The biting cold felt so warm. As the ship began to move itself towards a port, his arms remained over his chest. A part of him wanted to repent. It was a wonderful embrace to some inner nature that wanted him to deny the sinful brick of the city, but part of him also wanted him to stay in Regalia... Yet not enough told him he should remain. He recalled the point where Einherjar threw himself into the port, (@bahmGe ) where he finally seemed to feel free, as opposed to fill himself into cement that was cracking himself into a new ideal that did not truly fit his head. He wished he wouldn't feel so free in such a way yet at the same token, the biting cold was a warming feeling and had none of the weak ideals of the Ailor. As the board thudded onto the port of Jorrhildr, he stood there; Taunting, yelling and thudding hooves passed by his direction as he watched the other Url practically fly into a land they believed they were free as he sat there. Seconds become minutes, and soon after became hours. It was not too long, yet all too long as he watched the other Url before him walk to the snowy port and practically throw themselves into the flurries as their skin embraced the welcoming flakes. He was taller, perhaps greater than the other Url around him yet he hesitated; Was this where he was meant to be, or was someone to pull him to a greater purpose? Being greater than a few meant nothing as he watched them pour outward, they all roared their way onto the island as he sat there practically staring. His size meant nothing, he watched as he was the only Url who questioned himself as the others stampeded their way forward while he walked. As he stepped his way forward, he turned his head as he saw he was the last one from the ship. His lips tipped upward to mildly tip at his own septum-piercing while his lips tipped upward and downward in a fidgeting motion that seemed playfully fidgeting when in reality it was delaying the inevitable. He stared to the other inhabitants who may have existed as they kept a furious gaze in his direction. What began as a few seconds became minutes once more as his is right hand rose, tearing at his clothing that fell to the ground before he darted outward as the others made their way to a new creature to fall with blood and Ehr; Perhaps it was for the better he disappeared for some time. Though, there was risk he might come back. ((I need a break from Quin that can be explained ICly and will also explain some mindsets when I do play Quin once more. Baal-Time. Can be as short as a week, or maybe longer if I don't really get that drive again. I might play him to poke at other characters occasionally, but he needs a rest.))
The snowfall drifted down in seismic combers, cavorting about in a choreographed ballet conducted by the biting winds. This idyllic land that was harsh on the body of normal Man was homely abode to some more bestial and free. The burning conflagration of the amber in their eyes flared up, bestirring as new yet familiar scent entered the nose. The taciturn figure begun their stampeding march to the shores with a bovine huff. He had yield to something that towed not only him, but other Url as well. Such a thing was the cold chains of curiosity. Einherjar's gaze punctured through the tumultuous freneticism that was the Baals greeting new brethren from lands afar: abated breaths manifesting as mists that billowed out like pluming smoke, vulgar parlance that exchanged with one another. It wasn't hard to extricate the towering figure that was familiar, both in appearance and with a whiff of them. At this point, one would expect a reunion of sorts — him meeting Quin face-to-face, asking him what it was about the concrete jungle that had cracked down on him. What had finally led them to this frozen wasteland even? But no, that did not happen. Instead, he turned back on procession that was gathering en masse on the snowy ports to make furtive retreat. Their abstruse leave was not without remarks albeit, perhaps lost to the buffeting winds that swallowed them whole. "Seize what you can yourself, and do not give yourself into any one's power; The whole art of life consists in belonging to one's self, It is time for your soul-searching. March in this forlorn procession now, to search what it is you must do."
