it's dangerous to speak and sigh

POSTED: Wed Nov 11, 2015 9:51 am

we steer as far away from the coming of days
000

She would never get used to the way the forests emptied for winter. Onuba had been an eternal wellspring of green, and she had grown under the tranquil sound of the sifting treetops, the trickling droplets of warm rain and the brush of tall grasses. She could almost return to that time as she moved through a veritable canopy of fallen leaves, the vibrant reds of autumn all browned with the rains and made into mud, but when the long arms of the skeletal trees clacked together she was drawn abruptly back.

She looked at the afternoon sky framed between the sharp blacks of boughs. She could tell that Amherst was still a long way out, but they were no longer caught in the shadow of the Oromocto and would be clear of the rocky terrain by nightfall. She traveled light, by foot because she had been feeling ill astride her Svantevit mare back in Krokar, and slowly for her inexplicable weariness that had plagued her for the past few days. Velazquez led the way ahead, quiet in the way his sisters were not, though she could always hear the huffing breaths from his oversized body.

When the metallic snap rang out, she had been sitting on a mossy log massaging the soreness from her feet. Elsewhere flapping wings padded the silence, a prelude to the sharp cries of a distressed boar. She ran to the sound. Mud and dirt and shattered leaves flecked her passage, her breath a sharp staccato. She found Velazquez on his side, struggling against an iron mouth that was big enough to keep a creature twice his size.

It was when his roars lapsed to labored breathing that she started to panic. She frantically began to brush away the leafy matter that had gathered on his hulking form (and she noticed, not for the first time that he had grown much too big), whispering words of comfort so that a whine would not escape her throat. It's alright, it's alright, she echoed, over and over. I'm going to get you out of this, we'll be alright.

She grabbed the contraption and pried it open with all of her strength. The rusted hinges made an encouraging sound as they were forced apart, but her body gave out before the metal could fully separate. She retracted her fingers just as it clamped shut again. She cursed, shook out her fingers, and gave it another try, and then another, and another until she was trembling, exhausted.

I'll go get a -- a rock, or something, and we'll smash this stupid thing apart, she said to him. He made a soft noise, a heartbreaking sound, that told her to stay though she knew there was nothing she could do by herself. She lingered because it was hard to leave him in such a vulnerable condition. When she finally withdrew, it was with great hesitation, and she looked back over her shoulder again and again like he might sink into the damp dark earth.

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Luperci Angler, Carpenter, Striker Tusk Stubborn Love bbleeearrrrghhhhhh
THE CURE FOR ANYTHING IS
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TEARS, SWEAT OR THE SEA

POSTED: Wed Nov 18, 2015 3:50 am


Black Sea, the monster killed the melody you loved

I made a bed, where you don't belong

The city was a ruined thing. Amherst cradled herself, a great wounded beast clutching at its own ribcage; Her eyes were all broken windows, her mouth the gaping doorways of houses that had been pillaged to a wreckage.

The feeling of being watched here was so omnipotent and overpowering that it seemed like he was back in the Blackwoods, among the peace-less echoes of the dead.

He disliked the city so much that when pavement gave way at last to the black mulch of the rotting forest, Lokr felt a weight on his shoulders lighten. Then there was nothing but the forest, extending west and north, away from Amherst and back to the feet of the white-capped mountains.

The little black mare, chosen for her speed, carried him quickly here; Picking up her pearly hooves at the relief of her rider. It was not often that he hunter so far afield, and Borya, sturdy though the shaggy beast was, was not a paragon of swiftness. But Iskra had a personality of her own - She shied often, her eyes rolling white and fearful, and Lokr was hard-pressed to keep his attentions on the mare.

When the bellow rang out, she almost threw him. The hunter clutched to her white mane, and maintained his seat more from instinct than skill - And when at last she had settled to a dance, his narrow pupils looked to the sky and saw the stream of black wings. The birds left an easy trail to follow, and Lokr knew well the sounds of a prey beast in pain.

He had come to hunt, after all.

They wove through the tall pines like wraiths, joined where his long dark legs wrapped about the mare's ribcage; Her pace was steady and light, and he found he enjoyed the fleeting run, the pounding of hooves muffled by mulch and decay.

When they were near enough to the source of the wounded roar, Lokr dismounted to ready his bow. The weapon was too long to be used effectively on horseback, and so he went forward on foot, trusting in Iskra's training that the flighty mare would follow. There was a caution to his steps that belied his skill; Many beasts roamed these forests, other hunters such as he. A bear had taken his tail. He would be loath to let one take his life.

