Post by Sitka on Apr 24, 2007 17:38:48 GMT -5
Yes I do play on another RPG and it is most likely you guys won't get to actually meet Dart But I was always proud of this particular post opening and I would like to share it with you.
Crits are welcome if you feel up to it.
Enter the Cidatel:
Icy orbs flashed at the sound of a carrion bird. Calling to it's brethren, the call had echoed in the still air, but the brute had ignored it. The varg with his many dark hues sighed and proceeded to gather up the piglet. He had killed a wild sow's young and had one left. With the intentions of carrying the prize back to his lands to bury it for another day. But the voices had stopped him. This is why he could never walk the path of the baklar, the brute was a beast of light.
He trotted forcefully knocking brambles and brush aside as they clung to his dark coat. His prize still hanging limp in his jaws. The dragga came to a halt at the sight of a battered citadel. Orbs of azure narrowed with recognition. The legends that surrounded this place were not happy ones. The brute dropped the piglet and stepped closer. Watching the stone monuments as if expecting them to leap out at him.
Leaving his kill, The Mann strode closer. Scenting the ground every now and then. And as his paws came to rest upon the ledge a fierce wind assaulted his muzzle carrying the stench of stale death. He judged the abyss, it was too far to leap across. knowing eyes scanned the edges of the rift, for an answer. And lo, there to the right was a pillar. It touched the lip of the cliff and slid to an angle to the bottom and a number of strides beyond that was another reaching to the far side of the cravas. But he would have to go to the bottom and cross, then scale up the other pillar. ~Not a problem~ he thought to himself. For he was a cliff dweller and this his forte'.
The dead piglet lay on the earth as he turned and sprinted toward the first pillar. His pistons eating the ground in powerful bounds. His pack was known for speed and cunning, and the benefit of agility from living among the cliffs. The male slid to a halt spreading gravel as he stopped beside the pillar head. The decent looked dangerous but this did not stop him. With coiled strength The Dragga launched his frame into the air landing squarely on the smooth surface. He turned to face the drop.
Expertly he started to move down the pillar, slipping at unexpected moments. But never loosing his grip. His furred flag swayed out to act as a balance swinging opposite to his body. A growl escaped his jaws as he slid again and his paw jammed against a crag. The angle he descended at threatened to throw his hind quarters over his head, and at times he scooted sideways down the slope of the pillar. Half way to the bottom he heard a scream. His head tilted to the sky to see a flying putnar watching his progress.
Taking no heed of the bird he continued to skid and slink to the bottom. At the end he found himself a good deal above the ground and that he would have to leap down. Picking the safest place He jumped from the pillar landing softly upon the earth. The dragga grinned at the other pillar, "This will be fun"
He took it at a run throwing his weight into his speed to get his body atop the end of the pillar. Had he taken the time he would have noticed the rubble at both pillars and would have never need jump either structure. But here he did jump and found purchase. Shaking his coat in relief he grinned again pleased with himself.
The Brute tilted his head and his eyes drank deep in the view. The climb ahead was not much of a challenge. This pillar was at a much gentler angle. Paw after paw the varg walked to the top. Stopping once to take in the scene layed out before him. Long ago something happened here and this place haunts the legends told by varg for centuries. Shaking his head with a snort he continued. Leaping to the ground at the top.
Before him lay the citadel a slight incline to it's entrance. The scent of man had long left this place. Though all lera knew it was created by them. ~Ah those wonderful poseable thumbs~ he thought to himself as he walked up the incline. His head tilted back as he inspected the archway. He brought his attention back to the task at hand and gasped as he saw the statue of the she wolf. What a monstrous concept, humans suckeling a Varg. He had heard about the statue but had never believed it was true. And here it was plain as day before him. The varg turned to view the altar, the place of sacrifice. The place where morgra tried to summon the man-varg.
She was truly a crazy bitch if what the legends say were true. He approached it scrutinizing the thing with cynical eyes. The brute leaped atop the alter and sniffed. To him it seemed to be just cold stone and nothing more. Lifting his crest he focused his icy orbs on the rift below and then on the vale beyond. This place had a sterile feel about it. As if it were barren. Pure stone and nothing more. As he stood another gail of wind burst into his muzzle threating to push him backwards off the altar.
In defiance to the wind Dartanyon lifted his throat to the sky and poured forth a powerful mascu howl. The sound cascaded over the fissure and down into the dark crevasses, it carried to the skies to the wings of the flying putnar and continued still over the wood and through the land. ............
