Misty Mountain is opposite of Rainbow Cliff. Mists hover year-round at this high altitude, mistaken by some to be thin clouds. Thin layers of snow cover the mountain, making some areas slippery and hazardous.
Some think it romantic, a place to bring their mates, while others come to play and romp. However, all must agree that there is some level of mystery and spookiness hovering about with the mists...
IP: 24.96.175.152
Posted on March 27, 2016 at 03:04:34 PM by alaska
cause they know, i know __________________________________________ Soft ripples of wintry air broke across glacial furs, neither occupant seeming to feel the chill of the mountains grasp. And should they have felt even icy tendrils of death taking a hold of their hearts, neither would have allowed themselves to fracture in its grip. The onyx jeweled queen, felt a baleful solitude amongst the castles of stone and precariously balanced crystals. There was an air of nostalgia that had accompanied her alabaster regale, but it was a fractured presence like the company she was entertaining herself with. The tundra King’s crown was not adorned with false notions and pompous arrogance, no, it was a testament to himself and all he had fought to achieve in his life. The glittering jewels that had long sat atop a newly christened boy, had slowly slipped from the embellished halo. Their clarity was slowly lost, the icy crystals had slowly transformed into hard worn armor slicing across the ageless ruler’s façade. And to match the obscurity that resided within him, the clear glass slowly bled black, forever marring the still handsome mask that he would forever be remembered for. This was Kershov—Czar of the ruthless, lethal, and loyal—the Tundra. Sylvan optic sliced towards the King, scouring with a mere glance. Smooth scales flared for only a second, the little snowbird felt her heart flutter with a refined curiosity and flared wariness. An then obscurity washed over them. A wave of pallid flakes flowed over them and the shadow Queen relished the numbing chill that settled over her. A cape of glittering crystals rested over her nape and showered the expanse of her back, draping gently over her plush coat. In the few moments of murky vision the lady tilted back her crown, throwing back the crown of white that had settled atop her onyx tiara. The crook of a smirk vanished into a sly smile, but as the snow fell back to the earth she too returned back to the precipice, her facial expression having transformed back into the smirk she wore so well. The gales of frigidity slowly dissipated and left her in the presence of the basilisk once more. The liquid depths of his dark voice settling over her once more, You’re right, Alaska. ‘Home’ is such a trite word. Perhaps ‘warzone’ would be more appropriate? Purgatory? It’s difficult to think of a term to apply to a place that simultaneously fills one with dread and nostalgia. So it was not only Alaska who felt the tug of nostalgia. It was almost endearing, but the ice laden queen would not let herself settle into the comfort of his obsidian gaze. And had she fallen into the cold embrace that awaited her, his words might have spurred an equally heartfelt response, but instead the woman felt an icy spark. He missed it. Alaska felt the taught pull of her rose lips soften. A small, private smile tugged at her lips. Pallid lids dropped over her gaze, closing the gates of the shadow Czarina’s heart. She would not, she could not let herself fall into the lethal grip of the tundran basilisk. The glacial dragon would have crushed the lady. Alaska would have been as good as dead. Glittering emeralds hid, a gaze a reminiscing gaze flitting across her features, barely visible even to trained eyes. It was impossible not to fall into the abyss of memories, Things are simpler when everything is life or death. . . an eminent sense of dread settled over Alaska. . . or black and white. malachite stones snapped open with ferocity to match the tempest that whipped around them. And even through the haze the czarina saw the shift of her opponent. Her challenger. Her Czar. Alaska watched his chilled embrace shatter. Melanoid voids replaced Kershov’s clear, ebony optic. And it was then that she realized the armor Kershov had bore so proudly was the very object that had slowly cut through to the heart of him, releasing the monster that resided within the depths of his soul. The eerily familiar smile that teased his façade, sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Very few soldiers succumbed to this horror, but those who did, Alaska realized with dread, rarely lived to tell the story. But the lethality of Kershov’s serpentine purr said that this was not the first time, it was only one of many. And this realization cracked the thin shell of security she had formed, Alaska was not stupid she stood no chance against the fallen ruler. She was a shaman in truth, but she knew her way around the battle field. She hadn’t survived the Tundra on dumb luck. Alaska had fought most of her life and she wouldn’t lay down her life at the paws of this leviathan, not until her last breath. With a clear conscious and sharp, hardened emerald gaze Alaska watched as the dragon lunged for her, the silence of mountaintop broken by nothing. Not even a scream. She would not give the pleasure of her pain to Kershov’s hellion. Knives raked into her scruff and the czarina felt the tear of her crystalline cape. The expanse of snow that had covered her nape would be burning the throat of the snake with icy needles, but she would not rely on this to hinder him in even the slightest bit. With a contraction of muscles Alaska shoved herself against the monster trying to lessen the impact of his frame as they collided, she knew without a doubt this would not keep her from the cliff edge. She had been far too close even in the beginning, she had tempted death. And as she tumbled over the edge she threw her own ivory knives into his neck. Alaska wanted the lusus naturae to suffer and she would see to it, but first she had to survive Kershov’s purgatorial demons. Emerald optics watched as time suspended into an eternal stillness. Their figures tangled into a lover’s embrace, but a war raged between them. The chasm of obscurity swallowed them, hiding them from their salvation. And in an effort to live through this hellish nightmare she clawed her way into Kershov’s shattered embrace. Her forelimbs wrapped around his neck and claws ripped into the cavity between his shoulders, trying to purchase any sort of grasp. Her rear claws found only air as she pawed, and she could only wonder how this would end. Would she survive long enough to watch the last gleam of light leave the Czar’s obsidian gaze? Or would his monster delight himself in watching the last shred of her soul escape into the frigid atmosphere? But neither of things occurred as the ground slammed up under them. Only seconds had passed but eternity had swallowed the pair, the spikes of adrenaline slowied the oncoming threat. But the clarity of her vision cracked as she felt the explosion of the ground under Kershov, her bodice slamming against his knocking the wind from her lungs. And the involuntary cry of agony that left her maw broke the booming echo of their collision and the grip she held along his neck and back. Alaska sucked in a breath of air. The gears of her mind started to turn once more. She pushed her claws against him and pushed away, but she rolled only as far as his grip on her scruff would allow before she went limp, playing dead like this was some game. And it was the farthest thing from it. She felt the beat of her heart threatening to break through her ribs. Alaska was in the grips of Kershov’s monster and she felt almost helpless until her emerald gaze fell over the one plant she would know from anywhere. Poppy. In small doses the seeds could have induced a peaceful sleep; she had on many occasions had to feed it to soldiers whose nightmares kept them from rest. But it was an opiate, and if taken in large enough quantities it would put a wolf into a comatose state, bordering on overdose. Alaska reached out to the bundle of flowers, her claws gripped them with practiced accuracy and pulled them close to her bodice and with a fluid motion she rolled back into the basilisk’s arms. The stench of blood masked the quarreling lovers and her lethal intent. With a swipe of her paw the czarina clasped the flowers like a bouquet and shoved them down his throat. Malachite stones watched with cold malice, You will regret the day you fell upon this earth. Her delicate smirk was replaced with a bone chilling smile, her own sickness rising to the surface as she shoved the bouquet farther down his throat. What a beautiful death. . . __________________________________________ that they don’t look like me ~ Alaska ~ Adult ~ Femme ~ |
Replies:
- THE MAD KING - By KERSHOV April 17, 2016 at 04:53:11 AM
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