Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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so deliver me from this
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restless: i found your weakness


Subtle, that little movement, but interesting - a wince, a pang of pain so small that it would have otherwise gone unnoticed had she not been so intently watching. It brought a small smile to her features - it was good to know that pain still resided in others. Hers had been drowned out by her own self destruction but what of his? It still lingered - it still found ways to crawl out of him when he least expected it. Yes, it was pleasant but she best not dwell on such things - her own sadness crept up in those thoughts, a sadness that manifested itself with the gnashing of fangs and loss of control. She chuckled lightly at his words, shifting just a few inches closer and raising a brow in jest - the world should have imploded, huh? Guess he'd missed the memo - the giant hole in the earth.

"Oh but it did! Hundreds of us died when the weight of the fools caused the ground beneath us to collapse," she breathed, her laughter soon rising once more before dying off just as fast, "Or was it the star falling that did it? Hm, an interesting though that one is."

It was nice at least to have the company of somebody else other than the same wolves she had seen day in and day out for years now. Her Fatality, her precious garden maiden, had disappeared and left a rather large void - dare she say, she felt a part of her missing... a friend missing. Now she'd hardly ever been the one for friends; look at how that had fared with Heyel! Once budding companions, they now could not find a way to stand eye to eye. The closest she'd gotten since Fatality had been, well, nobody. Nobody attracted her, interested her or even challenged her to do anything more than yawn and dawdle away. Maybe her luck had changed though. She would not admit it but he was keeping her quite satisfied as far as company went; not nearly as daft as so many others and oh, those eyes. They were peculiar enough to keep her around for hours. Sure she was loyal to her mate and all but... who said she couldn't have a little look? He was tall but a little on the skinny side, shame that. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd fatten him up a little with a good meal.

His voice once more, her ears fluttered towards it and her head once more turned just that little bit to face him - it tilted on its axis, staring over her shoulder slightly with a devious smirk. He spoke of his eyes and a brow rose up once more, half amused by the short tale he told - accident? Genetic mishaps were hardly accidents so to say but who was she to say that? For all she knew, perhaps one day she could end up with white functioning eyes. Perhaps she'd talk to Seren about it - she was sure the girl would love to find Ruvindra a nice pair of white eyes (so long as they weren't Paldor's, of course.) She remained silent on the matter until his voice fell flat - she laughed, airy and girlish before her own features and voice fell just as empty.

"You could try to kill me, at least," she responded, naught a sign of jest as she locked onto his gaze pointedly. It lasted but a brief moment before she shrugged it off, her tail thumping slowly as she looked once more out over the lanscape. Slowly but surely, that persistent little grin made its way back over her features as her eyes slowly narrowed in a similiar fashion. Thought she had forgotten, no? Sadly, Ruvindra seldom forgot. It was a trait that had driven her to brink of madness a number of times - a trait that often lead her to coil up in rage even in her youth. Misdemeanours were not forgotten and neither was the fact that her white-eyed lily had neglected to give him her name.

"I still haven't gotten your name, stranger," she grinned, her gaze remaining fixated elsewhere, "A name is much more than simply a method to keep count as you say; it can be a deathwish, a symbol of faith and trust to others. Never underestimate how important such a small thing can be."



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