![[Image: Viv_FablePost.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_FablePost.gif)
SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )
Silence loomed as she remained still, ears attentive and her gaze beseeching her surroundings for something, anything. Sometimes, as her eyes strained, she thought she could see the shape of a figure before it's swept away by the next current of rolling fog. The tide of her own breathing was her only companion, at least until a name rose to the air.
She tips her head in the voice's direction, recognizing neither the voice nor the name. It is not her name, nor anyone she knows; for some reason, the thought stirs a tinge of frustration. Truly, it was not that she expected to find anyone she knew within the misted meadow, but this moment seemed intentional in some type of way - as if she was supposed to be here. Whatever hands were responsible for the loom in which her life was woven had carefully chosen to place her here, she was certain. Deciding to shelve her uncharacteristic annoyance and replace it with objectivity, she dials her focus in on the voice.
Words both foreign and known all at once pervaded the space within her mind. She heard them like her inner monologue, but this voice commanded a larger mass - where her own thoughts might be a drop in the ocean, this entity is the undertow itself. It is stormy, agitated with her.
Fable's paws halted and her ears flicked back, pressed to her crown as her brows furrow. Both confused and affronted by the brusque nature of the voice, her brain whirred into action attempting to understand what is transpiring. Just as her neurons fire to quip back, its cadence softens.
It changed plans. All at once, the hands had plucked the row of threads they just woven in favor of a new pattern.
Purpose sizzled within Fable's veins as the voice recedes, drawn from her like passing breath. She retains a vague ache to remember the voice by, but she blinks through the pain as she continues forward.
Her next stride delivered her into his sphere and she almost walked right into him, a feat narrowly avoided as she slammed on the brakes and leaned back on her willowy limbs.
She could see little by was of definitive features in the low light and poor visibility, but if he was ambulatory, that was a good sign. Fable hadn't had to mend wounds without being able to see what she was doing, but she would give it a go if it was the only option. Fable did not know how or why, but she knew it was important that she connect with this soul in the sea of fog.
She tips her head in the voice's direction, recognizing neither the voice nor the name. It is not her name, nor anyone she knows; for some reason, the thought stirs a tinge of frustration. Truly, it was not that she expected to find anyone she knew within the misted meadow, but this moment seemed intentional in some type of way - as if she was supposed to be here. Whatever hands were responsible for the loom in which her life was woven had carefully chosen to place her here, she was certain. Deciding to shelve her uncharacteristic annoyance and replace it with objectivity, she dials her focus in on the voice.
Not Sage,Fable returned as she began to move forward, each step slow and deliberate. Her ears pivoted to pick up as much sound as possible, trying to locate the source.
Words both foreign and known all at once pervaded the space within her mind. She heard them like her inner monologue, but this voice commanded a larger mass - where her own thoughts might be a drop in the ocean, this entity is the undertow itself. It is stormy, agitated with her.
Fable's paws halted and her ears flicked back, pressed to her crown as her brows furrow. Both confused and affronted by the brusque nature of the voice, her brain whirred into action attempting to understand what is transpiring. Just as her neurons fire to quip back, its cadence softens.
It changed plans. All at once, the hands had plucked the row of threads they just woven in favor of a new pattern.
Purpose sizzled within Fable's veins as the voice recedes, drawn from her like passing breath. She retains a vague ache to remember the voice by, but she blinks through the pain as she continues forward.
Torben,Fable echoed, raising her voice in hopes it will carry.
Perhaps I can help ye find them.
Her next stride delivered her into his sphere and she almost walked right into him, a feat narrowly avoided as she slammed on the brakes and leaned back on her willowy limbs.
Ah- I did not see ye,she apologized, expression sheepish before she relaxed her frame and a more personable visage took hold. He had been hidden behind a veil of mist and it had chosen the last possible moment to lift - at least it had done so before she made a fool of herself and sent them both for a tumble.
Are ye lost? Injured?
She could see little by was of definitive features in the low light and poor visibility, but if he was ambulatory, that was a good sign. Fable hadn't had to mend wounds without being able to see what she was doing, but she would give it a go if it was the only option. Fable did not know how or why, but she knew it was important that she connect with this soul in the sea of fog.
![[Image: Viv_FableFB.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_FableFB.gif)
