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+---- Thread: b l a c k e r than the s u n (/showthread.php?tid=1432)
b l a c k e r than the s u n - Nykeln - 05-27-2015
nykeln
html © dante.
| there's no hope for us, we speak in tongues, |
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- x -
Winter. Cold, dreary, empty, bleak.There was never enough to conceal you, never enough shadows to dance in, to stalk. The spindly boughs hung like naked limbs, decaying branches swaying in the cold winds snapped and fell, their rustic bark angled like gnarled hands chasing me as I picked my way through the underbrush. The snow was still falling and had been for quite some time, it just adds to the journey; thick piles of white like a downy carpet that made me sink down to my knees in places. Hard, harsh winters seem to his this place, this new world I have found myself in. It’s cold, but beneath my black pelt, i shiver with delight. There is something enticing about the wintry droplets of snow melting on tepid skin, sliding down my shoulders, my flanks as I worm my way through the spindly trees, jumping over a few cast logs and broken trunks. An obstacle course, these borders, as though the world is stopping those from coming in. No one can stop me. I escaped and with it I took the reins of my freedom, I took myself out of the problem and became the answer. Oh so philosophical, I sound. Mother dearest would be proud. Always the sponge, absorbing words, information. Always listening; those tufty ears of mine, feathery and downy black, they encircle my poll, picking up sounds in the distance, broken twigs snapping with a loud crack. I then realise it’s my own feet, my own feathery limbs that charge onward and break, crack, snap, every fallen bit of tree. There’s something delightful in destroying something weaker than you. A snort breaks my nostrils with a quaking flutter, my lips curl back and I inhale the damp, wintry smell of wet. Of darkness as the sunset takes hold of the horizon and bathes the outskirts in a purple grey light. I have come with purpose, with want. I have desires in my mind and words on my tongue. I have a wish of a dead mother to fulfil, to not become just some ornament, some beauty that sits and is admired and ridiculed all the same. You work for what you want, to work hard and you get somewhere, and of course, being beautiful just helped in some occasions. For a lady, I have been told I was too muscular; I worked hard, I trained myself to become strong in all aspects, mental, physical and spiritual it you care to tell. The earth beneath my feet has kept be grounded, the skies are the limit in which my earthen self can soar. I blow a few more snorts and take a sharp left turn, taking the last dying brush in my stride and leaping, landing in a good shoulder’s depth of snow, I plough myself through. Onward, onward. A steady push of my feathered limbs, my sturdy black body like a black ink blot on white paper as I work my way into the field, casting glances and inhaling scents. This world is new, full of faces, full of souls. I have so many questions in my mind, so many ideas floating, working like oiled cogs; faster, faster. Is Beqanna where I will find what I’m looking for? Or will it be another notch on my proverbial bedpost. I know one thing for sure, I refuse to be another ornament, like her. I refuse to stand pretty, preen and gossip like some dramatic actresses with goblets of wine. Of course, I’m all for a little wine, a little fun, but beyond that… I want more. I want to mean… something. - x -
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| blacker than the sun, no death can touch the crooked young the [lone] dark star of [nowhere] |
RE: b l a c k e r than the s u n - Jason - 05-27-2015
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RE: b l a c k e r than the s u n - Nykeln - 05-28-2015
nykeln
html © dante.
| there's no hope for us, we speak in tongues, |
|
- x -
Beneath the ivory blanket lurked the remains of what I guessed was rich emerald blades, tasty, succulent. I can smell what once was and as I pull my head to the side to view the groups coupling up, departing ways along beaten tracks, I realise that this is just where I guessed. Not too bad for an in brain navigation. But alas, all the journeying, the snow making it that much harder, pushing myself further and further, it was exhausting. Dried sweat marred my ebony flanks, a thin layer of perspiration knotted my mane. Bits of twigs and decaying leaves looked like the latest accessory stop my head, braided by the wind into my locks. That sure is something. Mother preaching on about beauty, how it defines most, how it means so much. And here I was looking like I'd been dragged through a hedge... Well that was true. I can guarantee she turns in her grave. I shake my head, lowering my muzzle and scratching at my sudden feathers, as I lift my head I notice I have company. A grey spot moves amid the white backdrop, at first I miss him, but my nostrils catch his musky scent. A vigorous shake and I'm pretty sure the remains of dead tree, leaves and wet mud, are still there. I imagine he'll walk past, eyes boogling others, but no, he's here. A charming smile piquing his lips, a gentle look in his eye, but is that a sparkle? I tilt my head to one side, coffee bean eyes analysing him. 'Jason?' my lips taste his name, my tongue rolls over it, my mind creaking. I take a daring few steps forward, my mussed forelock falling over half my face; I'd imagine from another view I looked like I'd just crawled through the gates of hell, well, they'd be partially right. I had lived prior in a prison. Or at least, that what it felt like. 