[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.2pt; font-family:helvetica; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 500px"]/ hi i'm so sorry i've forgotten how to write
this should get better as i remember, but for now, have this trash
also since i didn't mention it, he's a serval. a. very golden serval. with weird markings. like the tribal dragon on his right foreleg.
*:･ﾟ✧ The trees remind him of home. It's an odd sort of nostalgia, a strange, yearning homesickness combatted only by the excitement of adventure, for this is not home. The dirt beneath his feet feels different, as bizarre as that may sound, and the air does not smell the same, but it is enough to remind him of the harsh summer sun and the people who love him. (Despite it being his decision to leave them, he still misses them terribly, and though he knows he will return to them one day, knows that this is only temporary, he still yearns to see them again. The familiarity provided by this place makes it easier, even if it does bring back the sharp reminder of his absence.)
Regardless of his own musings, there's adventure to be had, and he intends on grabbing the opportunity with both hands paws. He has no idea where he's headed, but he does know that wherever he ends up will be somewhere foreign, possibly-dangerous and exactly where he's been looking for. (He's completely clueless as to how close he is to civilisation now, though, and instead wanders mostly-aimlessly, taking in the sights while he can.)
when strangers are coming; they come to your house
[align=center] THEY KILL YOU ALL AND SAY "WE'RE NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY." / "WHERE IS YOUR MIND?" HUMANITY CRIES; YOU THINK YOU ARE GODS, BUT EVERYONE DIES. DON'T SWALLOW MY SOUL, OUR SOULS. [abbr= I couldn’t spend my youth there / Because you took away my peace]YAŞLIĞIMA TOYALMADIM MEN BU YERDE YAŞALMADIM[/abbr]. / [b]THE STORMKEEPER, MOORLAND RIDERS. / TAGS. PINTEREST. xxxxxxx
[table] | | [/table](( jaws your writing is beautiful shaddup && welcome to occultatum!! Hope you like it here <3 ))
Amaya’s old home had been different from this, but not too different. There were trees there, yes, but not ones that touched the skies as the ones in Occultatum had; the trees at her old home had been short and thin, with little budded twigs poking out of them. The streams there had been less abundant as well in comparison to hereâ€â€the nearest lake had been far away. In terms of air, the air here is more fresh, more lively, whereas the air at her old home had been crisp and... harsh to the lungs, almost. And yet, all of her old home is part of the house, and Amaya would much rather prefer pondering about the present.
Such as now. With piercing purple hues, Amaya silently watches the golden serval pad about, his flamboyant pelt harshly standing out to the soft saturation of the trees around him. He almost seems in awe with the territory, as if it’s new to himâ€â€that doesn’t excuse him from trespassing, though. And yet, the black panther decides not to apprehend him, not yet; instead, she watches from a distance, using the foliage and shrubbery surrounding her to hide her jet black frame.
Finally, after a few moments, the panther lifts herself, revealing her sleek stature as she silently pads towards the serval. Her steps are as silent as can be, careful not to step on any intruding twigs or crunchy dried leaves. Positioning herself in front of the serval, she stares blankly down at him, ears perking forward and chin rising.
"you’re trespassing," she states flatly, purple hues fixated solely on the serval.
[align=center] AMERICAN DREAMS CAME TRUE SOMEHOW [align=center]  i swore i'd chase 'em till i was dead & tags & plot
[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.2pt; font-family:helvetica; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 500px"]/ thank you, hoot! this is definitely trash, though
*:･ﾟ✧ He hasn't ever seen a panther before, and the sight fills him with awe; pitch pelt, purple eyes, a stern turn to the mouth. She looks almost as though she's hunting him  or challenging him. A part of him is glad for his added height, even if it isn't quite enough to measure up to her, though he isn't particularly intimidated. (People don't frighten him, really. Though his people are often wary of outsiders, he trusts their civility enough not to flinch away.) "I am?" he asks pleasantly, lips curving into a curious, lazy sort of smile. His eyes dart back and forth, surveying the scenery one final time before ultimately returning to Amaya's hulking form. "I did not plan on. I am sorry." And he is, but not enough for the guilt to hammer away at him. It's just a small, quiet oh of realisation, for he hadn't recognised a border. He hopes she isn't too terribly slighted by it.
