Samples
Intro:
The Deindrathal Mountains are a treacherous landscape. High scaling, steep sides with crumbling structure, thin air, and freezing temperatures. It flourished by way of fauna, yes, because Hunters from the lands bestride knew better than to poach here. These were dragon lands, in legend.
The valleys, at one time, would suddenly go dark under the shadow of serpent's wings, dragons as big as four carriages blocking out the sun and consuming any who lurked below. But those were only children's stories, meant to herd the peasant villagers within their walls. You never go lurking out beyond the known lest you run into whatever lies in wait. That is why, when the smell of fresh blood wafts down from the mouth of cave, Deindinselima is more or less awoken from her slumber. She is not startled, per say, but curious. Such scents are so rarely wafted up by the breeze into her home. A cougar, perhaps, cornering prey in the mouth of the cave; a waiting snack. With hope of an easy lunch, the dragon slowly arises from her bed, stretching limbs and shaking out the tension from her long, scaled mane. Life has not been so kind as of late, a long lasting injury trapping her within her dragon form, unable to retain her energy throughout the day long enough to catch two full meals. She is starving and perturbed, and finds herself climbing the narrow shaft into the light before she can think much further about what could possibly be waiting.
What Deindi finds is nothing but a goat. Killed so recently, but entirely intact, left to freeze on the stone floor. But why? The dragon leers up further from the depths, claws scrabbling against the rock as she hoists her body up into the mouth of the cave. Her breath puffs loudly, echoing as she stretches her neck forward to nose at the goat, its fur gusting against her nostrils. Bloody, bloody, this is all she smells, until the unmistakeable scent of human burns her eyes. She yanks back, a noise like confusion bubbling in her throat. Human, still fresh, still present. Curiously she, bites. She grips the nape of the goat and tugs, and suddenly it comes loose.
Casual 1 (Fandom):
Prom's expression quickly melted into one of faux horror. He turned left and right to peer over his own shoulders, pawing at his sleep shirt and lifting it up as if to inspect his own flesh.
"You say it like you've been taking chunks out of me in my sleep!" Despite the joke, his cheeks had lit up in a soft hazy peach, swooning at his friend's weight upon his chest, and then furthermore the lax disposition said friend carried even as he swept himself up and started to strip. The blond almost wanted to cup his hands over his eyes to give Noctis privacy, but belatedly remembered that he cared nothing for it. Doors were always unlocked in his home; windows open. If you caught him naked he didn't try to cover himself. Shameless. But in a wholesome and trusting kind of way.
Caught up in himself, Prompto didn't even realize he'd been unabashedly staring, his hands having fallen short from his eyes and resting instead upon his chest like he was praying as he watched the pale man before him strip bare; easy and fluid. The cut shoulders, the dimples in his back, the beauty mark under his left shoulder and the scar across his right... Prom licked his lips and swallowed, mouth suddenly bone dry. He'd grown up beside this man, and oh how the years had favored him. Prom bit into his lip as Noctis reached up to tussle his own bed head, moving toward his closet. His creamy nape was framed perfectly by little slips of onyx hair- it was making Prompto's heart sing a chorus. It called to him, but he remained rooted in bed.
Food. They were getting food.
"Crow's Nest is always a favorite. They've got the best milkshakes, and I'm feeling kind of lunch-y, y'know?"
Casual 2 (Original):
Theres something about today that feels ripe with magical presence, which, for Leverett Finch- Diviner, Seer, Harbinger of the Future- should not be so odd. It's a different sensation than the general aura of a handful of wizards walking through the square, however. It sits all around him like humidity even in the comfort of his tented den, and it's making him twitchy. The centre focus of his forehead stings, and he scratches at it mindlessly under the coiled tresses of his bangs, but his third eye is warning him, truly before he can even sense it himself. For out there, his beast of burden was lurking.
