Reflections of What May Be - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: Reflections of What May Be (/showthread.php?tid=7046) |
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- Cwmfen nic Graine - 07-19-2009 [html] The day grew late and the sky glowed with gold as the bright eye prepared to dip below the horizon once more. The woad marked fae had moved throughout the Dahlian lands, occasionally allowing herself to traverse the more familiar places in the unclaimed territory. But the warrior was careful, and she never lingered long. It seemed as if, with the time of birthing growing near (and though she knew not how long it should take, she could sense the time approaching), she required both more movement and more rest. The warrior grew restless, but she knew that at this point any ill-fated even would be fatal to the unborn litter and perhaps fatal even to herself. And the instinct to survive was stronger than any other thought or urge she experienced. Nevertheless, the woad warrior persistently moved through the lands, traveling easier now and once more with that fluidity. The scars no longer snarled in protest, although her right leg could endure much less than it once could. Now, with the setting sun, she felt the fatigue in that leg and returned to her den, though she did not forget to listen to the songs of dusk and wonder at those strange melodies and colours. A soft smile moved with indiscernible grace across her quiet lips. She had not entered her den since the day before she had attacked Brennt, and she was still unwilling to move inside; the black female did not think that she could fit into the opening she had dug, not in this optime form. While she missed the quiet and cool comforts of her earthen home, she was more than content with the soft foliage at the tunnel’s mouth. She slept there every night under the silent vigilance of the great tree beneath which she had made her home. And there, she could sleep to the lull of the nighttime songs that sung with quiet whispers, to the soft laughter of the stream and to the benign whisper of the trees. The black fae wondered if the pups within her could hear, for surely the peace of the world could quiet their tenebrous potential. The left hand went suddenly to her stomach, for one had moved within her suddenly. A soft, quiet sound sang briefly from her throat as she considered the movement inside. Yes, she thought silently, I am not ready to Dream. Fluidly, she moved to place the Raven Spear with its belligerent brothers against the tree’s great trunk, and the soft hum of war fell dormant. The white eyes considered the weapons for a brief moment before she continued along the river, moving with that unhurried grace. The pool opened up before her, its cool and slowed waters gentle and calming, bidding her to enter. The water, she thought, was a most powerful force, one that could teach many to be calm when necessary and violent when called. She knelt upon the ledge, placing her legs into the water. She had sat like this when Onus had fished here several days ago.... A quiet sadness entered those white orbs. With a soft sigh, the woman placed her hands against the earth so that she may slip into the cool embrace of the pool. - Tokyo Chance - 07-26-2009 [html]
- Cwmfen nic Graine - 07-27-2009 [html] The cool waters welcomed her encumbered form without protest. Her body slid through the surface of the pool as a blade might: without ripple. The lives within her were still, quieted, it seemed, by the soft song of the waters. And the black fae stood in the shallows, the swell of her stomach only partially submerged as she stood there. The white orbs watched the water greet her belly, the soft, imperceptible waves brushing rhythmically against her skin. The water had accepted the growing lives within, and the black wolf knew that she must also. Her hands lifted from the waters as she cradled that foreign swell, so unfamiliar and yet a part of herself. Here, alone in the domain of Nemain, the woad warrior could feel that tranquil contentment. A Gift. The pied Raven of her Dreams had called it. The Morrigan had called it. And she felt as if it were so. All things were Fated, the woman reminded herself, as was this. There was nothing that she could experience of these happenings other than acceptance. A quiet breath was expelled from the Raven Warrior. Tranquility, like the first drop of rain falling upon her soul. Cwmfen moved to the deeper waters that fell against the edge of the pool. Her body moved easily, the quieted wound of her leg unable to protest the environment in which it had entered. The woad warrior leaned her head against the green earth, closing her eyes as she allowed her body to relax. She was like Artemis of the Greeks, but she was no