"I am The Stormkeeper," the serval then continues warmly, if not a little oddly due to the distinct lack of contractions and lilting, markedly-foreign accent, however soft and subtle it may be. "Where am I, if you do not mind me asking?"
when strangers are coming; they come to your house
[align=center] THEY KILL YOU ALL AND SAY "WE'RE NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY." / "WHERE IS YOUR MIND?" HUMANITY CRIES; YOU THINK YOU ARE GODS, BUT EVERYONE DIES. DON'T SWALLOW MY SOUL, OUR SOULS. [abbr= I couldn’t spend my youth there / Because you took away my peace]YAŞLIĞIMA TOYALMADIM MEN BU YERDE YAŞALMADIM[/abbr]. / [b]THE STORMKEEPER, MOORLAND RIDERS. / TAGS. PINTEREST. xxxxxxx
[table] | | [/table](( call your writing trash one more time and I’ll huggle you until you beg for mercy >:^| I love your writing it’s amazing ))
Amaya has seen plenty of animals in her time, mainly during the giant merge that had happened in the mpuntains; servals weren’t as common as other species, however, but she’s seen one before. The only kind of animal she hasn’t really seen before she had joined this village is the fairytale kindâ€â€the dragons and unicorns. What about now? Well, she’s seen both of those: sleepwalker and Celestia or something like that. It’s weird, knowing that such animals exist, but that doesn’t matter at the moment.
What does matter is this trespassing creature, who is now casting her some form of a nonchalant smile. Amaya doesn’t move, her frown twitching a littleâ€â€how old is this creature? He seems kinda young, but... she can’t tell. With a tiny little roll of her shoulders, she chases her thoughts away, deciding that they aren’t worthy of her fussing about. Instead, she eyes his movements, making sure he doesn’t move suddenly.
Which he doesn’t, which means he’s going to be passive. His accent is a bit intriguing; it’s foreign, something she hasn’t really heard before. At his question, however, she finds herself lowering her jaw just a little bit.
"occultatum village," she answers bluntly, flicking an ear. She pauses for a moment, then curtly adds: "what are you doing here?"
[align=center] AMERICAN DREAMS CAME TRUE SOMEHOW [align=center]  i swore i'd chase 'em till i was dead & tags & plot
track till i can actually reply!!!
[align=center] AND NOW I SEE THE SUNLIGHT I FEEL GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS
[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.2pt; font-family:helvetica; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 500px"]*:･ﾟ✧ Having lived a mostly-sheltered existence, The Stormkeeper has only ever encountered a select few species; granted, some of those are most unusual, but his scope of understanding is not as broad as he would like. He's a restless creature, always looking for something new to learn, not nearly as content with paradise as the rest of his people are. Is comfort as important as excitement? Some would say so, he anticipates, but he can only deal with routine for so long before the need to see more arises. He lasted just under two years before departing from his home, and that alone was hell once he realised how big the world truly is - he isn't sure he has the discipline to wait that long again.
The Stormkeeper blinks at her, rolling his tongue in his mouth. "Occul- Occultatum Village." He probably botches the pronunciation, too-new and strange on his lips, but it's the thought that counts. "Honestly, I do not know. I am... exploring. This world is so big, and I do not know the half of it yet." Does that make sense? Articulating his whims has never been a strength of his; other things, yes, his history and culture and how he feels, but his impulsive behaviour is something else entirely. "Is this village a place I may stay awhile? I will be no trouble."
when strangers are coming; they come to your house
[align=center] THEY KILL YOU ALL AND SAY "WE'RE NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY." / "WHERE IS YOUR MIND?" HUMANITY CRIES; YOU THINK YOU ARE GODS, BUT EVERYONE DIES. DON'T SWALLOW MY SOUL, OUR SOULS. [abbr= I couldn’t spend my youth there / Because you took away my peace]YAŞLIĞIMA TOYALMADIM MEN BU YERDE YAŞALMADIM[/abbr]. / [b]THE STORMKEEPER, MOORLAND RIDERS. / TAGS. PINTEREST. xxxxxxx
[table] | | [/table]Amaya’s life hadn’t been too sheltered, so to speak. Up until she moved out, she had mostly stayed with her family, but even then the parents found themselves taking their children out to do whatever they did; for a split second, the panther is gradually reminded of one of the huntings trips she was allowed on. It was all new to her, but nowadays? It’s all more routine than newâ€â€hunting has become her way of survival, rather than relying on her parents.
Anyways, Amaya only blinks when the serval butchers the pronunciation of the group, seemingly in an unsure manner. She doesn’t bother correcting himâ€â€as he is close enough to the correct way to say itâ€â€and instead focuses on what he asks next: the signature joining question. In all honesty, it’s a bit weary seeing all these new animals come in, but she figures that it’s what Kunta wants. (It’s not really her choice, anywaysâ€â€it’s the leader’s.)
"Kunta will decide on that," she states flatly, nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders. "wait."
[align=center] AMERICAN DREAMS CAME TRUE SOMEHOW [align=center]  i swore i'd chase 'em till i was dead & tags & plot
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