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Post by Dazi on Mar 18, 2016 0:03:08 GMT -8
PETRELTrell Once there was a young dove, snow white feathers and the world in its eyes...
Spring was in hiding. Instead of the warm golden sun to vigour the pelt there were ominous looking grey clouds racing across the sky as they were pushed by the howling winds. Closer to the earth the winds weren’t so aggressive but the emerald swords that covered the steeps were constantly contorted in ever changing directions. The vegetation was still dry as it danced a violent tango though the excitement of a million plants at the promise of rain sat heavy across the land, penetrating the spiritual beings of all creatures dwelling upon it. Trell could feel the pulses of energy running up through her pillars and into her awkwardly maturing frame. It made her feel uneasy, as though the whole land was to spontaneously crack open at any moment to send the fae plummeting into molten rock or the young creature would be sucked into a churning green ocean, air ripped from her lungs as she was dragged to the depths and her death. Trell’s skull shook as fiercely as the leaves trapped within the oncoming storm as she tried to chase away those horrifying thoughts. She had to focus hard enough on keeping upright as she walked and didn’t need to be distracted by thoughts that may or may not be visions of the future. Her sturdy daggers had the delicate touch of a fairy as the young fae picked her way through the land, her warped thoughts still nagging at the back of her mind.
One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four She counted each dagger as it slowly settled upon the shifting earth, ensuring that it was securely settled before daring to raise another hoof. Descending the knolls that positioned themselves one after the other was simple enough but when she approached the top the full force of the wind would assault her growing frame, cold fingers ripping at her unfilled banner strands, attempting to rip them out from the roots though only succeeding in lightly whipping the fillies patchy indigo cloak. It was at the top of one of these hills that the young creatures attention was her literal downfall. She was so focused on the earth below her, visually searching for an acceptable foothold with her fore dagger raised that she failed to pay attention to the storm. Maybe there was nobody else upon this land and its protective gods had chosen Trell as their object of amusement or else the weather had simply come together in faultless timing.
Maybe they were mere seconds apart but in Trell’s mind it happened instantaneously. There was a sharp sting on her pelt as the clouds released their burden of frozen particles accompanied by a deafening roar that echoed within the young faes ears. Her vision was impaired by the near impenetrable white sheets of hail which assaulted and beat her optics so her optical curtains could only remain open a crack to give Trell some sense of sight. The winds bite was more blood thirsty now as her skin was frozen by the biting ice and the already shifting earth below her became a minefield of polar blankets.
With a panicked squeal the filly jumped forth from her standing atop the earthen mound, sending her quickly down its slope in an undignified mess of thrashing limbs and flying grass and hail. The air may have been knocked from her lungs as she rolled to the bottom of the knoll but the flighty youngster took no notice as she galloped blindly though the storm, navigating the hills clumsily until something large and strong collided with the dull azure fillies shoulder, forcing her off balance and almost spiraling into the ground. A whine of pain escaped her dark lips as a throbbing ache ran through her shoulder though that was the only constant pain. Cautiously the filly opened her optics and stared up at the thick canopy of leaves suspended above her. Well at least she was out of the storm now. With a groan she rolled onto her belly, front legs tucking below her frame in an attempt to retain her body heat which seemed to be a losing battle as the frozen air continued to chill her body but the young fae was too stiff and sore to attempt to keep herself moving and warm. Oh well, maybe it would keep her shoulder from swelling up too much and she wouldn’t be too lame once the storm passed.
Word Count: 743...but I ate it
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Post by madiebeau on Mar 21, 2016 9:44:15 GMT -8
I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me. - Dylan Thomas F E N R I R There are not many trees in Oceanic Steppe, but Fenrir has managed to find a small grove. It is a slight and unsightly stand - nothing to compare to compare to the rotwood of Bitter Lullen. He thinks on her, his old home, and how she once saved him by striping his flesh from his bones. He remembers in a vague fog, how his conscience had been trapped within her trees, and on a day much like this one, how he had melted from her hallowed wood, and slipped back to dry bones. Those days were long ago. Now the Wildwood holds him captive; a new, strange lover. But he leaves her, as he leaves them all. Not permanently, no. He is tethered to her, but she has allowed him to venture to the Steppe. It will not be long before she reels him in again. From his perch within the trees he watches an older filly crest a nearby hill. She is steely blue, like the dark sky above her. She can’t be more than three years old with a mane and tail so thin. But Fenrir has never been above robbing the cradle. He’s just calculating how to go about approaching her when the sky cracks open and releases a fury of ice and hail. Spring is unpredictable. Fenrir retreats a little further into the sparse stand of trees. The filly barrels down the hill towards him. Problem solved. She’s rather clumsy. Fenrir shakes his head and snorts as she plummets into a tree trunk and falls to the ground. “My dear girl,” he says, suddenly looming over top of her as she lay upon the ground. “Are you injured?” He knows she is. He knows that he can easily keep her under his control now. He delights in her vulnerability, but he doesn’t yet strike. Instead there is something like compassion written across his face. He can be whatever he wants. He is a master liar.
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Post by Dazi on Mar 22, 2016 2:17:48 GMT -8
The young fae hadn’t even noticed the beast waiting within the foliage of the shared shelter. She didn’t even have enough time to be relieved that her bodice was no longer being pelted by the icy sheets due to the rude sudden appearance of the tree that had knocked Trell off her hooves. His unexpected voice breaking through the roar of the storm caused her frame to instinctively tense so she could jump to her hooves and continue her blind flight though the sudden movement through her shoulder made her think twice about that action. Instead she turned her skull up, dark gaze searching the shadows and settling upon the beast that had spoken. She wasn’t intimidated by his size or gender, her initial thought had been that the shadows had come to life or some demonic creature had materialized and bought the sudden storm with it but could demons speak the common tongue? Wouldn’t it be howling and snarling like some wild beast? Or are they more evolved than that?
The second time that his voice broke the constant roar snapped the filly back to reality. She had lost herself within her mind once more, finding herself absently staring at the shadowed beast with no expression upon her facade. Her mind switched on, harks flicking forward to catch the end of the beasts question. Was she okay? She hadn’t had the time to check though she was pretty certain nothing was broken. Her optics remained fixated upon the beast as she arched her long neck, stretching the muscles through her shoulder slowly. They ached and throbbed but there was no sharp pain. She was a clumsy mess by nature so was often covered in bumps and bruises though this collision would probably leave her lame for some time. “A little” She still wasn’t certain if the other creature was real or if she had her sense knocked out of her and was simply talking to herself but either way it was rude not to answer a question and she remembered what happened when she was rude to her herd members. With her shoulder keeping her momentarily immobile she was unable to quickly avoid any possible punishment.
”Whao are you?” The two sentences mixed within her skull, entering the world in a mess as undignified as the young faes previous tumble down the knoll side. Word Count: 405
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