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Description

TIME TICKS ANOTHER CUT.

+6 AP | Headshot/Shading/NPC Bonus/ RP Inspired | SIRIN

CLYTHUS:

The bells had been striking.
A sound the stallion had not expected to hear ever. At least not for many years to come. A cold wave had rushed through his body paralyzing him as his mind worked through what they meant.

There was no sound one could make, no words one could say to make this any better. Who... Who could have murdered a child? One struggling to do the best he could do in his current situation? His actions and decries might not have been the best but... He had not been evil, had not been menacing. Dual colored eyes closed and Clythus laid it on a small pillow next to his mistress Nuala, his body as close to the ground as he could get to escape the layer of smoke above him.

His mane and tail where weaved around on the ground, acting like fine silk waves as the silver male kept his eyes closed. It was a terrible ending to the very start of the book and Clythus still couldn't wrap his head around it. Turning his head slightly he pushed it into Nuala's belly, trying to escape, trying to hide. He needed some sort of reassurance that everything would be fine in the end. That this was not the end of Aodh. Who would take the throne now?

After a few more moments of silence the servile slave lifted his head, bit jingling as he adjusted it between his lips. "Should I brew some Tea? Does anyone want something to drink?" He was a slave after all and felt a strange unease with how still and how silence the room was currently. Maybe some food and some drink would help ease... someone.

SINEAD:

Regretfully, being completely plastered in the workplace is often frowned upon in even the most upmarket of establishments, so Sinead settled for remaining begrudgingly upright and mostly sober in her usual, dimly lit corner of The Pearl after receiving news of the untimely (ha!), king's death.

The gathered courtesans were a rampant mixture of raw emotions that only grew more volatile the deeper their muzzles sank into their tankards about the incident, and then there was Octavia; ever the business woman, burying herself in the books and hiding her indifference on the matter whilst Zipporah hovered close by, bartering for a night out on the town.

Sinead was pleasantly apathetic to the entire situation herself, but the alcohol she sipped sparingly from a hip flask at her side had long ago stopped being for celebratory measures, and was purely medicinal if anyone were to dare ask-

And then her whole world shook, foundations cracking with an explosion that defaced the Pearl in one swift, devastating moment, bringing down the front entrance.

The force of the blast was enough to slam the brick of a pony into the wall next to her; waking a familiar, age-old ache that she had long hoped to leave behind in the pits, fractured ribs.
As the dust settled, Sinead grimaced, tightening the scar over her lip. Gut instinct had already told her what she needed to know, but she looked anyway, to crush any flicker of optimism that either the beloved mistress or Zipporah might have survived.

Singed parchment fluttered like grotesque snowfall around their twisted, lifeless forms, and it became quite clear there was nothing to be done for them now, unless one counted a priest and a pine box.

"EVERYONE, OUT." She barked, voice cracking.

Description

TIME TICKS ANOTHER CUT.

+6 AP | Headshot/Shading/NPC Bonus/ RP Inspired | SIRIN

CLYTHUS:

The bells had been striking.
A sound the stallion had not expected to hear ever. At least not for many years to come. A cold wave had rushed through his body paralyzing him as his mind worked through what they meant.

There was no sound one could make, no words one could say to make this any better. Who... Who could have murdered a child? One struggling to do the best he could do in his current situation? His actions and decries might not have been the best but... He had not been evil, had not been menacing. Dual colored eyes closed and Clythus laid it on a small pillow next to his mistress Nuala, his body as close to the ground as he could get to escape the layer of smoke above him.

His mane and tail where weaved around on the ground, acting like fine silk waves as the silver male kept his eyes closed. It was a terrible ending to the very start of the book and Clythus still couldn't wrap his head around it. Turning his head slightly he pushed it into Nuala's belly, trying to escape, trying to hide. He needed some sort of reassurance that everything would be fine in the end. That this was not the end of Aodh. Who would take the throne now?

After a few more moments of silence the servile slave lifted his head, bit jingling as he adjusted it between his lips. "Should I brew some Tea? Does anyone want something to drink?" He was a slave after all and felt a strange unease with how still and how silence the room was currently. Maybe some food and some drink would help ease... someone.

SINEAD:

Regretfully, being completely plastered in the workplace is often frowned upon in even the most upmarket of establishments, so Sinead settled for remaining begrudgingly upright and mostly sober in her usual, dimly lit corner of The Pearl after receiving news of the untimely (ha!), king's death.

The gathered courtesans were a rampant mixture of raw emotions that only grew more volatile the deeper their muzzles sank into their tankards about the incident, and then there was Octavia; ever the business woman, burying herself in the books and hiding her indifference on the matter whilst Zipporah hovered close by, bartering for a night out on the town.

Sinead was pleasantly apathetic to the entire situation herself, but the alcohol she sipped sparingly from a hip flask at her side had long ago stopped being for celebratory measures, and was purely medicinal if anyone were to dare ask-

And then her whole world shook, foundations cracking with an explosion that defaced the Pearl in one swift, devastating moment, bringing down the front entrance.

The force of the blast was enough to slam the brick of a pony into the wall next to her; waking a familiar, age-old ache that she had long hoped to leave behind in the pits, fractured ribs.
As the dust settled, Sinead grimaced, tightening the scar over her lip. Gut instinct had already told her what she needed to know, but she looked anyway, to crush any flicker of optimism that either the beloved mistress or Zipporah might have survived.

Singed parchment fluttered like grotesque snowfall around their twisted, lifeless forms, and it became quite clear there was nothing to be done for them now, unless one counted a priest and a pine box.

"EVERYONE, OUT." She barked, voice cracking.