'Souls RPG

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In the dark the man was almost indiscernible from his surroundings. Ierian Songthorn had become something of an advisor to the King, and whenever Iomair found himself lost in his thoughts… Ierian had a way of bringing everything back into focus. He was logical and impartial – a man committed to the Myriad and the lessons that could be offered from his own experience. Iomair appreciated this more as he got older. At the top everything could feel hollow and lonely.

Decisions for the realm were for the greater good of their people, but he found it difficult to make decisions that bettered his own life.

”Is it normal to feel like this?” He asked as they wandered, one hand lazily propped against his chest. ”I know that she’s gone – I lay no claim to her…. But…” He sighed softly, ”Is this all that’s left?”

Her pilgrimmage had left him fumbling with questions he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. Rand lingered like a shadow where ever she went and now there were new alcolytes who hummed their praises. It rattled him. He hated to admit it. He carried his iron token with greater force and assured that was always hidden in the folds of his tunic. The iron weighted him in place and soothed away small sections of his worries. He pined for a warm tongue and a warm bed - but even then each night when he returned it was cold and dark.

It was the sort of cold that worked itself into the bone.

"How do you move on?" He mused, splaying a scarred hand against an old birch tree. "Don't mind the ramblings of a man in the twilight of his like - I am lucky that you are such a patient man."

He laughed, though the mirth filled sound was suddenly cut off by a blood curdling scream.

It echoed between them in the dark like a banshee's wail, and Iomair felt the fur stand up along each of his arms.

(///) | NPCs: na

ooc [+493]
Their occasional meetings tended to be quiet, private affairs. Nothing so grandiose as an audience with the High King. They could sit in the comfort of the Songthorn’s quiet home, now inhabited by but one, or on occasion take a stroll much like the one that they now undertook. For a man who tended to so frequently weave his words into eloquent archaic speech, the old Escal took comfort in this simplicity.

“I see no breach of normalcy in the way you feel, O King.” Of course, some aspects of high speech remained. But as their ritual gradually evolved, Ierian did take to addressing Iomair more often by name rather than station. All the more so when conversation strayed from matters of the state and to that of the life of a howlbound Soul. “With her you were in togetherness. Now you are not… But, you cannot feed yourself on an absence.”

Their loss was dissimilar, but the Songthorn made the effort to draw parallels. Perhaps even offer advice that he himself could use, deriving it from the situation of the monarch by his side. At times giving it to another was so much easier than utilizing it for his personal betterment. The conversation made him ponder whether to have Eyebright here, with the pack, but forever detached from him, a wedge driven between them, would have been preferable to knowing her to be lost. Teetering on the edge of submerging into his own thoughts, he bid himself to pay attention to Iomair’s questions.

Despite Iomair’s request, the patient man by his side let out a thoughtful murmur, then opened his mouth to speak again. “I understand your lament, Iomair. We, many Souls, we who make part of Myriad, seek to belong. Those who make out their loneliness to be things of romance seldom find true comfort… How you move on… Well… I imagine by paying that which you lose with your lament and pained fondness, but not overfeeding it. Leave something for the self and for the others. Find a way to direct yourself into what is, not into what-…”

He was interrupted, though perhaps its conclusion was not difficult to glean. The sound, sharp, piercing, pained, caught the attention of them both at once. Bristled up, Ierian shifted his head in the direction from which he heard the scream. He was not oblivious to the pack’s recent perils, nor, for that matter, to Iomair’s own, however isolated. Though scarred and hunched, he could still shield Iomair. But he knew the King to be a warrior, and so did not rush, at least not yet.

Just as abruptly as the scream rung out, so did it fall silent. Ierian nearly seemed to still his breath for a moment, then uttered briefly. “Come. Stay close.” And set out, staff in hand, in the direction from which the call had come. Judging by the silence that fell after, had it been a death knell?
He ruminated over the mans words and wondered how it was that Ierian had found such peace. There was something to be said of the scarred man and his Myriad – it appeared to have guided him despite having no old god to follow. Dùr had found Iomair more times than he could count; the strength of the mountain permeating most of his life.

Stone and iron lasted long into the next life; perennial as the coming of spring.

He knew that the brothers had experience their own strife, but he also knew that they had founded the Realm alongside him all that time ago – they were changed men, different than when the Myriad had first guided them to his banner.

”I-“ All at once his thoughts were tangled, the keening scream interrupting all that had been their thoughtful conversation.

Iomair reached out reflexively to place a hand against the larger man’s arm – as if he in some way could hold the brute back from the frightening cacophony. ”Ierian-“ He sought to warn, but Ierian had strode before him – eyes piercing the vale of trees with a warning snarl.

Iomair bared his teeth and twisted the iron for a final time.

”We go.” He wrinkled his muzzle and moved to stand alongside him. "Together."

(///) | NPCs: NA

Feel free to guide Iomair towards the scream! So sorry for wait <3 This could be the beginning of an amazing cop duo :')