virgin. If anything, that swell contradicted such a thing. Perhaps her own triple-goddess was more fitting. The woad bound ears twitched with the sound of approach, but she recognized that footfall, a familiar rhythm that belonged to her packmate. She did not move from where she was, able to remain still for the lack of a threat. The soft greeting shattered the serene silence, and it was then that the warrior’s eyes opened, her head shifting so that she may look upon the visage of one familiar to her. "Hello, Tokyo," the quiet melody greeted with silver tones that somehow retained a refined sort of formality. A soft, practically imperceptible smile moved across her quiet lips. Much time had passed since she had last seen the boisterous female. The last time, Corvus had still been alive, the earthen hued wolf had been wounded by his jaws. The warrior felt a certain amount of relief for the wounds that had seemed to heal. The brightness of the black fae’s smile—or so she perceived it to be bright in her mind, although in reality there was hardly any evidence of its existence—faltered at Tokyo’s exclamation. There was a silence that, for the woad marked female, seemed to stretch for a great length of time. "Yes," the soft susurrus said at length. And it was of Onus that she thought. The white orbs wandered over the smooth surface of the pool, her hands still upon the woad-marked stomach. But the wind whispered softly and the distant call of a Raven quieted her thoughts. There was nothing about which to despair. And she did not despair. "Your wounds are healing well," the melody commented, her gaze lifting to the Leirre. She shifted in the waters, a soft ripple extending from her movements. Righting herself, the warrior turned, setting her arm upon the soft, green grasses. "You can join me, if you would like," the Adonis offered. - Tokyo Chance - 08-02-2009 [html]
- Cwmfen nic Graine - 08-02-2009 [html] 500+ There was another silence after the question was raised upon the air. The white orbs considered the female with turquoise eyes. Tokyo’s straightforwardness did not offend the woad warrior, as such a thing was preferable to her. She was silent for the question itself. While the black fae had met many members, all had carefully avoided the questioning her. And the woman did not think that anyone knew what had occurred save for Onus and the Rosea; the Adonis did not know whether the Lilium knew or not. But it was a subject that the female did not bring up of her own accord. It was not because it was difficult to speak of such a thing, for, although the warrior had not risen above the crow wolf and had suffered greatly for it, the warrior never lied or avoided a direct query. She was simply silent upon the subject because she did not think that it was necessary to address. Yet, Tokyo had asked a direct question, and the warrior answered with a certainty. "My father," came the quiet reply, the silver melody falling upon the air as a leaf falls to the surface of water. In the warrior’s mind, it was the crow wolf’s black seed that made her belly swell and her body relinquish the ways of war. And, in the warrior’s mind, it was she who had allowed him to do so. The woad bound fingers trailed the woad line upon her belly until she reached the navel, and it was as if her body continued to be unfamiliar to her. Her white gaze followed the movements of the other female, watching with a mild curiosity as she undressed. The only other that she had seen do such a thing was Onus, and his garments were doffed in a different fashion. This was a dress, the black fae reminded herself, holding the unfamiliar word in her mind. Those quiet eyes fell ultimately upon the discarded garment, watching it even as the other woman slid into the pool. Such things had always been uncomfortable to the wolf, cumbersome, even. She couldn’t even wear the belt to hold Badb, and so she often took the Raven Spear to accompany her. "I like the colours on your dress," the warrior commented suddenly. It was not, however, to the colours to which she referred but to the designs the colours made. The black wolf, however, did not have the grasp she had upon words as she had upon war. The warrior was silent, content with nature’s songs as soothing as a lover’s touch. A peace that was rare for the black fae fell upon her like the brush of the Raven’s wings, and she sighed. The woad warrior was content with the solitude and the silence, but she shared it willingly with the woman beside her. "Can you tell me what a pup is like," the quiet melody asked suddenly, breaking the silence, "once their eyes have opened?" The woman did not know what to expect. She knew that there was much time to consider such a thing, and yet, all at once, the time did not seem to be enough. She knew of the potential darkness of their souls, knew it as surely as the dormant darkness of her own. And she wondered: what would she see when their souls were bared to her? - Tokyo Chance - 08-16-2009 [html]
