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POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 2:09 pm
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POSTED: Thu May 30, 2019 3:22 pm
(746)
Athras lounged as he sometimes did on a bed of peat, moss, and leaves a new addition he’d labored over in the days before. It was hardly grand, there were no furs to dress it, or warm him should he catch a chill. No roof to keep the rains and winds at bay. But it was his. He had so very little these days it was precious thing, a portion of this makeshift camp that was truly his own to do with as he pleased.
The sweet musk smell of rotting earth and soil slowly began to overcome that of ash in his, now sleek fur. His hair was shining and immaculate, partially pulled back in a half-tail. His pelt was similarly groomed, sleek as a shadow, though not as glossy as it had been. His belly was no longer a raging pit of roiling, burning hunger, but mostly sated. His cheeks were a little less gaunt, his abdomen not quite as hollow. Though the situation was hardly ideal he was slowly but surely learning to make the most of it. However, it was far more work than he’d ever been tasked with and his muscles ached. He had worked hard to learn a blade, but precision and fluidity, speed, hardly lent themselves to strength and substantial bulk. He was a svelte, willowy creature- a cunning rogue swift and silent...not a laborer. Of this point he complained loudly, and often. This was not home, it would never be home. So why did they remain?
He looked with regularity towards the grandest of tents, the dwelling of their king and fading queen. He could see the pain in her eyes glazing her gray-blues. The woman of Lorn and Taur was not faring well. And if he could see it, there was a chance the others could too. Whom Athras had yet to see, at least not for any significant stretch was her...unfaithful husband. Yes, the young Eryn knew a great many things about their handsome king-- things the others would be shocked to hear, he was certain. Those little chestnuts he stored quite selfishly, hoarded to himself and his quicksilver mind for use...at a later date.
For now, the Eryn’s ears harkened to the restless sounds of his brother’s freckled stallion. Hasufel stirred from grazing at the percussive sound of hoofbeats. Athras looked up to see the well-groomed buckskin of the red-headed scout, and made a note to ask the man to tend to Hasufel in much the same way. He had to borrow the brush he’d used to groom himself, and in the same vein had nothing with which to care for the stallion. Though the soot had faded now he was not as grand as he had been, nor as steady. And almost entirely without tack. With bitterness Athras recalled the burning ache of riding bare back the great many miles between Caledonia and here. Never again, he promised himself, though it would be some time before their raggedy company established much in the way of trade.
Looking back to his work, Athras chipped away at a fallen branch for a man as devout as he would never dream of taking from the trees themselves. Over the afternoon it had taken faint shape. He’d since carved away the excess to reveal the makings of some four-legged creature. It’s face and legs were undetailed, and there was a long and wide protrusion sprouting forth from what looked to be it’s head. He would not use his dagger for the wood would dull it’s otherwise razor edge and had borrowed from camp a small crude knife. While not the prettiest thing it served it’s purpose, becoming an implement of grace in the half-shadow’s hands. He scarcely looked up when his name was called as he guided the blade’s edge around the head’s protrusions, discarding a chunk of wood as he shaped it to his will.
The scout’s voice was only vaguely familiar, but Athras knew his lineage. When the eagle-bearer closed the gap between them only then did Athras’s frosted cerulean gaze part from his work. “Ah, Anor, is it. Yes, I knew your brother.” He extended a robed arm to usher him closer. “Come, sit with me. There’s much to discuss.” There was little in the Eryn's speech to suggest his offer was anything less than a command, albeit a benevolent one. He smiled warmly, his teeth white and glistening against dark fur.
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New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent |
POSTED: Sun Jun 02, 2019 1:06 pm
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POSTED: Thu Jun 13, 2019 3:06 pm
(311)
Short post, but I believe the content more than makes up for it! :D
His hands continued their task, chipping away at the idol and breathing new life into dead wood. He greeted the archer by his surname only, as neither of them were overtly familiar. Athras had been much better acquainted with Katoa, a bright and cheerful man and elder son. His mention was posed as a statement, invoking sentiment and familiarity. It disguised the question he did not wish to ask, a truth he suspected but had yet to confirm. Tamlin obliged.
The half-shadow’s ears fell in reverence of the dead. He heeded the Menel’s eulogy with solemn regard, and tacked on his own. “And may he be returned to Nanin’s green earth where life springs eternal.” He’d stopped his carving to give the dead his due and now caressed the raw wood with his thumb. “A shame. I was fond of him, too.” Time had yet to heal the wounds, and none among them could give number to the unclaimed dead.
Athras’s thumb continued to trace the curvature of the idol’s spine until with a soft hiss his finger withdrew. A splinter’s tip protruded from the finger pad. He worried at it with tooth and claw, until at last he pulled it free. The dark pad beaded with a small drop of shining crimson and rather than bring it to his mouth— as a great many would— Athras smeared it upon the idol. He even smiled, as if this had been a very fine thing.
He was pleased to hear the rustle of leaf litter as the scout sat down, and thrilled to once again be in the company of such propriety. “I’ve much more important things to discuss with you, of course, but indulge me a moment?” The frosted cyan of his inquisitive gaze took in Tamlin’s emerald green with intent and purpose. He searched his face, “have you never bedded a woman before, Tamlin?”
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New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent |
POSTED: Thu Jun 13, 2019 9:27 pm
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POSTED: Tue Jun 18, 2019 3:10 pm
(349)
A bright merry laugh slipped from the Eryn’s lips at the mention of time’s past: happy memories of young men and their singular pursuits. Singular for Katoa- for the most part- as the Sunwarden’s brother had a fondness for women above all, save a few exceptions. But as swift as the laughter had come it was replaced by sobriety and stillness. He thought of a time when Katoa had been his, for just a little while.