Crits are welcome if you feel up to it.
Enter the Cidatel:
Icy orbs flashed at the sound of a carrion bird. Calling to it's brethren, the call had echoed in the still air, but the brute had ignored it. The varg with his many dark hues sighed and proceeded to gather up the piglet. He had killed a wild sow's young and had one left. With the intentions of carrying the prize back to his lands to bury it for another day. But the voices had stopped him. This is why he could never walk the path of the baklar, the brute was a beast of light.
He trotted forcefully knocking brambles and brush aside as they clung to his dark coat. His prize still hanging limp in his jaws. The dragga came to a halt at the sight of a battered citadel. Orbs of azure narrowed with recognition. The legends that surrounded this place were not happy ones. The brute dropped the piglet and stepped closer. Watching the stone monuments as if expecting them to leap out at him.
Leaving his kill, The Mann strode closer. Scenting the ground every now and then. And as his paws came to rest upon the ledge a fierce wind assaulted his muzzle carrying the stench of stale death. He judged the abyss, it was too far to leap across. knowing eyes scanned the edges of the rift, for an answer. And lo, there to the right was a pillar. It touched the lip of the cliff and slid to an angle to the bottom and a number of strides beyond that was another reaching to the far side of the cravas. But he would have to go to the bottom and cross, then scale up the other pillar. ~Not a problem~ he thought to himself. For he was a cliff dweller and this his forte'.
The dead piglet lay on the earth as he turned and sprinted toward the first pillar. His pistons eating the ground in powerful bounds. His pack was known for speed and cunning, and the benefit of agility from living among the cliffs. The male slid to a halt spreading gravel as he stopped beside the pillar head. The decent looked dangerous but this did not stop him. With coiled strength The Dragga launched his frame into the air landing squarely on the smooth surface. He turned to face the drop.
Expertly he started to move down the pillar, slipping at unexpected moments. But never loosing his grip. His furred flag swayed out to act as a balance swinging opposite to his body. A growl escaped his jaws as he slid again and his paw jammed against a crag. The angle he descended at threatened to throw his hind quarters over his head, and at times he scooted sideways down the slope of the pillar. Half way to the bottom he heard a scream. His head tilted to the sky to see a flying putnar watching his progress.
Taking no heed of the bird he continued to skid and slink to the bottom. At the end he found himself a good deal above the ground and that he would have to leap down. Picking the safest place He jumped from the pillar landing softly upon the earth. The dragga grinned at the other pillar, "This will be fun"
He took it at a run throwing his weight into his speed to get his body atop the end of the pillar. Had he taken the time he would have noticed the rubble at both pillars and would have never need jump either structure. But here he did jump and found purchase. Shaking his coat in relief he grinned again pleased with himself.
The Brute tilted his head and his eyes drank deep in the view. The climb ahead was not much of a challenge. This pillar was at a much gentler angle. Paw after paw the varg walked to the top. Stopping once to take in the scene layed out before him. Long ago something happened here and this place haunts the legends told by varg for centuries. Shaking his head with a snort he continued. Leaping to the ground at the top.
Before him lay the citadel a slight incline to it's entrance. The scent of man had long left this place. Though all lera knew it was created by them. ~Ah those wonderful poseable thumbs~ he thought to himself as he walked up the incline. His head tilted back as he inspected the archway. He brought his attention back to the task at hand and gasped as he saw the statue of the she wolf. What a monstrous concept, humans suckeling a Varg. He had heard about the statue but had never believed it was true. And here it was plain as day before him. The varg turned to view the altar, the place of sacrifice. The place where morgra tried to summon the man-varg.
She was truly a crazy bitch if what the legends say were true. He approached it scrutinizing the thing with cynical eyes. The brute leaped atop the alter and sniffed. To him it seemed to be just cold stone and nothing more. Lifting his crest he focused his icy orbs on the rift below and then on the vale beyond. This place had a sterile feel about it. As if it were barren. Pure stone and nothing more. As he stood another gail of wind burst into his muzzle threating to push him backwards off the altar.
In defiance to the wind Dartanyon lifted his throat to the sky and poured forth a powerful mascu howl. The sound cascaded over the fissure and down into the dark crevasses, it carried to the skies to the wings of the flying putnar and continued still over the wood and through the land. ............
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