Your King Asmodeus | ||
Your Queen | ||
The Second None | ||
The Herd Name, Name, Name | The Sub-Herd Name, Name, Name | |
Allies Name (Land) | Enemies Solomon (Cove) | |
The Rules
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Posted on February 12, 2012 at 07:22:28 PM by Mellow
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THE SUN KING .stallion. .8 years. .red dun. . warmblood mutt. .16.1h. .vagrant. There was difference to be had, in the factual matters of those who strove for lonesome and those who were simply quieter than others. Mellow preferred the drawn silence that came with nature itself; in that case, the howl of the infrequent desert wind and the far off detail of reptilian movement. Words held not an ounce of weight in most cases, they were a simplex of connected syllables and threaded tones of voice; the vows and promises in which they stood for easily slashed and broken. He was not one for conversation, his position in communication more of illustration, more of showing rather than telling, something most creatures could not wrap their animalistic minds around. Survival did not involve small talk, it did not entail jovial exchanges of consonances and vowels. Due to the fact he came off as tightlipped, did that make him inept at being apart of something? Was his ability of being stable, of working alongside another and of caring his fellows not enough? He had run two herds prior to residing there, existed as a lead stallion surrounded by bands of mares and their offspring; he was aware of what it was to live, to thrive and battle the trials of mother nature’s creativity. Beyond that, Encantador was no fool. Mellow was as he was, the same as when he had met Encantador, the same as he responded to this dusky female. If he had found fault in the sunstone stud’s mannerisms he certainly would have deemed him unequipped to obtain a position beneath his own stature. Cold he was not, simply complacent on the outside, made to seem as if he was absent, when he was in truth, very much present. It was a trap most came to befell many a time before they came to realize what ladled beneath; when they came to notice the sweep of intelligence in the calm of his eyes and the mannered fire that rang in his pupils. There was a reason as to why he had survived as he had, against the harsh turn fate had played against him. In essence, Mellow was the exact paradigm of the pivotal saying: don’t judge a book by its cover; to do so was meagerly asinine. “Such information is greatly appreciated,” he returned, his façade pinned to her own, his glare never shifting. About his hooves, his shadow started its return, gaining in silhouette as the sun crossed its kingly threshold and time passed. Against his run, minimal sweat had pooled upon him, the exercised athleticism built over his large bone structure granting him the ability to smoothly complete such feat. Even in the glower of the solar king, the male only seemed to gleam, the slight perspiration upon his form adding an extra gloss to the golden sheen that surfaced about his beefy contours. He wicked his tail to and fro over his hindquarters, grating the defaced ends against his ribs, the breeze of it skirting against the roots of his coat hairs. He observed her shift, her glare turning back to the chapped roll of acreage that surrounded them, the blessed patch of the world that did not go long without the sun. Mellow himself exchanged feet, planting his heel back to the ground and lifting its opposite to its toe, his tissues swamped in relaxation. He basked in the momentary silence that came to be, the wordlessness that passed between them until the mare spoke once more, his single censor never leaving her position. He netted her tone and funneled it down into his brain, his mind tasting and analyzing. Lightly, he stretched his neck out, extending it to cast a gleam on the incandescent marks over his flesh, the old lacerations and punctures. A placid grin upturned one corner of his fleshy lips, a lazy tomcat shift and figure in his face. “Fresh to this breed of territory, no,” he responded, the eye planted in her direction searching her façade. “Novel to the islands, yes.” His hormonally thickened neck returned to its original place, geared in keel to his withers. He wondered if she had not scented the unknown aromas that clung to his pelt, if she did not see the odd red clay that dyed his hooves and turned them crimson. In any case, he stood there gentlemanly, awaiting her return of words. M E L L O W |
Replies:
- The devil is in the details - By El Aran February 18, 2012 at 04:35:15 PM
- .inglorious. - By Mellow February 25, 2012 at 09:31:08 AM
- The devil is in the details - By El Aran March 4, 2012 at 04:38:26 PM
- x - By Shiva March 5, 2012 at 07:58:47 PM
- The devil is in the details - By El Aran March 4, 2012 at 04:38:26 PM
- .inglorious. - By Mellow February 25, 2012 at 09:31:08 AM
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