10-22-2018, 10:22 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: verdana;"]It took approximately two minutes for Roslyn to realize that Sunhaven, in spite of all she'd heard, was not the place for her, not at the present moment. She'd arrived on the border expecting a quaint little town, fond eyes gazing from the hilltops onto colorful houses and a turquoise-blue sea below, but she'd hardly found a place to stay before she heard whispers of war, murder, awful things. A conflict - something she wasn't exactly keen on getting in the middle of. She hadn't brought much, save for a little bag she'd filled with trinkets she intended to trade after months of travels, hadn't done much to establish herself. It was easy to slip off and move on before she made much of an impact on the seaside village.
Nevertheless she ought to have brushed up on this political feud before she disappeared. Here she stood now, the cat reeking of fish and antiques and all sorts of things that most used to associate with Sunhaven, on the border of their newest enemy. She wasn't aware that the tension happened to stand between the Ascendants and the Haven - she wasn't exactly aware of anything that went on in these peculiar little tribes. If she were to learn the hard way, then so be it; not new to hardship, nor to unfamiliarity, she would learn her place among the Ascendants in due time.
Roslyn wasn't one to make a scene of herself, not intentionally. The siamese was a short-legged thing, squat to the ground unlike her more lithe, more regal cousins. Call her a runt of the litter, but the wedge siamese hardly stood at the shoulder of most other domestics, and her dull, dirt-streaked coat wasn't exactly the prettiest of them all. However, Roslyn thought herself to be a proactive little creature in spite of herself, and spent her months of life journeying through the lands that stretched beyond the confines of her childhood den. With the gift of guile and trickery she'd made like a shadow through the miles of woodland, her dealings quick and often dirty but leaving her not without a pocket full of gold. She liked her trinkets, the things she'd traded (and occasionally stole) - not for their worth but for their glimmer and shine. Oh, how she adored shiny things.
The burlap satchel on her hip sagged with weight, a button replaced time and time again barely holding the flap shut. Inside peeked some of her belongings - books embossed in gold, stray bits of jewelry, a few broken chain links. Pretty things, she'd say. Useful for what, she wasn't sure. She sort of leaned into the weight, as though it was almost too much for her to carry; her muddy paws occasionally shuffled at the dirt to reinstate her balance. For the time being, or at least until she was to learn that she'd just left the territory of a clan at war with her prospective new home, she would wait here. Her smile was patient, unwavering and painfully toothy, and her wide eyes gleamed with an innocence that held volumes under the surface. That, of course, would remain a story for another time.
Nevertheless she ought to have brushed up on this political feud before she disappeared. Here she stood now, the cat reeking of fish and antiques and all sorts of things that most used to associate with Sunhaven, on the border of their newest enemy. She wasn't aware that the tension happened to stand between the Ascendants and the Haven - she wasn't exactly aware of anything that went on in these peculiar little tribes. If she were to learn the hard way, then so be it; not new to hardship, nor to unfamiliarity, she would learn her place among the Ascendants in due time.
Roslyn wasn't one to make a scene of herself, not intentionally. The siamese was a short-legged thing, squat to the ground unlike her more lithe, more regal cousins. Call her a runt of the litter, but the wedge siamese hardly stood at the shoulder of most other domestics, and her dull, dirt-streaked coat wasn't exactly the prettiest of them all. However, Roslyn thought herself to be a proactive little creature in spite of herself, and spent her months of life journeying through the lands that stretched beyond the confines of her childhood den. With the gift of guile and trickery she'd made like a shadow through the miles of woodland, her dealings quick and often dirty but leaving her not without a pocket full of gold. She liked her trinkets, the things she'd traded (and occasionally stole) - not for their worth but for their glimmer and shine. Oh, how she adored shiny things.
The burlap satchel on her hip sagged with weight, a button replaced time and time again barely holding the flap shut. Inside peeked some of her belongings - books embossed in gold, stray bits of jewelry, a few broken chain links. Pretty things, she'd say. Useful for what, she wasn't sure. She sort of leaned into the weight, as though it was almost too much for her to carry; her muddy paws occasionally shuffled at the dirt to reinstate her balance. For the time being, or at least until she was to learn that she'd just left the territory of a clan at war with her prospective new home, she would wait here. Her smile was patient, unwavering and painfully toothy, and her wide eyes gleamed with an innocence that held volumes under the surface. That, of course, would remain a story for another time.
[align=center][font=verdana][size=8pt][b]they're calling at me,
[i]"come & find your kind"
[i]"come & find your kind"