It's a small town, Beawold, teetering on the border of port city. It gets its fair share of passer throughs- enough to keep the businesses thriving- but without those incoming ships, this hovel would sooner turn to dust. Only about 100 or so make their residence here, and for the moment, Finch was part of those meager few. After leaving his home, his travels wound him here, where he used his last coin to purchase a tent. That tent had since become his business, a tourist attraction if you will, a mysterious and inviting lion's den to ensnare the common man with the promise of the future.
A promise that did not run dry.
The money had come easily to him as word had begun to waft across town, and his tent had slowly accrued a certain air of luxury. Finch was a nomad of sorts, however- twas only his nature to be so- and Beawold did not exude the cozy feelings of home nor future, it was only present and opportunity. Until the crystal of his eye rang with the visions of an eventful tomorrow, he had decided to remain here to pile his coin. It's been rather slow today, though, due to the persistent drizzle and overcast clouds, and so without thinking much about it, Finch has since untied the opening flap of the doorway, allowing the curtains to meld closed and trap his burning incense and flickering candlelight within. It was only an hour since the bazaar opened that the curtains rustled with life, and in from the wet heat of the morning emerged a tall and slender blond man.
Finch had been lounging, smoking, and shuffling his tarot when the presence hit him. So sneaky, those vampires, but not sneaky enough to hide the warped shimmer of their souls from those who could see through them. Enchanted as it was, the moment said vampire brushed aside the fabric of the tent, Finch was sitting up, the cards flipping and popping in his hands as he immediately began a New Moon spread.
"Mr. Astrophel," he says, blinking once slowly to trigger the effect of the crystal ball lodged in his skull, "make yourself at home."
"I know you weren't sure what you'd find in here," he adds, slowly looking up into the man's eyes from where his hands work across the table-top, "but I also know you would've wanted a reading. And, if I may, Nicolai, yes? The woman next door? Leddie is her name- gentle woman she is- her glamours are quite effective. I recommend them, if you have the coin." He raises the pad of a finger to his mouth, licking it to give it traction on the back of cards so delicately arrayed between them. He places it down on top of the first of many, never breaking eye contact as he gave a pregnant pause to allow his visitor a chance for comment.
The Deindrathal Mountains are a treacherous landscape. High scaling, steep sides with crumbling structure, thin air, and freezing temperatures. It flourished by way of fauna, yes, because Hunters from the lands bestride knew better than to poach here. These were dragon lands, in legend.
The valleys, at one time, would suddenly go dark under the shadow of serpent's wings, dragons as big as four carriages blocking out the sun and consuming any who lurked below. But those were only children's stories, meant to herd the peasant villagers within their walls. You never go lurking out beyond the known lest you run into whatever lies in wait. That is why, when the smell of fresh blood wafts down from the mouth of cave, Deindinselima is more or less awoken from her slumber. She is not startled, per say, but curious. Such scents are so rarely wafted up by the breeze into her home. A cougar, perhaps, cornering prey in the mouth of the cave; a waiting snack. With hope of an easy lunch, the dragon slowly arises from her bed, stretching limbs and shaking out the tension from her long, scaled mane. Life has not been so kind as of late, a long lasting injury trapping her within her dragon form, unable to retain her energy throughout the day long enough to catch two full meals. She is starving and perturbed, and finds herself climbing the narrow shaft into the light before she can think much further about what could possibly be waiting.
What Deindi finds is nothing but a goat. Killed so recently, but entirely intact, left to freeze on the stone floor. But why? The dragon leers up further from the depths, claws scrabbling against the rock as she hoists her body up into the mouth of the cave. Her breath puffs loudly, echoing as she stretches her neck forward to nose at the goat, its fur gusting against her nostrils. Bloody, bloody, this is all she smells, until the unmistakeable scent of human burns her eyes. She yanks back, a noise like confusion bubbling in her throat. Human, still fresh, still present. Curiously she, bites. She grips the nape of the goat and tugs, and suddenly it comes loose.
Casual 1 (Fandom):
Prom's expression quickly melted into one of faux horror. He turned left and right to peer over his own shoulders, pawing at his sleep shirt and lifting it up as if to inspect his own flesh.
