04-17-2012, 09:28 PM
[html]This morning was picture perfect, quiet, warm, the spring scents hanging in the air lightly. A light breeze rustled the leaves budding from the branches of the damp woods and caressed the blossoms that littered the spongy forest floor. The sun hung in the sky quietly, only making it's presence known from the light and warmth it provided, these lazy rays pouring all over the land and aiding in the spring plant growth. It was a beautiful time to be in souls, and the inky female that stood beneath the branches had chosen wisely, missing the winter altogether.
She was seating on the mossy ground, her back against a tree and her gaze focused on the clearing around her, drinking up the details of her surroundings. Her black warhorse, Valhalla stood at the edge of the clearing opposite from his warrior maiden, munching on the fresh sweet grass that was found near the trees. The only sounds that entered the clear were the trilling and singing of songbirds a his crunching, the hulking white male to her left completely silent as well, concentrating on his leatherwork. It was a simple piece, a smooth mother of pearl-esque stone was the stone she wanted him to use with the Tyr norse rune carved into it's middle carefully and painted black.
Curiously she watched him work, first carving a hole through the top of the stone that the thin but tough leather cord would be ran through and tied as to form a necklace. Next he picked through his bag and fished out a thin paintbrush that he dipped in the small black paint jar and ran through the carving, outlining the upwards arrow that symbolized the one-handed warrior god, a sign that warmed her heart and reminded her of home. " Det er vakre.. "The ebony mistress whispered to him, placing a slender skeleton-esque hand on his should and smiling at him from his side.
Though she did not beat her slave often - she never had to, he still was ruled by her touch. If he disobeyed her she did not speak to him or touch him, and her touch and words were what the white monster craved most. At times you could almost explain their relationship as a partnership rather then a slave and his mistress, but those times were few and far apart. He melted under her touch and smiled brazenly at his mistress, lowering his gaze quickly to finish the piece to add to their tradeable collection. Standing up quickly, her gait was smooth and fluid as she walked to a pile of travel bags and picked out her throwing knives and her bow and arrows from the pile.
It was time to train, the female always kept up a grueling schedule and now was not the time to quit. First, she began to practice with her throwing knives, picking out targets and flinging her weapons at them, the deadly flying weapons embedding themselves into various tree trunks.[/html]
She was seating on the mossy ground, her back against a tree and her gaze focused on the clearing around her, drinking up the details of her surroundings. Her black warhorse, Valhalla stood at the edge of the clearing opposite from his warrior maiden, munching on the fresh sweet grass that was found near the trees. The only sounds that entered the clear were the trilling and singing of songbirds a his crunching, the hulking white male to her left completely silent as well, concentrating on his leatherwork. It was a simple piece, a smooth mother of pearl-esque stone was the stone she wanted him to use with the Tyr norse rune carved into it's middle carefully and painted black.
Curiously she watched him work, first carving a hole through the top of the stone that the thin but tough leather cord would be ran through and tied as to form a necklace. Next he picked through his bag and fished out a thin paintbrush that he dipped in the small black paint jar and ran through the carving, outlining the upwards arrow that symbolized the one-handed warrior god, a sign that warmed her heart and reminded her of home. " Det er vakre.. "The ebony mistress whispered to him, placing a slender skeleton-esque hand on his should and smiling at him from his side.
Though she did not beat her slave often - she never had to, he still was ruled by her touch. If he disobeyed her she did not speak to him or touch him, and her touch and words were what the white monster craved most. At times you could almost explain their relationship as a partnership rather then a slave and his mistress, but those times were few and far apart. He melted under her touch and smiled brazenly at his mistress, lowering his gaze quickly to finish the piece to add to their tradeable collection. Standing up quickly, her gait was smooth and fluid as she walked to a pile of travel bags and picked out her throwing knives and her bow and arrows from the pile.
It was time to train, the female always kept up a grueling schedule and now was not the time to quit. First, she began to practice with her throwing knives, picking out targets and flinging her weapons at them, the deadly flying weapons embedding themselves into various tree trunks.[/html]