come fly with the king with invisible wings,,

[archangel //]

close your eyes, they'll tell a story of happy endings,

The tundra breathed its life into the nostrils of a chocolate stallion. A cold, bone biting chill that he had never lost his taste for. Any other ordinary equine couldn't withstand the temperatures but our dear Archangel was anything but ordinary. The terrain that exuded its appeal around him wasn't very attractive to the naked eye. It didn't have flare, it wasn't fancy but it was his. Nothing could beat the ice so ivory that at times it could appear to have an azure, or purple tint, the snowflakes that often felt and kissed its desires upon the brute, the intricate ice sculptures carved by the famous architect of them all, the wind, and not to mention the seeming scarcity. He was not a first bloomer soul, he would never pick a place where his members or himself couldn't thrive. What many lacked the knowledge of was where they could find sustenance to sustain their abdomens, and the nagging pit of hunger that raked, and could craze the mind of the ones who had died out here from mere starvation. They should have for their insolence, and foolish behavior. Biting off more than they could chew. Hah! Fools. He thought to himself, only he could tame the ice princess.


,,


Swiveling his flutes, he did a 360 of the surroundings as his hazel pools narrowed, looking for any signs of danger that would come to the Fallen territory. Seeing none within his vision, he then simply rested the tip of one of his back hooves upon the thick ice which whispered its purrs to him. A grin spread across his bristled kisser, and a flick of his alabaster tendril was added to his gestures of relaxation, and tranquil manner. Thankfully at this moment he was calm, relaxed; he oh so hoped that arch wouldn't make himself known to any unsuspecting herd member. What a terrible first impression that would be. An absolute pity. He had become known for his first impressions, the ones where they would stutter in his presence, and wilt to their knees in pure awe as they should. "Come my brethren, sistren, tonight we dine like gods." The words slithered out of his maw, enlaced with a thick Icelandic accent, until it all but vanished into the breeze, the finest moving poetry. Poetry in motion.

close your eyes, re-write the story, a new beginning.

 

[hoenn]

Greenland. How ironic. This desolate arctic expanse confined few secrets; none rivaling the refuge of the Fallen progeny. Contrasting it's barren plains of pallid frost, an entity of immense proportions abolished the symmetry. His hues so prominent, the reflection casted in her gilded eyes included him among the vast estate. A simper deftly crafted upon her velveteen muzzle, subsequent to the recognition of her King; if only deities had bestowed her wings, she would have aviated without yield in glee. Her substantial bodice began to prod through intermittent terrain; loins lifting, evoking a chain that pulled her hind ventrally, her cogent attributes working harmoniously to ferry the lady to her King. But at what cost?

His name was renowned. Hers, a trifled speck in his profuse legion; yet she would reap a title from dust if given an opportunity. Porcelain tresses danced like licking flames upon her arcing crest, nary kissing the lower traps of muscles tensing to uphold her regal visage. Delicately, lips fissured revealing concealed bridgework, further parting to expose a salmon ribbon perusing articulation. " My King, my King, Archangel." Softening vocals strummed from her depths, channeling smoothly to his twin audits. "How may I serve..?" Crown descended in a sweeping motion, mass shifting to hind appendages in an elated bow. Tendrils draped over cannons and knees, paralleling their ghastly hue.

[archangel //]

While the ice continued to hiss, and purr, he let himself get lost in his own thoughts of his subconscious. He began recalling past times, where he and the others had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, if the earth had an edge, and end, and wasn't some sphere moving around in circles. If only. Ivory rope flicked behind him, and his mane blew in the icy breeze that whizzed through every strand. His thoughts were disturbed when hoof steps sounded behind his chocolate frame, and they were heading towards him. Curious. He turned his dome to peer at the being who he hadn't had the pleasure of meeting. A brow rose before he was humbled at her response yet he chuckled. "Alas, rise my dear. Perhaps you can give me company?" Archangel requested with his deep masculine bellow resonating from out of his bristled maw. Briefly his ribbon had been seen when he made his articulation; his hazel orbs took in the essa's frame, and her overall appearance but didn't look to closely. Never was he a gent of such absurd studying, or what some would call "checking out." She was a beauty however, nonetheless.


,,


"What is your name?" He questioned as he watched her with blinking orbs while his flutes swiveled above his dome, constantly alert. There was always something lurking at the back of his mind, the constant concern of his angry side. It had a habit of making itself known in the oddest of moments, and the moments it wasn't wanted. Oh how he hoped he could contain the bastard arch, and that angel would continue to present itself as a gentlemen, especially in front of a lady.

[hoenn]

She rose henceforth; suited in wholesome splendor that rivaled even his glamor. Icy projections whirled about the binary, cleaving them from the unworldly scape which they sought to flourish from - to augment the potency of the Fallen breed and Fallen alike. How could one exist in such a forsaken hamlet? Enveloped by bitter seas they were at the mercy of the environment and what it provided; nourishment was scarcely detected by it's inhabitants,
As was thawed water, it all capitulated to a glacial crag, serving no purpose but to abut two regions. Perhaps the King had made it so. To wean out unfit contenders and breed competence. She fought starvation even now; her bodice deteriorating with every passing moon. Yet her faith had not wilted in the slightest. "You may address me as Hoenn." Soothing notes resonated, her cavity collapsing as the oxygen left. Gilded eyes observed his - he did not scrutinize, he hardly viewed her before becoming distant.

She watched his mind unfold, saw the chaos it spawned, inner turmoil combatting behind his eyes. "Is there something wrong, King?" She interrogated politely, harp like vocals taking the edge off the sharp winds. A facade of concern twisted her dainty visage, pondering in her own mind as it shifted daftly like ungreased cogs. Stout dappled appendages traversed laterally from his prodigious mass as a sense of uneasiness plagued her. What was this King's grand plan after all?