“Ahhh,” Athras sighed with a soft wistful smile. “Happier times.” He rested a hand briefly upon Tamlin’s shoulder for comfort as they shared the burden of unspeakable loss.
A keen side glance noted with interest and pride as Tamlin looked on the idol spell-bound and curious. He said nothing and tucked the idol tenderly behind him, another day, perhaps. Then his eyes lit with mirth and intent as the scout stumbled over his words. Oh, how it pained him to witness. Athras knew he should probably end Tamlin’s suffering, spare him before he embarrassed himself, but Athras was not a good or kindly man.
Tamlin continued to stammer and splutter in delectable anguish, as Athras looked on, a wicked gleam flashing in his cyan eyes. He waved his hand lazily to usher Tamlin into silence. “Forgive me, that was cruel.” He said without even a hint of sincerity. “It’s so painfully obvious, I needn’t have asked.”
Athras gave a long and theatrical sigh, “oh, Tamlin. Dear, dear Tamlin, what am I to do with you?” He tutted. “It’s no wonder she has you wrapped around her little finger.” He shook his head, ears shifting as he cast his gaze about camp. “It’s almost sickening to watch the two of you. Those doe-eyes, the way you follow her around like a lost puppy, obeying her every command— ugh!” His narrow and delicate features contorted with disgust. He leaned back into the earthen bed, fingers to his temple as his eyes briefly closed.
"If you're incapable of sealing the deal," he said slowly, "please please please come to me. It's painful watching you flail about."
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New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent |
POSTED: Tue Jun 18, 2019 5:02 pm
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POSTED: Thu Jun 20, 2019 10:55 pm
(419)
*whistles innocently*
He could not even utter her name without flushing! Athras watched Tamlin’s lips open and close, once, twice, and again. It was as if language had lost him, and left him gaping for it’s absence. Athras frowned. While it was true Fennore was a woman of ample...ambition, Athras couldn’t see the appeal. She spoke often and loudly of how she believed the world worked, without actually knowing a word of what she was talking about. She tread heavily upon custom and culture, disobeyed their long-standing etiquette, and displayed none of the deference a woman of her station should. And worse, she had invoked his ire one too many times, a dangerous thing. The half-shadow was not named lightly, and his threat still held true. She would do well to watch her back.
“Because you haven’t the guts to tell her.” He surmised, reading in between the lines, and judging his statements based upon past interactions. Did he think they did not notice the two of them stealing away in the early hours with horse or bow, nor hear the simpering endearments passed from one to the other. “So I’ve noticed.”
The Eryn lord’s ears twitched to the whisper-soft plea of the Sunwarden’s, and for a moment he was tempted to pry the words from him again, but louder this time. Ultimately, he thought better of it, and his gaze sharpened in turn. He knew precisely what to do.
Athras leaned forward, drawing Tamlin’s attention with the motion. Their eyes met, deep emerald green and cool cyan, there he locked him in a gaze cool and collected with intent, a predatory stare that sought to trap his attention and keep it solely fixed on him. He took Tamlin’s hands within his own, a gentle hold that no doubt soothed the claws back into their soft pads. Athras held him there for a long lingering moment, in which his fingers stroked the back of the man’s hands in a tender caress. “If you cannot tell her how you feel, tell me instead.” His voice was soft as velvet, or the distant thunder of a summer storm. It rumbled pleasantly in his throat as he hummed contentedly. Any trace of disdain had all but melted away from his darkly handsome face.
Athras’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, his head tilting just-so. “Your braid is unraveling. Here, allow me.” He tipped his chin to coax Tamlin into turning, and should he do so began to unbind and unravel the loosening coil of his hair.
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New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent |
POSTED: Mon Jun 24, 2019 2:57 pm
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POSTED: Tue Jul 02, 2019 3:38 pm
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Tamlin stiffened momentarily as if to refute his observation to ultimately relax beneath the Eryn’s gaze. Athras watched this with mixed interest, mirth, and...reproval, prepared to reprimand if he said something out of line. Of course he wasn’t commenting on the man’s martial prowess, that was far beside the point. Not a single Caledonian could claim that their hands were entirely clean; blood had stained the forest floor, the plain, the riverbank, the mountain. They were all touched by the horrors of war. This was another matter far removed. But no less revolting, for Athras, at least.
Tamlin stiffened again as Athras’s hands gently encased his own. His lips twitched tremulous as the half-shadow bade him to turn. His fingers worked deftly, dexterously unweaving the blazing red hair. It ripped through his fingers as with a laugh Tamlin shot up. Athras’s brow quirked, his hands returning to his sides. He didn’t laugh and made no expression of mirth. “Teach me? Hardly.” His tongue ran absent-mindedly over his teeth and pearly fangs.
“You asked for my help.” He reminded Tamlin in a hard voice. “I gave it. If you don’t want to learn, that’s on you.” He spoke clearly, crisply enunciating every syllable that passed his lips. “If it’s of any consolation to you, Tamlin Anor. I’m not interested.” When he looked up his gaze was sharp, his command less benign. “Now, sit back down. I’m not finished with you.”
Should the scout hesitate, Athras placed his hands in front of him, “don’t worry. I’ll be keeping my hands to myself, since it disturbs you so.” He gestured sharply with his head, urging Tamlin to hurry up.
"Now, would you like to try again— verbally this time. Or would you prefer we change the subject?" He put the choice in Tamlin's hands, allowing his temper to cool. He had, after all, been quite sincere.
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New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent |