NEVER BEEN THE BEST ABOUT IT → aesior

[Grimm]

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ultimum eques
the golden eyes
stoneguard
albino oriental
tags

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[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #664b4a; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]NEVER GETS ANY BETTER, ONLY GETS WORSE

There is no silence where loose formation disturbs smooth plateau, high and plaintive the cry, an undercurrent elsewhere grown a roiling pitch demanding it be known. Attention he would not give it, allowed the harsh current to pass though the drag of it through exposed fur ached, a mark left, burning reddened skin exposed. An idiot was he for traversing the peaks, allowing his steps to draw him where the land wished him to be, thoughts an entanglement barely organised when the realisation arose. His departure should have been imminent upon arrival, the altitude felt in each breath, held for a moment too long, a dull sensation accompanying the rest.

One could deem Vincent intelligent within some fashions, sly and receptive the mind honed into but another weapon in his arsenal, common sense was decided in rather short supply.

No reason did he bear to linger here with the high keen of the wind dulling all else, a boon made a despised disadvantage for time and damage had weakened his hearing, lacking external ears to assist in blocking it out this the best he could wish for. Except he did, though the words were locked behind his lips, held there as he studied the surrounding landscape. Simple it, barren in a way little else was though the rocky expanse did not take well to growth, no cracks allowing wanton flora to take even a meagre hold. Plain it, in truth, except for the ring that acted as central fixture.

Closer he stepped, unwavering as broken the barrier, within that formation drawing to a halt. Not expected anything, be it of ordinary or unnatural means, to signify he intruded upon sacred ground, still the sting of disappointment was present. Foolish it, as was the idea anything of such calibre may have deemed so simple a fragment of land as worth protection, aside brushed without further rumination. To dwell was a waste, the moments trickling past without meaning, purpose striped back until it could hold nothing. So what of him, the soldier that had lost it all, nothing but an empty vessel worn down and awaiting the tiny crack that would shatter him.

Languid steps, central position taken. For this he was made, smooth the movement, practiced draw, metal lightly scraping against leather. It is not perfect, however, muscle protesting, taunt drawn in a twinge of pain that tightens his jaw, hilt incapable of muffling his groan. Too long forgone an action once simple, neck twisting back and forth in a bid to relieve himself of the lingering ache. It seemed insistent on lingering, however, and acted as a slight against him. Wasting the time used on the traversal to the Circle unthinkable, aside pushed the dull nuisance in favour of continuing.

Clumsy the first twist, neck craning, paws rising. Against stone metal clattered, hushed words spoken beneath his breath. After it he followed, hesitation to take the dagger up once more halted him before it, annoyance briefly arising, washed away beneath acceptance. He no longer was fit for such work, his body protesting as he lifted the blade, uncomfortable the now unfamiliar weight between his teeth. There was nothing else for him, the fragmented pieces of what he had once been all he had left and thus together would he piece them, a poor facsimile better than nothing.


[member=17246]aesior[/member]

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© MADI

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go

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Aggressive as wind that whistled through mountain peaks and passes, would the distance and mutilated sounds of stone and metal's collision whip past ears of the mute who dared to search for herbs upon windswept cliffside. A breath would leave him, ears flattening as he thought, gale snatching temperate exhale. Listening as he leaned against sun-warmed stone to rest joints that demanded a break in his hazardous clamber for sprigs and sprouts. Upon his ears would once again fall the earlier sound, the wind bringing it a bit more clearly. He knew this sound, he knew it well just as he knew the ring of his hammer upon anvil and all matters of metal.

Descending slowly with few roots within his maw, deposited within the satchel resting against the foot of the cliffside he had scaled. Perhaps he was most suited for this sort of thing with nimble and thin limbs that allowed him to reach places others couldn't without use of some element or wing. Pushing his head through the loop of leather held up by paw, ears springing up in sheltered crack of his space, leather satchel resting between rib and hip. Light his meals as if his body couldn't keep down much food - he couldn't bring himself to stomach everything he forced himself to eat and the recent bout of drinking he'd committed himself to wasn't aiding him in feats of feeding. Shaking his head as he set out, tail flicking behind himself. Who was it that knew a way around a blade?

Paws scaling towards the Circle, would appear cranium over crest, curiousity burdening as discovered came the albino to his gaze. Exhale of breath as he watched for a good portion of time to get a better understanding of the situation before him. Brief the pause as he twisted to check his satchel, heavy the weight of steel within the bottom. This dagger was within itself a crux and a curse, a weight to carry of the past and all of its entanglements within the present. This itself a marking of his servitude to a figure of death, one he still cherished and though sparse its use in these days, he still held it dear. Withdrawing it, he would pad forward with its heavy weight balanced unevenly within his own maw, looking to vincent as he padded close enough to hope the other would catch his scent. He was curious, and wanted to see what he was doing exactly, and had intentions of warming up himself as it had been years since he'd last seen use of it.

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✯ — MALE. THE GOLDEN EYE. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY. REF. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psychosocial.