- Cwmfen nic Graine - 08-17-2009 [html] 500+ The particular words that Tokyo utilized caused a dark amusement to dip within the white orbs. Perhaps it was ‘gross’. Indeed her soul had shuddered, cringed each time the crow-wolf made her body accept him, made her body delight in his. It had been like entering into waters too cold for comfort. And yet, as the blood flowed from her, as she continued to weaken, and as her mind grew accustom to the dark, she had grown accustom to him. It was like he had forced a poison within her, obscuring her mind, and she had learned to hold it. Like an old wound, her soul had opened up each time to allow the blackness to mar her, to encourage decay. Somewhere, deep within, she had been able to remember. And she remembered only one: Onus. But that did not change what her soul had done. And that did not change what her own weakness had allowed Corvus to do. And Onus had seen them, had heard her as he broke into that room. She wondered if he knew. ‘Gross’? "Yes." Cwmfen gave an imperceptible nod. The eyes were always the windows into ones soul. At times, as with Onus, it was difficult to read beyond the surface. But, with Onus, the thrill of seeing and yet not quite knowing was something in which Cwmfen’s quiet curiosity reveled. With others, the woman did not seek to know, deriving the quality of their person through different means. And with pups, with her own pups, the woman wondered. She had never quite taken time to observe a youth in such a way. And the black fae considered such a thing. Would not a pup be completely open, innocent and soft, still malleable to the workings of the world. "I must wait, then, and be patient." Already, the woman had been still in the bearing of these lives wrought of a black seed. Several weeks more would mean nothing. The black fae could wait—she had spent many months waiting to find a place of which her mother had spoken, and she had found it and Dahlia. Time would flow as it always did, and the black fae would wait as she always did, carefully observing from afar. "But for these lives to be born purely would take a miracle." If Tokyo knew Cwmfen well enough, she would understand that the black fae did not think that such a thing were possible. Miracles and hopes did not exist within the warrior who must battle and contend with realities. Her own soul, a product of her father’s seed, held a darkness within it, was drawn toward those dark places. Graine had been pure of soul. Would the darkness of the lives within her be greater than her own? The warrior did not know. And so she could but wait. "When you saw Princess," the quiet alto began, "did you know?" There was within those tones a silent question. The black fae was curious, wondering if Princess or her brother (of whom Cwmfen had only heard briefly) had shown signs of the ‘bad parent’. And Cwmfen wondered, too, the experience of the turquoise-eyed woman, for there seemed to her to be a bitterness within those spoken words. But the woman was silent and did not ask to know such things. Such things, the woman believed, were private in nature, and she would not pry into things that were not her business to know. - Tokyo Chance - 08-29-2009 [html]
- Cwmfen nic Graine - 08-31-2009 [html] 500+ A soft breath was released—perhaps of amusement, and yet it was uncertain—and a brief nod, but the black fae did not respond. The woad warrior’s gaze moved from the woman to watch the light playing across the water, her ears lifting as if hearing something there in the silence. There was nothing, and yet she could hear the bright, white ringing as the pool and sun sang with one another. Time. It was an ambiguous thing, constant and yet not, slow, fast, standing still. Treacherous. Life giving. Time was a factor that was always with and against one. The warrior had done her best to allow herself to flow along with that uncertain river, but, at times, she felt the distinct discontent that others must feel. The pups would be born and they would grow. Time would assure that as surely as life would. If they survived. If they were allowed to survive. "Evil?" The word was repeated, the sound unfamiliar upon the warrior’s tongue. Indeed, she had heard the word before, but she did not think that such a thing could exist. It was an extreme, an unattainable state just as infinity was. If there were evil, she had sensed it in Corvus. But the black fae could not think of the black and white terms of good and evil. She thought of simply light and dark, pure and yet impure. Perhaps the gods were capable of such extremes, but