quieted by the soft voice in his head that urges him to <b>go</b>. Between his closing lashes, Castile sees the distant oasis. Without a face to the voice, Castile hesitates, but behind him the quicksand pit has grown. It warns him with a slow ripple, daring him to step back and thus lose himself in its larger, stronger grip. With a grunt, the dragon looks forward toward the oasis, taking a slow step only to find that he still sinks. The sand shifts underfoot, making a simple walk difficult and awkward. He tries again but his talons gouge the earth and create resistance. Castile pauses, his neck arching to look to his left as a low rumble – one that dwarfs his own – shatters the lonely quiet.
It's a first to see a sandstorm, to watch as it accumulates and dangerously powers toward him. A snarl curls his lips as he takes flight, pounding against the air and desperately battling gravity to ascend from a standstill. The sand, initially, is unwilling to release him, but Castile rips himself away and climbs higher, higher.
The altitude is possible and within his grasp, a norm in his everyday life as he ascends higher than the sandstorm’s reach. Wind still pommels him, wavering his balance, but he manages to avoid the suffocating storm and remain afloat until it has passed.
Once it has, Castile drifts down toward the oasis. It blocks him at first, a trespasser.
With hesitant resignation, Castile shifts back into his horse body, retracting his wings and all draconic features. Sweat and sand lather his coat, but he doesn’t move closer to the oasis despite how alluring the water is as it twinkles in the daylight. Parched, Castile swallows his own saliva as his mismatched eyes curiously observe the lush spot of oasis, fascinated that something so vibrant can survive in a world of sand.
</div> <div class="castgradient"></div> <img class="castimage" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3a/f6/0c/3af60ca3191f811e43ba97ce40851796.jpg"> <div class="castname">castile</div> </div></div></center>
Reiteration that Castile is loyal to loess