A small clearing lay ahead. The glitter of metal caught his eye; And the heaving sides of the boar as it panted.

Mankind had left remnants of its passing all over their world. Lokr knew the bear-trap, for he had seen some of its like before; And indeed, Salsola had dissembled the cruel, gaping traps in the past, and used their pointed metal jaws for other heinous ends. It was rare to find one not yet set off, by rust or snow or frost, and that such unfortunate a fate had befallen this animal gave Lokr pause.

But only for a moment.

Arrow level with the wide, brown eye that watched him, Lokr entered the glade; And drew back his hand till the black feathers rasped against his cheek.

At the last second, he hesitated; Caught in the memory of another rare giant boar he had killed, and unpleasantly aware that this might be the last of such a creature to be found in these woods.



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Alaine
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wrath of the north
a voice in the deep

POSTED: Thu Nov 19, 2015 8:20 am

we steer as far away from the coming of days
000 you'll be my resolution alaine playlist is best playlist

Velazquez didn't have to wait long for her return. He lifted his head and huffed softly at the movement in the leaves. The selkie had always needed his guidance, for these kinds of things and others.

A hunter came instead, feathered by shade and the fletching of death. He watched him with his eyes large and brown, and seemed to wonder at his hesitation.

Stop! She came running, again. There was no threat at her heels, but she ran shedding the things she carried.

The sound seemed to unsettle the boar. He rose against his pain and threw his tusks. When she threw herself protectively before him, he blindly tossed his pointed teeth. She skidded aside with an expression that looked struck. Her hands trembled, and for a moment it seemed like she might run again, this time away, but she clasped her hands together over her chest and turned to face the arrow. His rampage frightened her, but his death frightened her more.

Frightened still, her breath hitched with recognition of the hunter. He seemed more like the man she first met. There was a supermassive shadow in him, and once she thought she could shine into it without knowing the depth would eat out the light.

When she had left, that autumn past, there had been a green in her heart - a spring of hope that had gone and turned foul to drink. Later, in the aftermath of their affair, she had reasoned with teary conviction that love could not grow from death. Even the boars were tarnished by their beginning. She saw them mature into the dark woods and the bones of their dead guardian, and she feared that one day they would leave.

She had tried to change everything, but she saw now that her boar was a feral creature in spite of this, and the hunter had returned to the woods with his face so black and an arrow raised against them. It felt like nothing had changed at all, and that it never could.

Please, she begged the hunter. The weight had gone out of her legs, and she lowered to her knees. She let her fingers run to the mouth of metal and settle there gently like the first snowfall. Red had sprouted where the old trap bit into Velazquez's flesh.

She closed her eyes and her mouth set to a fragile barrier. He had every right to deny her. She had been so cruel. She had believed that it was all for the greater good, but in the passing days she knew less of what was good, and she thought often of that moment and whether Lokr warranted the vehemence of her rejection. She had been lashing out, blind with pain.

She turned her gaze on him, and she felt not for the first time like she was water, insubstantial, ineffectual.

Please, help me free him.

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Luperci Angler, Carpenter, Striker Tusk Stubborn Love bbleeearrrrghhhhhh
THE CURE FOR ANYTHING IS
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TEARS, SWEAT OR THE SEA

POSTED: Thu Nov 19, 2015 8:49 am


Black Sea, the monster killed the melody you loved

Time to rearrange the little lines I've drawn - omg the playlist does not compare to the poetry I still nerd out over it

The ocean breeze reached him first. It had followed her, loyal as a dog through all these tangled groves; Fresh as though he stood on the cusp of the grey bluffs, and breathed deeply of salt and tears. Lokr knew that smell well. He had clutched at it greedily in his memories, and forbade it to leave him alone in the woods.

But time taught an unwise man many things. One cannot keep a hold of the ocean, anymore than one can trap the ocean breeze itself.

In spite of this, his eyes - black holes, blank with the shadows of the forest and rimmed with painful green - widened in surprise at the sight of the selkie as she spilled out into the silence of the grove. It took him a too-long moment to lower the bow, but when he did it was with the slow motions of a wildling creature, smooth and purposeful. His black claws, curved and wicked, itched for the pocket of his leather vest, where the little ivory lock still remained.

After that, the moment snapped back into sudden clarity. "Get away from it," Lokr's voice was hushed, strained, "It'll be mad with the pain."

He knew what that felt like. How easily wounds could fester, and agony could ravage the mind.