she was not sure. "What was their father like?" The query was spoken quietly, but she did not press the other. If Tokyo did not wish to speak of such things, the warrior would not insist. It was not knowledge that was necessary to obtain. It was simply the history of another’s past, and she could live without it knowing that Tokyo knew her own origins. It was that past, after all, that had shaped the woman, that shaped all creatures. There was a contemplative silence that followed. The woad-marked fae followed the sudden movement of Tokyo as the water was permitted to consume her, only to spit her out once more. Cwmfen did not do such a thing yet, for she had simply gone into the water too cool off. With her chest submerged, her body was cooled from the core. The white eyes blinked occasionally as beads of water flew threw the air, encouraged by the golden-brown curls of the other woman’s mane. The little drops tickled the warrior’s nose, and a single, quiet sneeze was emitted. Shaking her head once, the black fae looked up, breaking the silence just as Tokyo had broken the stillness of the pool. "What would you have done," the soft melody inquired suddenly, "had your pups truly been like their father?" The quiet voice did not betray her thoughts, such was the strength of that silent tranquility. There was merely a mild curiosity within that gaze as they considered the other with silence. It was not a question raised to make certain or uncertain the uncertainty within the warrior. And it was not uncertainty, per se, that was felt. She knew what must be done, and she would do it. Perhaps it was unease, anticipation. It was a thing with which the warrior was unfamiliar. Perhaps, with the query, she sought but to recognize the ideals of this society. - Tokyo Chance - 09-24-2009 [html]
- Cwmfen nic Graine - 10-02-2009 [html] 500+ The woad-marked warrior did not know much of her mother or father’s lineage. She knew very little of their stories. But Graine had given her enough—a little information here, a little more there. Cleverly deftly, the black fae’s mother had made certain that her daughter had known at least a little of the history of her own birth. And so Tokyo’s story was not unfamiliar. It was not unfamiliar, also, to her own strange infatuation with that crow wolf. "My father seduced my mother similarly," the quiet voice murmured quietly, almost thoughtfully. It was not a new tale, and it did not surprise the warrior that such a thing were so. The stories of all lives were the same, and all stories had a beginning and an ending. The paths looked different, and some took different directions. But in the end, they all lead to Death. Whatever happened afterwards only the gods and the dead knew. "Creatures that are evil..." The soft melody trailed off for a brief moment as if wondering whether to impart such a thought. Once more, the white orbs watched the light that danced across the calmer waters of the pool as if they whispered something to her, and indeed those colours, the temperature, the scent, they all whispered to her. At length the warrior’s gaze returned to the turquoise eyes of her packmate. "Such creatures should not be left to set themselves upon the world," the words sang at length. Ambiguity often was laced within the Caledonian-Korean’s words, but the meaning was quite clear. The tranquility with which those words left her lips was almost sinister, and yet it was nothing sinister that moved her to speak such words. Indeed, it was because of such unstable creatures that she was allowed to exist, that her soul was permitted to sing so beautifully, but she knew that, while necessary, while inescapable, a warrior such as she should strive for Peace (although those such as she sought to do so with violence). She was not conflicted with such things, and she knew that she would kill even those that were wrought of her own body should they be of souls too dark. Perhaps, however, Tokyo had been conflicted. The warrior wondered why she had allowed the boy who had been ‘evil’ to continue to exist. And she wondered also what Tokyo would think of such a thing that was so familiar to her and yet so foreign, it seemed, to those who lived here. And yet... was it Tokyo of whom she had spoken? Or was it herself? A soft sigh escaped the warrior, and she breathed in the silence. The lives stirred within her, an almost tentative touch. "What is your relationship with your children now?" The eyes were no longer upon the woman beside her but upon the canopy of the woods. She relaxed her body, leaning against the edge of the pool and allowing herself to dispel the inner conflict of being unable to allow her body to sing of war. - Tokyo Chance - 10-06-2009 [html]
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