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| Souls Adrift; ~ Vangelis ~ | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 5 2015, 09:12 PM (212 Views) | |
| Shrista | Mar 5 2015, 09:12 PM Post #1 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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It was cold. The distinct lack of trees left her feeling more open than ever out here, where there were usually so many clustered together, whispering like elderly matriarchs with each gust of wind. No, there were not so many here, but the Kaadian Way was not that far off, the ground opening out to where the invisible boundary that marked Morrim on the map was. Somewhere around here, underneath the snow, as the cartographers would write it. The Plains of Aeril were out there, and the wind was earning its name in the pre-dawn darkness, skirling madly over the subtle dips and rises of the land, bringing with it fresh snow, sculpting and changing the scene with its own chaotic unknowable whim. The Drow sat on the fence, feeling the chill knife through her, each intake of breath a painful lance, stabbing at her lungs. Such things that one became used to in so short a time. How natural it felt to live in a perpetual fear and paranoia, one that would never really be shaken free. The difference of donning that cloak again, and feeling a hundred thousand tons of rock pushing down on your head without ever making contact. The darkness, pressing in on all sides. It had left her...strangely empty. She thought she'd have been itching to go back, aching to slot neatly into that place in society, to control again. But... Shrista watched as the sky changed, the clouds scudding away, driven by the eternal wind, only to come, and leave again as they will. The gentle, subtle blend of colour, lightening until the navy was azure, shifted to lavender, turquoise, palest gold that swelled to tangerine, ended by the thick band of mauve on the horizon. Only it didn't end. It continued on, past what her keen eyes might see, the stars winking out with the coming of the dawn. To think that they'd been a part of this once... Someone had once said the stars were the sun's children. She'd also heard it said they were the souls of the dead, traversing the last great unknown until they passed to the beyond. She couldn't say whether it was true or not, didn't know what to believe anymore. Once, she might have scoffed at that, pretty story though it was. What kind of parent would banish their own children, blaze so brightly that they withered for merely existing? Perhaps she ought not to answer that one. She had but only to gaze in a silver looking glass, and there it was, stone cold and bluntly staring right back. Strange, how people were always willing to take a fallacy over an untruth. Anything to save their pride, their dignity, their shame. All dead went to their respective deity. No hell. No heavens. What transpired then was at the mercy of that single figure, which she'd thought to achieve once. No more...no, she was...not lost, merely cast adrift on a sea of storms. Wherever she was going, she would find it, eventually...with or without her goddess. Yet to refuse and reject her as she had...to consign oneself to oblivion...it was madness. As was sitting on a fence, waiting for the sun to rise, that blighted searing light that would render her blind. It was...perhaps, a form of penance. She would deserve nothing less, and endure, as she always had. Gradually the snow tinted, stained rose as the first fingers of light crept above the horizon, set the ground afire with a million tiny capture sparks, like trapped fireflies, the snow aflame. She would have turned her head had she not prepared herself, set her shoulders, back ramrod straight. It was in its own way, mesmerizing. Such a beautifully bright thing, as endless in its cycle as that of life and death itself could exist, untouched or unsullied by mortal hands. Her hands gripped the wood hard, feeling the bite of splinters, half blind with tears until finally she ducked her head and turned away, dashing the side of her hand across her eyes to remove the dew that clung to her pale lashes. "Vith." It was only then she noticed the flare of life energy not so far away, and silently cursed her inattentiveness, so focused had she been on her visual battle with the sun. Such a thing would get her killed one of these days. Slowly she turned, swinging her legs over until she faced the other way, the light at her back, turning her into a shade once more, just another vague human shape against the glare. Her hands settled on her knees, rubbed some warmth back into her legs through the buckskin pants, and drawled a greeting in her clipped, husky tones. "Vendui, Stranger. Come to watch the birth of another dawn?" Edited by Shrista, May 19 2015, 06:12 PM.