'My mother warned me of pretty boys like you,' I pause, taking a turn and stepping through the snow and getting a better look of him. I laughed, walked the way around him and halted back where I began. 'But she's dead, and here you are.' A puzzle slots together in mind mind, shifting pieces falling, meshing together. I flick my tail, the thick appendage snaps at my flanks, I tilt my head again to the right, an analysing look over Jason once more. It's a game of look and stare, I'm sure he's thinking he would do the looking, the staring. But I'm over that now, I can be more than what my mother wanted. 'Nykeln. I'm Nykeln.' I blow a slow, deliberate snort and give my head a good shake once more, what I think is the last remains is deadened leaves fall to my hooves and I crush them satisfyingly into the snow beneath. 'How am I? I'm glorious. I'm free.' I bounce on my front legs, kicking my hinds with a little jolt. 'What about you? How does this cold day find Jason?' - x -
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| blacker than the sun, no death can touch the crooked young the [lone] dark star of [nowhere] |
RE: b l a c k e r than the s u n - Nier - 05-29-2015
There comes a time in a man's life when he returns to the scene of his crime; or birth, it's the same sort of thing. Amnesia never wanted the stain upon earth that was Nier, she never wanted the demon spawn that lurked and wouldn't leave. But here he was, his silver body materialising and disappearing, over and over. Invisibilty never for old, same old party trick that was willing to scare off the masses that knew nought of Beqanna's Magic. It just so happened that he trod on that vein of magic, or well, his mother had.
Nier was smooth, his alabaster pelt shimmering almost against the White meadow, his dark eyes narrowing, watching. He was born in this field, as was most of his siblings. He wondered him his mother still lurked in the background, like some broken ornament on the shelf no one wants but picks up all the time. He snorted. His dark wings ruffling lazily, lifting him up from the ground. His pace was lethargic, almost nonexistent, but he moved, or sauntered on the air, a few feet above the ground. His tail flicked idly by his hocks. He wondered often what returning would feel like. And right now, he felt nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
As cold and numb as his tendons in the snow, there was no compassion, no flicker of resentment or happiness, not even a slither of pride. But here he was, back to his roots. His leaves had fallen, he was older now, perhaps not as wise as he's hoped, but he was back, and Beqanna has better watch out.
Nier was on the move, the demon slinking along, like some angel in disguise. Grey wings stretching out, ruffling on the cold breeze.
What fun could the sloth demon have today?
A journey to the field. That would spark some excitement.. Surely? Nier hovers along, wings lazy at pushing him along on the wind stream. It doesn't take him long to spot someone. Black against White, it's easy to see. Nier spots her first and then watches as another approaches. Automatically Nier gains a competitive charge, ears pin slightly, threatened. Oh no, he is the demon, lazy as he may be, he had some ideas up his sleeves. And for that he needed followers. Pretty little damsels at that.
"Hello, Pet." Nier looks at the silver steed, watching him. Hearing him. He had competition.
"Lovely thing such as yourself shouldn't be out in the cold."
n i e r;
tyrael x amnesia
The winged invisible sloth demon
Nier was smooth, his alabaster pelt shimmering almost against the White meadow, his dark eyes narrowing, watching. He was born in this field, as was most of his siblings. He wondered him his mother still lurked in the background, like some broken ornament on the shelf no one wants but picks up all the time. He snorted. His dark wings ruffling lazily, lifting him up from the ground. His pace was lethargic, almost nonexistent, but he moved, or sauntered on the air, a few feet above the ground. His tail flicked idly by his hocks. He wondered often what returning would feel like. And right now, he felt nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
As cold and numb as his tendons in the snow, there was no compassion, no flicker of resentment or happiness, not even a slither of pride. But here he was, back to his roots. His leaves had fallen, he was older now, perhaps not as wise as he's hoped, but he was back, and Beqanna has better watch out.
Nier was on the move, the demon slinking along, like some angel in disguise. Grey wings stretching out, ruffling on the cold breeze.
What fun could the sloth demon have today?
A journey to the field. That would spark some excitement.. Surely? Nier hovers along, wings lazy at pushing him along on the wind stream. It doesn't take him long to spot someone. Black against White, it's easy to see. Nier spots her first and then watches as another approaches. Automatically Nier gains a competitive charge, ears pin slightly, threatened. Oh no, he is the demon, lazy as he may be, he had some ideas up his sleeves. And for that he needed followers. Pretty little damsels at that.
"Hello, Pet." Nier looks at the silver steed, watching him. Hearing him. He had competition.
"Lovely thing such as yourself shouldn't be out in the cold."
n i e r;
tyrael x amnesia
The winged invisible sloth demon
RE: b l a c k e r than the s u n - Jason - 06-05-2015
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