'Souls RPG

Full Version: [M] You don't believe in god, I don't believe in you
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: religion, violence, drugs, etc..

OOC: Lorien is plural. Lorien has an introject of the religious figure of Nanin in a system. This is not the literal god, Nanin, 'possessing' Lorien. This 'Nanin' is not the original and is just a part of Lorien's plurality. There is nothing supernatural about this, it's purely an internal and mental function of this character.

Nanin, as deific as he was, needed some air. It had been a short amount of time since he had first taken control of Lorien's body. As old as he was supposed to be, time felt very compressed at the moment. Was he simply unable to access his old memories, wisdom and magic? It all may stream behind Lorien's head in an array of colorful streamers. He was not who he was to anyone. 

He roamed over the grasslands with stretched paws, the air growing colder. Nanin only stopped when he found himself among taller trees. He outstretched his claws and climbed to the lowest and thickest branch. His legs dangled from it now. He closed his eyes to try to bring the memories back... But alas, they were too distant. Far too distant. In a mournful ballad, he sang. 

His song had drawn another soul in closer to his own being. Gold eyes cracking open, he saw them beneath the branch.


His voice rasped as stone scrawling itself against the sky, sounding dark in its majesty and distance... And just like he was plain sick. He coughed. Speaking with this body was difficult as a mouthpiece. He wondered why he woke up inside of Lorien's body that day.
[Image: wolfmoon.gif] Conscientious Word of the Day - 23 July 22 adjective | careful to do things with exact or thoughtful attention

Location: Western Forefront (vaguely located) || NPCs: Fenwick (crow) & Kalla (cat) || Form: Optime

"Above." the cat growled in her ear. With a cursory glance behind her at the shallow woven basket strapped to her back, the Luperci saw that her feline companion's inky fur was so dramatically puffed that she appeared almost double her size.

"Where?" she uttered, looking skyward then; too far up, too far away.

"In the trees."


Miriel swung her head to the sound of the voice and spied him at last. He was sitting low in the tree, looking to her nearly as comfortable among the branches as a bird or a squirrel, and peering down upon her with eyes the color of a tired sun. For a moment, the curly-coated woman merely returned his gaze, drawing the dewy summer air in with a quick cadence. And then she breathed out deeply and dipped her nose respectfully.

Peace an' providence t' ye, Tree-dweller," the woman greeted back. Her eyes reopened with the upward tilt of her nose and she looked back up at him again.

The pair — Miriel and her feline companion, a black queen with copper eyes and a patch of white upon her chest who went by the name of Kalla — had indeed been drawn by the sound of the mournful song. To Kalla, whose conscientious voice of reason was always heard and seldom regarded, the cry was best left without investigation and given a wide berth for good measure. But Miri, as oft she did, thought differently.

"Th' cards ain't foretold of mah death this day," she had reminded the cat before setting off in the direction the ballad. "Nor yours, if ye ken."

Looking at the tree-bound singer now, however, Miri wondered if it might have been more prudent to heed Kalla's advice. He was among the first that she had come upon since departing from her troupe with a rucksack-full of provisions and only Kalla and the young crow, Fenwick, for company. And, for some inexplicable reason, he wailing among the branches of a tree like some mutant songbird. Odd, yes. Very odd, indeed.

But odd didn't necessarily mean bad.

"It was your song tha' drew us," Miriel continued. "Assumin' it ain't because you're stuck up in yon tree, might Ah ask why ye sound so mournful?"

[WC -- 383]

The cat had taken notice of him first, though he announced himself soon after. He sought not to give anyone a fright. He knew the usefulness of terror, but that was only when it was necessary. This newcomer was a stranger, but Nanin felt that because she had not attacked him yet, he did not need to use his teeth. She was even respectful, or at least he thought she was. Lorien may feel differently, but he was not near enough to speak to right now. He wondered why.

"Peace and providence to you as well," he rasped. His voice was deeper than this body could handle. Perhaps he needed to ease up on his usual timbre so as not to develop a sore throat. He cleared it. "Your cards tell of the most likely path. I mean no harm."

He swooped down from the gnarled, dark branches. His hair flounced from how he struck the ground, landing crouched on his two legs. He stood up straighter again, though he was still hunched over unlike a more humanized Luperci. He did indeed look like he belonged in the forest. It was his home, his domain, all under his control. At least he thought so, he was not certain. The branches did not bend to his will like they should have when he was in this mortal's body. He supposed that was what came with the limitations of the flesh.

"No, I was not stuck. I simply..." he trailed off. How to put it? "I am missing many of my memories. I am not what I once was." When he flatly stated this, it did not appear like he was too depressed in his expression. Still, it was obvious from his song that he wished it were not so. "Who are you?"
Location: Western Forefront (vaguely located) || NPCs: Fenwick (crow) & Kalla (cat) || Form: Optime

His voice sounded rough, like the way a cat's tongue felt on the tender flesh of the nose or how coarse sand scratched against itself when a wave rolled in. She didn't think much of it until he cleared his throat. An injury, perhaps? Or too long in the presence of smoke? Or was he simply trying to make himself sound more intimidating? No harm was meant, or so he had said, but there could be other reasons for such deception.

As though to answer her question by means of a demonstration, the stranger slipped from the branches without a word. Miri followed his shape as it dropped from the tree, noting how he stood more hunched than she. Were it not for the scents of others hanging about him like an aura, she might have marked him for a hermit. But that didn't necessarily mean much, now, did it? She still smelled the beloved figures of her troupe members in the fibers of her own curls, yet she had departed from them many days ago now. Scents were slow to fade and, in their own way, could also prove deceptive.

His explanation drew a thoughtful hum to tickle her closed lips. Surely he was talking figuratively. Overhead, in the freshly vacant tree, a crow cawed harshly and watched them with black, beady eyes.

"Ach, aye." Her eyes retreated from the crow, facing the stranger again. Then she bent her head and pressed two fingers between her brows. "Miriel Morgan, novice lore-taler an' jornedamma o' th' Divine Arts. In yon basket is Cat-sìth Kalla." Crouching uncomfortably, Kalla wrapped her silky black tail around her front legs and watched the stranger with large copper eyes. Of the crow, she kept silent. "An' wha' ought we call ye, Soul-singer?"

[WC -- 304]
OOC: please lmk if anything needs changing! <3