[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/1wR6dwZ.png[/img][/center] [center][color=000000][b][u]________________________________________________________________________________[/u][/b][/color][/center][center]💀 [color=000000][u][b]Location - ???[/b][/u][/color] 💀 [color=000000][u][b]Interaction - [sub][@CMDR Melander][@Cio][/sub][/b][/u][/color][/center][center][color=000000][b][u]________________________________________________________________________________[/u][/b][/color][/center] A creature of night, Umbra did not find himself getting along with the celestial body above, that of which surface dwellers called the sun. Indeed, the young prince, young for a fae, one might add, had been traveling along with Saranja, his trusted friend, for quite a notable amount of time, by this point. The sun was not an unknown concept, sadly, and thus, Umbra was often times forced to cast a spell which obfuscated him from the piercing rays of an unforgiving orb, of embers. It was a simple spell, one harnessing the dark energies within to create a parasol, of sorts, which covered the caster's frame. Taking the shape of a dim outline which circled the prince, one would sooner point out the black energies carrying him above ground. Why, pray tell, would a fairy prince dirty his feet upon the path of dirt, and muck? A ridiculous proposition, truly. His garb would quite clearly depict the prince's status, with blacks and silvers intertwining and slithering together in a fantastical display. Umbra wore a black vest upon his scrawny, lithe chest, which remained buttoned in a noble fashion, hugging his torso tightly, but also, comfortably. In the silken fabric, silver decorations rowed the regalia, clearly an expensive piece of art. He would be honored to say, that he had tailored the piece, himself. Following suit, the prince wore a pair of baggy pants, inspired by the desert fashion of the southern pearls. They moved down to his ankles where they hugged the slender appendages, and left his paws bare, for why would he wear shoes? His four claws would make the feat quite difficult, and he rarely ever graced surfaces with his physical presence. They would have to make do with the mere sight, of him. [b][color=000000]"Is that a tiefling, I see?"[/color][/b] Umbra tilted his head, clawed hands plucking the strings of a lute clearly made to match his clothes. Anything else would be unacceptable. [b][color=000000]"Well..,"[/color][/b] the prince began, turning to look at Saranja, a claw rising to scratch the tip of his snout, [b][color=000000]"it would only be customary to offer a meal, a song and.., oh, we have no castle, now do we?"[/color][/b] The prince looked from right to left, as if seeking one, with little luck. He placed one leg over the other and leaned back, in the air, as if he was sitting on a chair. No, a throne. The expression on Umbra's face would consider him bored, in almost all circumstances. However, this was not case. Indeed, the prince was merely cursed with the persistent state of a resting bitch visage. Lazily motioning towards the broken wheel upon their guest's, for yes, that was what she was, carriage, the prince rubbed his chin, in thought. [b][color=000000]"There might be a spell for this in here.., somewhere..,"[/color][/b] he began, rummaging through a shoulder bag he wore. From it, the prince produced a book, a grimoire, to be precise. [b][color=000000]"It's not made of bones, is it? Hm..,"[/color][/b] he continued to flip through the pages, tracing a claw across the magical runes inscribed on each. [b][color=000000]"Aha, here we go. Dark Mending,"[/color][/b] Umbra snapped his fingers, triumphant, [b][color=000000]"we will need the blood of an orphan, the locks of a virgin, the hopes of a child, and the sadness of a widow. Simple."[/color][/b]