"You say it like you've been taking chunks out of me in my sleep!" Despite the joke, his cheeks had lit up in a soft hazy peach, swooning at his friend's weight upon his chest, and then furthermore the lax disposition said friend carried even as he swept himself up and started to strip. The blond almost wanted to cup his hands over his eyes to give Noctis privacy, but belatedly remembered that he cared nothing for it. Doors were always unlocked in his home; windows open. If you caught him naked he didn't try to cover himself. Shameless. But in a wholesome and trusting kind of way.
Caught up in himself, Prompto didn't even realize he'd been unabashedly staring, his hands having fallen short from his eyes and resting instead upon his chest like he was praying as he watched the pale man before him strip bare; easy and fluid. The cut shoulders, the dimples in his back, the beauty mark under his left shoulder and the scar across his right... Prom licked his lips and swallowed, mouth suddenly bone dry. He'd grown up beside this man, and oh how the years had favored him. Prom bit into his lip as Noctis reached up to tussle his own bed head, moving toward his closet. His creamy nape was framed perfectly by little slips of onyx hair- it was making Prompto's heart sing a chorus. It called to him, but he remained rooted in bed.
Food. They were getting food.
"Crow's Nest is always a favorite. They've got the best milkshakes, and I'm feeling kind of lunch-y, y'know?"
Casual 2 (Original):
Theres something about today that feels ripe with magical presence, which, for Leverett Finch- Diviner, Seer, Harbinger of the Future- should not be so odd. It's a different sensation than the general aura of a handful of wizards walking through the square, however. It sits all around him like humidity even in the comfort of his tented den, and it's making him twitchy. The centre focus of his forehead stings, and he scratches at it mindlessly under the coiled tresses of his bangs, but his third eye is warning him, truly before he can even sense it himself. For out there, his beast of burden was lurking.
It's a small town, Beawold, teetering on the border of port city. It gets its fair share of passer throughs- enough to keep the businesses thriving- but without those incoming ships, this hovel would sooner turn to dust. Only about 100 or so make their residence here, and for the moment, Finch was part of those meager few. After leaving his home, his travels wound him here, where he used his last coin to purchase a tent. That tent had since become his business, a tourist attraction if you will, a mysterious and inviting lion's den to ensnare the common man with the promise of the future.
A promise that did not run dry.
The money had come easily to him as word had begun to waft across town, and his tent had slowly accrued a certain air of luxury. Finch was a nomad of sorts, however- twas only his nature to be so- and Beawold did not exude the cozy feelings of home nor future, it was only present and opportunity. Until the crystal of his eye rang with the visions of an eventful tomorrow, he had decided to remain here to pile his coin. It's been rather slow today, though, due to the persistent drizzle and overcast clouds, and so without thinking much about it, Finch has since untied the opening flap of the doorway, allowing the curtains to meld closed and trap his burning incense and flickering candlelight within. It was only an hour since the bazaar opened that the curtains rustled with life, and in from the wet heat of the morning emerged a tall and slender blond man.
Finch had been lounging, smoking, and shuffling his tarot when the presence hit him. So sneaky, those vampires, but not sneaky enough to hide the warped shimmer of their souls from those who could see through them. Enchanted as it was, the moment said vampire brushed aside the fabric of the tent, Finch was sitting up, the cards flipping and popping in his hands as he immediately began a New Moon spread.
"Mr. Astrophel," he says, blinking once slowly to trigger the effect of the crystal ball lodged in his skull, "make yourself at home."
"I know you weren't sure what you'd find in here," he adds, slowly looking up into the man's eyes from where his hands work across the table-top, "but I also know you would've wanted a reading. And, if I may, Nicolai, yes? The woman next door? Leddie is her name- gentle woman she is- her glamours are quite effective. I recommend them, if you have the coin." He raises the pad of a finger to his mouth, licking it to give it traction on the back of cards so delicately arrayed between them. He places it down on top of the first of many, never breaking eye contact as he gave a pregnant pause to allow his visitor a chance for comment.