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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stella; YOU SHALL KNOW ME BY THE TRAIL OF BLOOD
IP: 76.233.25.82
Posted on October 12, 2013 at 01:47:44 AM by A B R A X U S


”BE VIGILANT, FOR YOUR ADVERSARY THE DEVIL,
AS A ROARING LION, WALKETH ABOUT
SEEKING WHOM HE MAY DEVOUR.”
-----------------------------------1 Peter 5:8


He lingers, the placidity of his inert figure a lesson in practiced farce, in the pervading light of the boastfully luminous moon. The falsely divine orb casts its ethereal light unto every inch of flesh and fur left exposed, lashings of the palest violet painting the leathery expanse of knotted tissue that swivels and curves serpentine lines across the majority of his tattered façade. Diamonds of reflective luminance glisten in salacious splendor from the thick, pendulous cords of saliva that dangle precariously from treacherous jaws that are never truly closed. Languidly, the slime-coated slab of his tongue emerges, caressing his jowls in a fruitless attempt to detach these sickening adornments.

And yet for all of its fabled and purported beauty, the lone vagabond does not cast his mismatched eyes skywards to gaze upon the pretentious monolith. No, this would be the very definition of frivolity; instead, a single yellowed iris flitters about smoothly in its moistened socket, peering steadily onwards. Onwards to the vast, sprawling expanse of unexplored loam that lay in such an inviting carpet before him. Others reside here, many of them. Their fragrances, each one a peculiar eau that is swiftly analyzed and categorized, saturate every corner, every sensor, of his olfactory. Innocence lying in wait, unknowing of the macabre cretin steadily encroaching upon their established utopia.

And encroach he most certainly does, drawn forth from the unknown locale from whence he had come by some titillating sense of curiosity. It curls its spindly finger to beckon him like a wanton whore might do to the lust-addled object of her attentions. It had been many a waning moon since last he had eclipsed the proverbial doorstep of Moladion with the murk of his shadow, and apparently much had transpired in his absence. The scenery he had remembered so vividly remained no longer, having been erased by the forceful hand of Mother Nature herself. And yet still his curiosity for this transformation lingered, propelling him forth upon heavily muscled legs, his trajectory ascertained… his intentions unclear.

ABRAXUS

.SIXTEEN.MALE.VAGABOND.



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