Post by tempest on Jan 6, 2008 22:25:55 GMT -5
[shadow=gray,left,300]No-one knows what it's like[/shadow]
[glow=black,2,300]
The sky hung above in it's pale vastness. The sun, appearing to be a timid sphere as of today, hid behind masses of thick, grayed clouds. Dispite it having been like this for quite awhile, no rain fell to the awaiting earth. Threw the liquid orbs of the raven beast, the land beholded beauty. Washing over its plains, no other equine's dwelled. No hoove marks cursed the soil and the lush greenery was uncropped. Winds disturbed a sleeping lake, whose dephs were undefined. In it's once unbroken mirror, the reflection of a towering being glimmered. Thick, sharp daggers rested on the brown, uninviting dirt alongside the refreshing aqua source. Feathers of raven trailing up strong, thick pinions were dancing in the wisps of whispering wind. Auditories swiveled absentmindidly, the soft swish of the canopy provided by unmoving trees taken in without alert. Elastic muscles stretched beneath the dark ebony cloak of the stallion in abundance nut he carried no useless wieght for his heavy build. Unlike most drafts kin, Destrier held nothing that hindered a flying gallop or quick deathblow. Agile and indifferent like a creeping shadow, he was bred to be used as a warhorse. Ah, such a nobility, was it not, to be one who saw the battles of many, the crimsom of enemies, and allies alike?
What brought the silent creature to uninhabited land, anyway? Was he not content in roaming amongst the dark equine, who was much like himself? Crimped, silken tassles swept his soft neck and his nostrils, just large enough for unsurpassed circulation, flared. Breath fogged on the thickening air, and as if on command rain began to fall from the sky gently. Destrier's heart felt like the rain, falling. It was, afterall, much like the stormy sky; vast, indifferent, questionable and...gray. He really wasn't black or white at soul, so he held no place with the dark or light lands. As he stood, becoming drenched in the growing downpour, Destrier relized he was only at home in a grayscale.
Perhaps it was this that caused him to look outward on this place in another way. Unlike most stallions, Destrier did not rear and billow as he thought and resolved. Actually only with a soft, ghostly snort, he claimed the terra. My home is GrayScale.
[/glow]
[/size][/center]The sky hung above in it's pale vastness. The sun, appearing to be a timid sphere as of today, hid behind masses of thick, grayed clouds. Dispite it having been like this for quite awhile, no rain fell to the awaiting earth. Threw the liquid orbs of the raven beast, the land beholded beauty. Washing over its plains, no other equine's dwelled. No hoove marks cursed the soil and the lush greenery was uncropped. Winds disturbed a sleeping lake, whose dephs were undefined. In it's once unbroken mirror, the reflection of a towering being glimmered. Thick, sharp daggers rested on the brown, uninviting dirt alongside the refreshing aqua source. Feathers of raven trailing up strong, thick pinions were dancing in the wisps of whispering wind. Auditories swiveled absentmindidly, the soft swish of the canopy provided by unmoving trees taken in without alert. Elastic muscles stretched beneath the dark ebony cloak of the stallion in abundance nut he carried no useless wieght for his heavy build. Unlike most drafts kin, Destrier held nothing that hindered a flying gallop or quick deathblow. Agile and indifferent like a creeping shadow, he was bred to be used as a warhorse. Ah, such a nobility, was it not, to be one who saw the battles of many, the crimsom of enemies, and allies alike?
What brought the silent creature to uninhabited land, anyway? Was he not content in roaming amongst the dark equine, who was much like himself? Crimped, silken tassles swept his soft neck and his nostrils, just large enough for unsurpassed circulation, flared. Breath fogged on the thickening air, and as if on command rain began to fall from the sky gently. Destrier's heart felt like the rain, falling. It was, afterall, much like the stormy sky; vast, indifferent, questionable and...gray. He really wasn't black or white at soul, so he held no place with the dark or light lands. As he stood, becoming drenched in the growing downpour, Destrier relized he was only at home in a grayscale.
Perhaps it was this that caused him to look outward on this place in another way. Unlike most stallions, Destrier did not rear and billow as he thought and resolved. Actually only with a soft, ghostly snort, he claimed the terra. My home is GrayScale.
[/glow]
[shadow=gray,left,300]to be[/shadow]
[shadow=red,left,300]hated[/shadow]
