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.
.inglorious.
Posted on February 10, 2012 at 00:55:35 AM by Mellow

THE SUN KING
.stallion. .8 years. .red dun. . warmblood mutt. .16.1h. .vagrant.



For every mark was a story, a figment of history linked to the visible present, the kind that could not be shaken. There was the rigid gash that rode down from the corner of his socket to the very hem of his cheek, the punctures far too close to his jugular, the crescent fractures in the skin where hooves had compacted the tissues beneath - they were all there for a reason, all of which he had come to forget. Now, in that point in time, they amounted to nothing more but callous remarks of his former roughness, the being he had left behind when his memories had been swept and sentenced to oblivion. If only slightly, they were returning, buzzing here and there, rising to the forefront of his mind’s eye for a brief peek before dispersing once more. A bit ago, it had worried Mellow, made him sink into a wash of consuming concern, though such sentiment had faded, the anxiety starved without nourishment. He was simply cool and collected as he had been previously, the seemingly coy gentleman who craftily hid another side all together.

The female was an obscure haze amongst the airborne grains he stirred, her presence distanced until he ascended the bank and stood, facing westward toward the sun’s nightly bunk. Mellow stayed to himself and said not a word, a feat typical of one such a him, another trait that was deeply threaded into his personal fibers. Even as she had neared before the reflective face of the liquid body, a simple glance and nod of his expressive skull had been given, his forelock diving before his glare and decreasing its intensity. He had not expected her to stride closer still, perhaps due to the chilled element of his mannerisms. All the while, she did, the eye that faced her bringing her silhouette into focus, its depths defaced with a darkness, a wall that permitted none to pass through. In quietness, his glower surfed over her contours, running over the tint of her pelt, the mapped areas where the skin had once been torn and now repaired. The scent of the desert itself seemed to linger soulfully upon her, kneaded into her very being, as though she had resided in Salem for quite the time.

Mellow pulled his chin to the twin lumps of power upon his chest, a nod of respect and greeting, the tides of his mane rumpled upon his crest. As they stood, the solar king glinted upon the both of them, igniting the reds of his structure, the solidness of his bones and the mass of muscle that hugged each and every part. He was like fire wrapped and sowed upon a horse, the living embodiment of flame brought to life and made to stroll upon the earth. She was more of the night, the mystery that shrouded the moon and the shadows that crept over the flatness of the desert by the end of twilight. A single crimson rimmed ear swiveled upon his poll to catch her words, the question she opened with. In a blink, he rearranged his focus to the vastness that stretched out passed them, the writhes of sultry heat that pranced, the rare clusters of brush that lay in waste here and there. There was an odd type of emptiness that came with that place, a breed that existed with a soul that strangely chased his lonesome feelings into submission. Perhaps it was the sun, the manner in which it reigned above that patch of acreage on earth’s scalp; maybe it was the wind that passed infrequently, the howl of it as it melded twisters with its very presence.

He released a courteous breath and shifted if only slightly, the movements bordering on miniscule other than the consistent twitch and ripple of his skin. “I was not aware of another,” he responded, his voice a husk of reverberating brass. The stud angled his neck a bit, bringing more of his head to face her standpoint, the sunlight catching in the sienna coloring of his iris. “They are great in distance from here?” He questioned, an attempt to work himself into conversation, a labyrinth he had been wired to avoid.

M E L L O W


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