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Map of Doutaini

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All Welcome keep soldiering on
Posted 11-10-2017, 08:54 PM |
Reef
Unregistered
,
in, lbs
ep
© 
Once more he'd lost Gideon, or perhaps she was a figment of his imagination. Either way, he was alone again on the red rocks that seemed to consume a large amount of Doutaini's more mountainous regions. With a yawn his salmon tongue strained within gaping jaws, teeth outlining his gums, and russet forelegs stretched out before him as his muscles groaned. If he were human, he would have wiped the sleep from his eyes with closed fists and thrown his arms upwards. With stiff movement from sleeping on the cold rock surface without shelter he finds himself facing a rather blustery day. A groan rolls from his charcoal lips, lemon-lime eyes rolled as he felt the churn of hunger rumble in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't seen a single rat nor other living creature since his first pass through the red rocks. Hunger became a feeling he knew all too intimately as he had as a child and he felt panicked, afraid of becoming as skeletal as he'd been as a child. With cautious movements he begins the climb down, hoping to reach the bottom and easier prey in the lands below. Calloused pads balance him on the thin line of a path that widened two feet down into a better expanse. He prayed to no gods this day, hoped for no help. Any faith he'd held while under Svana's care waned with her absence.



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Posted 11-22-2017, 12:42 PM | This post was last modified: 11-22-2017, 12:42 PM by Rascal
Divine
Rascal
Divine Warrior
Male, 2.75
Endomorph
37 in, 135 lbs
35 ep
© sorceror
Reef
If he was capable of being afraid of heights - or of anything - he would have been shaking in his boots. He was perched on a narrow outcropping, looking down. His eyes were fixed on a pair of white doves across the deep canyon. They lived on a wall, there; he could see the nest, and something moving around in it. The doves scratched around the cliffside, apparently as unconcerned by the fall as he was.
He watched the nest closely.
One chick lived in it. It occasionally moved it's head and, even at a distance of forty feet, he could see it fairly clearly. It's mouth seemed to be permanently open.
So was his; a little drool was dripping onto the path ten feet below him, and sometimes even farther down into the wild air beyond it.
Gusts of wind howled over the peaks. He didn't notice, but immediately saw the baby bird move in and out of coverage depending on the blasts of cold. He shifted precariously on the little peak, still watching, and therefore failing to notice a stranger passing down the path below him.
The wind gusted again. Drool escaped his mouth and caught the breeze, flying downwind toward the approaching figure. The baby bird disappeared again. He leaned ever farther forward, muscular frame half-dangling over thin air like a slobbery gargoyle.



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