The Lost Islands
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Your King
Asmodeus
Your Queen
Nyimara
The Second
None
The Herd
Name, Name, Name
The Sub-Herd
Name, Name, Name
Allies
Name (Land)
Enemies
Solomon (Cove)
The Rules
  • There will be no fraternizing with enemies. If you put yourself knowingly in danger, don't expect a rescue.
  • We are only as strong as our weakest link. See to it that you are getting stronger in some skill that is useful, whether it is battling, recruiting, charming, etc.
  • The King and Queen have final say in all matters.
Moth wings & dusty books.
Posted on June 1, 2012 at 09:26:55 AM by sova



s o v a
She stands quietly, eyes burning into the land of flames with a sort of indifference, the unwelcoming air forcing its way down her throat and into her lungs and making her feel out of place. For the moment, it does not smell like home, even with the sand-woman and her moody male partner having welcomed the smoky black into their home and perhaps their little circle of companionship. Sova just stands aside and listens to the surf as it crashes against the sandy shore and to the gulls that cry shrilly above her head.

Ears flicking backwards for barely a moment, she hears the movement of the waves licking against the coastline, and a voice that carries almost delicately across the sea air to find Sova’s dark ears. Just as her eyes flick to the side to see who had spoken, she sees the darker mare making her way towards her, legs held high in an awkward fashion that sends water flying everywhere. Her lack of elegance in that moment brought the smallest smile to the girl’s lips.

As El Aran touches her neck, she reaches over to brush her lips casually across the retreating cheek of her (she tells herself) friend in greeting.

“No…” Sova replies wistfully, that little smile still on her face. “I looked for my father.” She wonders now, so many days and nights after that brief discussion with the man, why she had turned to the sea between the islands and made for tinuvel looking for him, and why she had needed to fill that hole in her heart or soul with just a little question for him about her mother. Her name, of course, had come into play, when he had brushed a stray hair from her face and explained her family history and how they were a dying breed. She had never met anyone in her family, outside of her parents. The idea was thrilling and concerning all the same. “I’m sorry for leaving.” She apologizes, focusing her dark eyes with the steady gaze upon El Aran’s face, assuming that she had done her and Encantador a world of wrong.

Sova Lyovna Levanevskaya, the little russian owl.
mare. smoky black. three years. mutt. Ee aa nCr. 15.1 hands.
sova: pronounced as soh-vah.
html & character by Russell


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