Who: Ulquiorra Cifer, OPEN
When: Saturday evening
Where: Around the southwestern part of Anatole.
Format: Starting prose, open to whichever preference~
What: A past not quite forgotten but long since recalled, revisited in form. Thar be Vasto Lordes present.
Warnings: Potential violence? We'll see how things go!
It was an immense pressure that washed over a portion of the southwestern area of the city, a thick and potentially oppressive feeling that few residents might find very familiar, if only for its make-up. A dense reiatsu, a strong spiritual presence that affected even the non-Scorched citizens of the city, causing them to falter in their steps, and even more to faint where they stood.
This world was not the one he should have been in.
Where were the white sands and the endless stretch of night that forever hung above? It was an unusual atmosphere and it set him on edge. Surely he hadn't traveled so long and so far that he'd ended up in a completely different world? For a moment he wondered that he'd somehow by mistake crossed into the realm of the living. There were humans here, but there was still something off about it all.
His instincts kept him on edge. His wide eyes roved the streets as he perched at the edge of a building, like a white gargoyle. White from head to toe, a slender form with slightly clawed hands and black, batlike wings that fanned out from his lower back. He had a skinny, whip-like tail that curled subtly to counterbalance him as his bright green eyes peered out from behind a mask of bone that covered his entire face- or perhaps was his face, a pair of long, curving horns stretching out from the top, and a scraggly mane of black pooling from the ridged white base of his neck.
Strange that his exile had led him to a place so teeming with life, but what did it mean? What was this place?