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| Vangelis | May 21 2015, 12:14 PM Post #2 |
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Clearly, then, it will be Wise, Brave, Temperate, and Just
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It had been quite some time since he had allowed himself to fly. So much of his recent time was spent in such relative close quarters with mortals that he simply hadn't felt comfortable enough taking to the air. Additionally, he had found that while one certainly got a grander overall view of the world when looking down from above, one also missed the myriad of details and uniqueness of the experience that was intrinsic to traveling by foot. Vangelis noted that he had grown very fond of that experience, and took to walking nearly everywhere. The slow, steady pace had been something he was not so thoroughly opposed to. It was how he had met many of those he had crossed paths with, and it was an integral part in what had helped to shape his perspective and opinion on the physical world itself. However, on this night he decided to indulge himself, to exercise his wings and capability for flight that had been put on hiatus for perhaps too long. His wings were unfurled, and he a low, golden, shooting star, streaking against the darkness just after moonrise. Clear, silver-white lights illuminated his way above as he raced only just atop the tree line. His speed at times was ludicrous, if too close, the leading edge of his wings sheered the loose tips of evergreens and the small budding leaves of trees just awakening from their Winter slumber clean off. The Celestial had no destination in particular, nor had he the desire to double back and return to the small town in which he had been temporarily residing. The residents there had been such gracious hosts, and he had thoroughly enjoyed being amongst them and helping out where he could. Despite that, he inevitably felt the restless tug of wanderlust upon him, and in time decided that he should move on- to find somewhere or something else to occupy himself with. Now, the winds raged at him during his reckless flight, blowing snow across his face and hair whenever he dipped low enough to skirt against the ground where Spring had yet begun to touch. Gradually, as the night stretched on, and feeling that daybreak for soon be upon him, Vangelis slowed and began scanning for a place to touch down. It was during this time that he spotted them, the lonely figure seated on a fence in the middle of a desolate expanse. A nostalgic wave washed over him as he passed them by behind, and an uncharacteristic shiver echoed down his spine. His curiosity was piqued, and the decision to explore it further had been decided. This was as good a place as any for such a feeling to strike him; different at least, than the usual city and townscapes that often drew his attention. Vangelis beat the air once, sweeping the massive downy feathers of his wings and moving the air upwards, working with its natural currents to achieve the height he wished before beginning a downward spiral towards the earth. He plunged down, down, down, circling at soaring velocities and winding down into tighter, more lazily performed circles. As he moved near the destination where he sensed the lonely presence, he turned short in the air, dipping, and coming with wings extended towards the clearing. A final, quick series of short beats, and he was landed. Vangelis' feet barely whispered over the ground as he trod softly forward, the magnificent wings that had carried him thusly, suddenly dissipating from his back like millions of fleeing, softly hissing fireflies. The tiny golden embers into which they turned flickered as they caught the wind, individually blinking on and off at random until they burnt out of existence. He approached the seated figure slowly, eyes trained upon them. He didn't feel the need to rush, nor to actively make his presence known; they would sense him soon enough in time. And so they did. Even with the rising sun behind them and the lack of light shrouding their face in shadow, he recognized the figure immediately, and almost started, but quickly gathered himself. A mock frown crossed his features as the person spoke, first greeting him in their mother tongue. The Celestial paused in his step a few yards in front, bare arms crossing in front of his chest as if indignant. "Stranger?" The word was incredulous as it left his mouth, his flametongue eyes catching the dawn's early light and glowing dimly like two minor suns in response. "Has it really been that long, Shrista?" |
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| Shrista | May 26 2015, 04:42 PM Post #3 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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How did the saying go? It was a small world, or something like that? Of course, looking at the vast network of potential realities and alternate dimensions and worlds overlapping it might seem that way...but when you got right down to it, what was one person compared to that? Right then, she could believe it, and in all honesty, hadn't expected to see the stranger again before she died. Funny how things worked out like that. Where he came from, the Gods only knew. Her gaze picked out only a handful of footprints, bare, she noted, as usual. If he'd just appeared, or glided in silent as any owl, it might as well be the same. The means didn't matter, he was there now. For that moment, she wanted to hold, to preserve it and clutch it like a precious thing to her breast where it would be kept safe from prying eyes. His eyes were luminous, unflinching as the dawn's early light threw her shadow at him, and she lifted her fingers carefully, the skinny length that shade breaching the gap between them, yearning, but not quite making it. And so it had been in her innermost thoughts. He was perfect, celestial, in possession of a peculiarly wonderful innocence without being utterly naive. She had never felt as though she might compare to that, and had she more soul she might have wept. There were no tears left for that, though. He'd gone then, and she'd passingly wondered why, sighed over the little things that made her think of him, bare feet and warm hands, inquisitive eyes and gentle smiles like none that had been given to her before then. If something was to be...much as she might fight and writhe in fate's grasp, then it would be. And so it was now. Lounging on a splintery fence in the middle of nowhere, her vulpine features frozen between surprise and uncertainty, she felt that vast space between them, made all the wider for the way the light held her in its half state, and he bathed in it. Shrista sat for a time simply regarding him this way, elbows on knees, chin cupped in one hand, a playful smile lifting the corners of her mouth slightly. "You tell me, Sunshine." As if a thousand tiny invisible hands were exerting the minimum of force on her, the smile faded away and she slid from her perch, boots creaking in the snow, loud against the perfect quiet. The steps seemed to be the only thing that she could focus on, keeping them steady for all but half a dozen paces before she broke into a run, and flung her arms around the angel. There were no words just then, they were not needed. The contact, the sensation of warmth bleeding through clothing and skin as she leaned against him, was enough. It didn't matter where he'd been, he was here now. After a moment she gathered her senses, ordered them. Relief that he was still in existence was surprising, as if she'd ever doubted that he would suddenly stop being. Guilt, that she'd allowed things to move on without him, swiftly smothered. She was mortal...mortal...how wrong it seemed now. And anger, anger that he'd ever left so suddenly, without explanation, though she didn't blame him. They were only old feelings, ephemeral, surfacing to be cast aside or tempered into something new. She did know that with a certainty, she wanted to hit him, fingers curling into fists, bunching his shirt across his shoulders. The drow moved back just enough that she might view his face, tilting her chin up in proud defiance, eyes sparking with her irritation and affection, could feel his breath shivering across her nose, his face blurring into an unfocused mess. "Why? Why did you come back?" |
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