But his protest was in vain. The boar, dangerous as any creature of these woods, did not gore his strange mother. It was not as easy to anticipate violence as it was to fear it. He considered, vividly and silently, how quickly he might put an arrow through the boar's eye if it began to thrash again - If those sharp ivory tusks moved too close to the crumpled woman.

Quickly enough, he decided; And relented, as always he would relent to her. The black bramble within his heart could not grow in salty water, and he feared her in a way that he feared no other. It was not easy to love, and love brought with it only a desperate vulnerability.

It had been an age, but not so long as all that, after all. Her hair had grown a little bit since he'd seen her last, and was tousled and wild and free. He was betrothed now, tethered as he had never been tethered before. Their paths wound further and further apart, and yet somehow had managed to collide again, here in this little glade and the scene of such sudden, merciless violence.

"I will help you," The hunter said, though the grimness of his sharp face foretold that she would not much like his solution.



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User avatar
Alaine
Luperci /
wrath of the north
a voice in the deep

POSTED: Thu Nov 19, 2015 10:38 am

we steer as far away from the coming of days
000 sem's specialty is foot-in-mouth dialogue "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

He won't hurt anyone, she snapped in spite of everything, and then she recoiled as she understood that Lokr hadn't known. He hadn't seen them since they were piglets, and he had tried to kill them then too. A mercy. Velazquez, I named him that. She frowned and let her gaze drop to the ground. From the old world. It was a regal name from antiquity, but one that might have been left among the dead had she not saved it.

As a child she had come across it in a book of paintings, and she kept it, because she had always liked to keep small lost things.

And she had always had a certain luck with that, too. Lost things tended to wash up at her feet, even when she tried to lose them. Thank you, she murmured to him, and her eyes shined too much that she had to look down and not back again. She didn't see the expression he wore or think of what it might suggest. Velazquez had settled from his earlier distress, though he panted in great labored breaths and watched the hunter with a keenness that she feared.

But believing as she did in most things, and very much in her boar and in the hunter, she shifted slightly to open up the space at her side. I can't get it open, she confessed, tucking away a smile like the whole thing was as mundane as a bottle that she struggled to uncork. She wondered briefly on a life where they might have shared simple domestic battles rather than great ones, but it was such a laughable fantasy that her expression waned back into grim reality. He was neither hers, nor she his, and they had never been free to live outside of themselves, and especially not now, not with the nooses that they had tied around their own necks. She tried not to look at him so closely, or feel so attached to the dark lines of his features that her hands once traced with hope.

I wished I had another pair of arms, she said, and this time she couldn't help but smile openly at him. I think the world has a twisted sense of humor. Realizing quickly how it might have sounded, she added, But I'm glad it was you. Her features soft, she tried to harden them by looking at the trap.

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San
Luperci Angler, Carpenter, Striker Tusk Stubborn Love bbleeearrrrghhhhhh
THE CURE FOR ANYTHING IS
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TEARS, SWEAT OR THE SEA

POSTED: Wed Nov 25, 2015 3:55 am


Black Sea, the monster killed the melody you loved

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines;
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”

"The old world," Lokr echoed; He wanted to smile, but his black lips had forgotten how.

What old worlds he knew were dead ones. A time before this time, in a world different to this world, a hunter and a selkie had met in the deep forest; And had loved one another, with their bodies and their eyes, and perhaps even their secret hearts.

There were chapters of his life that preferred to remain forgotten, cloaked by shadow. This memory, sparkling like the first dew of morning, could not be forgotten no matter how hard he tried.

"Semini -" The hunter began, but she was already turned away from him, her attention back on the great iron teeth that kept her boarling at bay. Lokr eyed the big tusks apprehensively. He had already been gored for her once before; And though he would do it again, in a heartbeat or less than a heartbeat, that made the possibility no less undesirable. Still, he was committed to this. It took some great and godly amount of willpower to draw his attentions from the soft foamy wave of white hair, cresting the smooth curve of her throat and the hushed hollow of her clavicle - But he did so, unrewarded.

"Are you?" Unlike her, he was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. That had been their problem, from the beginning. Lokr was a well that had been poisoned, the deep roots of the forest rotting away in his depths; No amount of fresh salt water would flush him clean. As he had come to understand it, he infected things. Osrath might also have loved him once, and before her, Kali - How had these things come to be so tarnished? The only common strand was himself.

He did not blame her for the decisions that she had made - How could he, when they were the right ones?

