#limitedmoon

Certainly! Your reservation lasts until the 29th of March.

shockwavexpulsar : here

blackheartcerberus : here

terminusvitae : here

limitedmoon : here

thespellweaver : here

And opens--

lost

[COME TO ME BABUUUU! IT IS I, NANAKI! ♥]

[THANK YOU. People can be quite ridiculous and ignorant about these things. As a side-note, I giggled at the section about gore and whatnot. Their casual use of the word “dick” in such an important notification was pretty amusing. XD]

The deep folds of the surface; lithic waves that ebb over dales of stone, close to the land and then to tip high and loftily till they could prod the underbelly of the sun itself. Aye-- the ocean may have opened mouths, may have dazzled idyllic kind with it's gentle sway, but for the ancient palisades that cleave the continent in two? Ah-- how they evoke a similar bliss. Curvaceous mounds that etch age-old language to grassy beds, spiralling effervescent when each kind chasm and violent drop spoke of primitive tales of ice and fire. Mellow golds to scorching red; their battle-fellows the shattery trees, bound to the cape out of loyal love, a heartless geniality even when water ran thin. Like a soldier's child they cling resolute to their thought, decking a landscape with further shape, briery and merrily dull all the same, miniature facsimiles of their grandiose fore-fathers. Once upon a time they may have been sea-walls, welcoming the tides that sketch further remarks of fleeting travels, as if the red barricade that split Gaia was a mural for any to paint.

  This could only be one place. Cosmo Canyon. 

And so he sits on a silent ledge of steaming stone; though he himself is not loud, he has found a pair with a wayward songbird that has come late for the Winter, it's chirps sing with addled stanzas; perplexed and puzzled for it had no time to practise. It is a misled melody, echoing, resonating into apical valleys of redstone, dissipating when it would meld with the warming bustle of a civilization just yonder beyond the mark. What he depicts is thorough-wrought, and wonderfully ornate; the wonders of the stagnant wave, where water has become rock, and for the past hour had he merely been sight-seeing like the old, weary wayfarer he was.