[Alexander] Primitive, Isn't It?

Exposed

From the courtesans of dragon blood tree’s and phosphoresce, granite stone creations, came an overgrown glade, weathered by the tests of time and a hitherto far more primitive. Soya, lichen and lemongrass tones dyed what was left of the threadbare and bedrock foundations, contriving ruinated paths that held no true destination. Albeit, wildflowers, botany and herbs alike grew in rich plethora, encroaching the land in a brew of lavish sages, olivine mosses and spring-bud greens.

Cracks ran thick, thin, obliterated and abandoned, where vines plagued with stricture.

The mountains, even, were blighted in a sheet of periglacial clouds, passioned by a celestial whisper and autumn’s boreal, crisp embrace. You see, Lebraid had one goal; knowledge was formidably power, and if she were to conquer, understanding this foreign world was a must, an advantage far more nefarious than those who chose ferity without calculation, be it a case of damfool naivety or simple dull-wittedness. She, of course, would never plunder to such a frail, lowly level, even at death. A raw, cacodemonic rumble surged past Lebraid wet, cimmerian jowls –– stout paws trampled the drab, khaki pastures as she paced overtop, crown sunken and eyes nocuous. She poised a macabre demeanour, hairs licking the rim of her spine like a gluttonous inferno, intent with opportunity, supremacy and a means to get exactly what she wanted, one way or another. To rise, there must first be an absolute premise.

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[Alexander] Primitive, Isn't It?

Exposed