He rides his horse with confidence, positioned by practicality not pride. His eyes look ahead, glance aside, thoughts rolling through his mind with intelligence. The armor he wears is clean, gleaming, strong. Not lavish, but beautiful in it's own. At his side rests a large, sheathed sword, never used in battle but lethal in all right. His skills are practiced and mastered, blood and sweat fuel the fight. His horse maintains a steady trot, he remains balanced and assured. Off to the country he goes, a young man on the outside, a wise man inside. He rides along a curving trail, covered in bone and rock. Fear has lived here for as long as time, and few ventured along this path. The horse, black as onyx, walked on, delicately aware of the danger. A light breeze, subtly tinted with the smell of death spread quickly behind the young man. This darkness flows, rolling like smoke from the forest beside him, daring to swallow him hole. Eyes like black holes sit on a face covered in thick, tangled silvery coal fur. Talon-like fangs protrude from a muzzle that is monstrous and long with a fox-like shape. The creature is massive, rotting, and hateful.
TheTyro · Wed Nov 01, 2006 @ 09:44pm · 1 Comments |