08-06-2016, 10:46 PM
YOU CAN STAND ME UP AT THE GATES OF HELL, BUT I WON'T BACK DOWN.
Sweat begins to bead heavily along his marred pelt, pooling along the slope of his broad spine and giving him little reprieve from the harsh, blinding light of the unforgiving sun. A mass of bone and sinewy muscle, he is a force to be reckoned with, but the heavy humidity of day weighs on him with a might all its own. His strong, powerful legs push him forward and soon he finds a long forgotten, but old and familiar weeping willow, its delicate draping branches caressing his damp skin as he breaches its boundary, shielding himself from the warmest part of the afternoon. His matted tresses press tightly against his massive, thick neck as he cranes to nip just beyond his shoulder, where a gnat has presumably chosen his damp flesh to rest.
Agitated, a long and weary sigh escapes the large expanse of his lungs, and his heavy lashes cover his dark red eyes as he breathes slowly, savoring the shade that soothes him now. His puckered pink scars gleam gently beneath his trickling sweat, and his tendons shift and roll beneath his dreary sable pelt. It is not often that he moves beyond the border of his dwelling, which consoles him with her icy embrace with each frost-encrusted morning, but something has drawn him out on such a moist and uncomfortable day. It is too easy to grow complacent without the occasional venture beyond one's own comfort zone, and he has overtly violated every fiber of his being by engulfing himself in such disconcerting humidity.
Soon, a hefty scent wafts and envelopes him, reminding him that though such an unpleasant day may be nearly torturous for himself, it might be alluring to another - and such is the case as his darkened gaze opens to observe another who has sought the very same refuge he has. Painted a stark gold, not too dissimilar to the wavering wheat that so tenderly lapped against his hock as he descended into the plain, with markings of coal, he is somehow familiar - and yet altogether, a stranger. He had seen many come and go in his years (having lived over a century, time is somehow lost on him at times) and he knows that it must simply in his head.
His voice crackles as it grinds against his esophogus from disuse, but amusement lines his tone. "Pleasant day, is it not? I'm afraid I am not used to such weather; humidity is not my forte." He pauses, observing the other carefully, wary of any wayward intentions. "I am Offspring. And you are?"
Agitated, a long and weary sigh escapes the large expanse of his lungs, and his heavy lashes cover his dark red eyes as he breathes slowly, savoring the shade that soothes him now. His puckered pink scars gleam gently beneath his trickling sweat, and his tendons shift and roll beneath his dreary sable pelt. It is not often that he moves beyond the border of his dwelling, which consoles him with her icy embrace with each frost-encrusted morning, but something has drawn him out on such a moist and uncomfortable day. It is too easy to grow complacent without the occasional venture beyond one's own comfort zone, and he has overtly violated every fiber of his being by engulfing himself in such disconcerting humidity.
Soon, a hefty scent wafts and envelopes him, reminding him that though such an unpleasant day may be nearly torturous for himself, it might be alluring to another - and such is the case as his darkened gaze opens to observe another who has sought the very same refuge he has. Painted a stark gold, not too dissimilar to the wavering wheat that so tenderly lapped against his hock as he descended into the plain, with markings of coal, he is somehow familiar - and yet altogether, a stranger. He had seen many come and go in his years (having lived over a century, time is somehow lost on him at times) and he knows that it must simply in his head.
His voice crackles as it grinds against his esophogus from disuse, but amusement lines his tone. "Pleasant day, is it not? I'm afraid I am not used to such weather; humidity is not my forte." He pauses, observing the other carefully, wary of any wayward intentions. "I am Offspring. And you are?"
OFFSPRING
THE FIRE AND ICE KING OF THE TUNDRA
@[magnus]