But it ached, deeply, to know that his world had not been enough for her, and hers not enough for him.

"The quickest, safest way," His voice was forcefully neutral, and he spoke quickly, lest she think him enamored of the idea, "Would be to sever the leg."

Upon seeing the look on her face, he continued hastily, "- O-or I could find something to pry it open with?"



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Alaine
Luperci /
wrath of the north
a voice in the deep

POSTED: Thu Nov 26, 2015 12:31 am

we steer as far away from the coming of days
000

He invoked her name and she looked at him with two bright eyes glimmering, like the sun had risen from the depths of her soul.

In an old world they rose for him, alone.

She flinched beneath his searing doubt. Her gaze weighed down to the steel at her fingers, and she thought of iron and sea. Of course. she affirmed, lifting her chin with all the solidity of the arctic in her eyes.

But she let her gaze roam through the tenebrous chaos of his skin, and remembered that she had once created pattern by the tide of her fingers and trickling snow. She had promised herself that she wouldn't look so truly at him for this very reason: she began to soften. That was the trick of warm things and warm people; they smoldered as a way of persisting. She could never look upon his expression and stay material for long. Of course I am glad to see you, Lokr. It was more kindly spoken, though she knew mere kindness would not allay the bitterness after everything. That was not in her power. But she could bring him to the truth as she came to it herself, for they had always been in step, albeit more often away than towards each other.

She still believed in a life with Lokr, though it had transformed in the catastrophic death of the ideal. Reborn was a gratitude for their mutual health and a delicate, pervasive relief that he was alive and protected, even if it was by thorns and not by her love.

This reality would have to be enough.

It shook her to tuck these parts of herself away, let them recede beneath the curls of sea foam and the dark of her lashes. She had been selfish before to fight as she did for everything, but she had been right then, too.

Velazquez brought his nose around. She reached for it, touching him as he breathed what seemed a gust from his enormous snout.

Her mouth curled at Lokr, appalled by the suggestion, and she lowered her gaze while he reassessed their options. A steel mouth had brought an opportunity, though its cost seemed great and the chance itself bittersweet. She felt as trapped by it as her young boar. Someone had to set it once, right? There must be a way to do so again. She brushed back the bristles of his thick mane.

Will you help me pull it open? He won't hurt you. She peered at him with a look that read, And neither will I.

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Luperci Angler, Carpenter, Striker Tusk Stubborn Love bbleeearrrrghhhhhh
THE CURE FOR ANYTHING IS
salt water
TEARS, SWEAT OR THE SEA

POSTED: Fri Dec 04, 2015 5:19 am


Black Sea, the monster killed the melody you loved

---

He had never been able to disarm her. Semini was resilient in a way very few creatures were.

Under his condemnation, she resolved herself. He smiled at this, a grim black-lipped smile, but something lighter became of the shadows of his face, the underlying sharpness there.

He believed her; That, too, was an otherworldly rarity.

As the man's tenebrous gaze weighed heavily upon her, Semini looked to him. He saw, briefly in the passing glimmer of her features, an echo of memory. She had been happy to see him, once. They had met in secret, and their passions had been of a purity Lokr would never have again. Ice had melted to her straying touch; They had come to know one another in these woods, and he had come to envision a life with her. This was love, as he understood it; Something beautiful, something forbidden. Something that his touch alone would tarnish, an eon of cold winter air to bite the polish out of steel.

His fingers itched for her; His heart strained ignobly within ivory ribs, seizing lungs.

But they were apart now, their stories torn, their paths waylaid and wandering. She was not his to take. He was not hers to long for. The divergence was enough to cause a bitter rift between the reality in which Lokr lived, and the one that he dreamed of; Still, of a night, the ghost of the Selkie might come to him, and they would lay together.

But he was not some young and hapless romeo, to pine away his hours. Salsola was a giant ravenous machine, and always, it needed feeding.

The moment of connectedness, where her ever-splendid eyes met sincerely with his own, passed. It felt as though the sun had set, and a long dark night lay ahead. Lokr knew finality when he saw it - Semini had made her decision, and though the echoes of their romance lingered, she looked on to the days ahead. He thought, briefly and with unbidden contemptuous fury, of the man from the Ball - And wondered.

There was little time enough for that, though. The boar, the beartrap, and the forest - It resumed around him, as her eyes broke away. There was work to be done.

"If you are sure," He agreed, a little uncertainly. Narrow pupils slid and returned, ticking between the boar, the tusks, and the glimmer of rusted metal. Shuffling the weight of his hunting gear, Lokr edged forwards, and crouched on his heels at the young woman's aft side - Away from the head of the boar.

