With temperatures rising over 143°C (289.40°F) in most areas, the only relief is during the nights when it is much cooler. All travelers are advised to keep to the local towns on the desert's outskirts and avoid traveling too far from civilization. (+3 Endurance, +2 Defense)

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Postby Feint » 09/24/2008 11:27 PM

Kinte glanced up at Edur and curled one tail, bearing the peach, up into the air behind him as he stood. What are they for? Kinte thought to himself, surprised. I have no idea. He shrugged and pulled out his twig again. He scratched into the dirt: Mute, then looked up at the Battleheart as if to say 'does that answer your question?' Kinte curled his tail around and nibbled at his peach, the scar steadily lengthening.

ooc-- edit= removed some stuff I didn't like.

My wraiths, though not wraiths then, wandered deep into the heart of the polar storm. They tried to fight sleep, naive to the inevitability of their fate. When they awoke, they saw before them my own self, so much a part of the ice and cold they almost fail to see me. I wear a crown of the coldest, sturdiest ice, and my claws and fur have coated themselves in it.
I stand aloof to the cold, for I have lived in it so long, been a part of it so long, it no longer concerns me.

My wraiths are cursed to wander the polar tundra, eternally freezing, following mortal explorers and trying to warn them with their presence that they should not travel onward, should not make the same mistake. But there will always be those who persist in pressing on, never knowing what they are doomed to face, or destined to suffer.

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Postby Instinct » 09/29/2008 7:07 PM

Ash'amur glared at the small Fenling, before looking away to also stare at the rare gems. He didn't see the point in such trinkets, but many people found them amusing.

Ooc: Brain dead! Dx

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Postby Lunasa » 09/29/2008 7:24 PM

Edur looked at Ash'mur. He didn't like him. Not at all. Shula watched Kunte. Now what was he doing? The Chaos Fenling was confusing her. Sometimes that didn't take much. Edur looked at his sister. And smiled. Shula looked at him. What?

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Postby Feint » 10/13/2008 5:02 PM

Kinte finished his peach and hid the pit, to plant later. He licked peach bits out of his teeth and looked up at Shula in a friendly way. His four tails wagged slightly, stirring up dust and road debris. He rose to his haunches and tossed the gold orbs in the air again, watching the bright flashes of the sun in the orbs. He was juggling mostly to entertain himself, as was chewing on his peach. Market Day was very dusty, hot, and rather boring to him, just another chore day.

ooc-- did this die?

My wraiths, though not wraiths then, wandered deep into the heart of the polar storm. They tried to fight sleep, naive to the inevitability of their fate. When they awoke, they saw before them my own self, so much a part of the ice and cold they almost fail to see me. I wear a crown of the coldest, sturdiest ice, and my claws and fur have coated themselves in it.
I stand aloof to the cold, for I have lived in it so long, been a part of it so long, it no longer concerns me.

My wraiths are cursed to wander the polar tundra, eternally freezing, following mortal explorers and trying to warn them with their presence that they should not travel onward, should not make the same mistake. But there will always be those who persist in pressing on, never knowing what they are doomed to face, or destined to suffer.

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Postby Feint » 10/24/2008 11:59 PM

ooc-- this is dead, so I shall make my leave. feel free to continue without me if you so choose.

Kinte yawned and examined his list next to the setting sun. I'll finish this later, he thought to himself, and pushed his other thoughts aside. He bought an obsidian rock from the jewler and glanced at the friendlies who joined him that day. He bowed his head in a formal gesture. When the sun was level with the horizon, he loped onto the shifting, flying sand as if he too were flying, just like the way he came. Only this time he did not return.

My wraiths, though not wraiths then, wandered deep into the heart of the polar storm. They tried to fight sleep, naive to the inevitability of their fate. When they awoke, they saw before them my own self, so much a part of the ice and cold they almost fail to see me. I wear a crown of the coldest, sturdiest ice, and my claws and fur have coated themselves in it.
I stand aloof to the cold, for I have lived in it so long, been a part of it so long, it no longer concerns me.

My wraiths are cursed to wander the polar tundra, eternally freezing, following mortal explorers and trying to warn them with their presence that they should not travel onward, should not make the same mistake. But there will always be those who persist in pressing on, never knowing what they are doomed to face, or destined to suffer.

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