There his eyes focused, and the canniness and detachment which was his infamy began to make careful calculations.

"Put your fingers here," The hunter said, indicating an area where the big steel jaws were smoothed along one edge; Where her clever little claws might pry the teeth apart. "I'll pull the top, along the ridge; And we'll see if that doesn't give us enough room for him to shimmy his leg out." He rose, and fixed his wicked claws upon the steel jaws. With a weighted nod Lokr pulled back, his black lips writhing to show ivory teeth at the onset; Dark shoulders corded with the effort, veins leaping free like angry raised crossroads down the straining line of his arms.



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Alaine
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wrath of the north
a voice in the deep

POSTED: Tue Dec 22, 2015 12:02 pm

we steer as far away from the coming of days
000

The longer that she lived, the more she wondered on the disorder that was living and the more it seemed to her that synchronization was rare and impossible. And if the course of things truly made no patterns, then it meant that all the perfection, good and bad, was made by them alone.

When she saw him, it came together in that briefest instant, like a scattered reflection returning to its image, and she knew suddenly that they had been in balance long before either of them had been aware of it. He had come with all the deep earth and the dark woods growing in his shadow, and she did not know if in that first meeting, he had looked at her and seen the scintillating water that was her truest nature. But these two things, earth and sea, had been before the dragon and the selkie, before any vipers or krakens or beasts of myth, and she knew it as her fingers came to metal, hers light and his dark, that before fantastical grandiosity there had been simply love.

The moment passed, as every moment would, but left in its wake a poetry in her gaze. She had witnessed the rhymes of their existence. Repetition was certain, in one form or another, because she knew now that love was the only true eternity.

The jaws of metal came open suddenly, and so abruptly that she nearly collapsed back onto her haunches. Chaos collected from the outburst like a box of the old stories, and in the whirl of motion she found herself standing and falling just as quick. Her boar had reared from the trap and swung his tusks, wildly and without restraint, and before the line of red revealed itself along her stomach, Velazquez was gone. The woods shuddered around his departure.

A sense of hollowness filled her immediately. She was up again, and when she looked around the wild sea had calmed into dark boughs and frost tipped decay.

He's hurt, she took a few steps forward, forgetting the pain at her middle. She quickly wrapped an arm around it.

She couldn't yet make sense of things, and so she turned her eyes on the hunter to see if he had been struck, though he had been angled away for this very reason. Are you?

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San
Luperci Angler, Carpenter, Striker Tusk Stubborn Love bbleeearrrrghhhhhh
THE CURE FOR ANYTHING IS
salt water
TEARS, SWEAT OR THE SEA

POSTED: Fri Jan 08, 2016 4:31 am


Black Sea, the monster killed the melody you loved

---

Thoughts, poetic or nonsensical, flew aft as often they would when physical ardor was in question; The metal bit into the terse grip of his fingers, and though he ignored the sensation Lokr knew the warm feeling of blood there.

As with most catalysts, the jaws wrenched apart suddenly, flinging them each in one way or another. Lokr's breath rushed from him in sharp, wordless exclamation; His stinging palms curled into fists. The boar was an oldworld wraith. Even the hunter's sharp eyes could only see a blur of its tusks, hear the instinctual exhale that pulled from Semini's lungs as they raked her.

Then the beast was gone, and they were alone in the woods.

"Stop," He said, but the woman was already in motion. Her body pulled her toward the ripples that the boar had left, tiny tremors in the leaves that were even now subsiding. When her dawn eyes returned to him, he saw the maternal grips of loss within her. It was enough to wonder; How she had loved this creature, how she had loved him. All broken things, all lost to her.

They might have been together. They might have built something together. His chest ached, as did his palms; but when he looked down to them, the small ooze of blood had already begun to congeal.

"There's nothing you can do," The hunter said to her, honestly, beseechingly. "He belongs to the forest - it will take care of him." He knew nothing of the sort; Forests took care only of the strong. But it was what she needed to hear from him, nonetheless.

He recall then the swinging tusks, and saw the way her arm pressed to her stomach. Something inside him went cold, then hot, then cold all over. Better it had died, than hurt her. He had not grown to become a merciful man, and would not forgive a harm against her. "Come, let me look at that," The Salsolan Lord said, in a voice best used for charming beasts of a wild nature. He reached out for her with a bloodied palm.



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Luperci /
wrath of the north
a voice in the deep

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