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+---- Thread: [private] we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr (/showthread.php?tid=30709)
we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Allaire - 02-07-2022
i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland--
She has kept to the common lands, or at least, what she has deduced are common lands. The other lands she has observed from the sky, but some unnamable caution had kept her from touching down. The initial exhilaration of discovering this place had worn off, and reason had slowly taken its place. The realization that perhaps strangers were not welcome in the kingdoms had settled in her mind, and now she could not shake it.
She had tried to leave. Had taken to the skies, only to find that the clouds led her in circles, and that every spot of land she discovered after flying for what seemed like hours across the glittering surface of the sea ended up being this same place, over and over again.
Allaire is not sure what kind of force is keeping her here, and while she tried to swallow away that trapped feeling, all it did was sit like a stone at the bottom of her chest.
For now, she lingers on the edge of the meadow. The sun had slowly begun to sink behind the hills, the heat of the summer gradually cooling off to a more tolerable temperature. At least, it would have, if she was not treading along that area where rolling meadow gave way into sand. She had flown across this red waste of desert before, had seen the canyons and the winding river from above, and of all the places here, it intrigued her the most. Beqanna, from what she had seen, was mostly lush and beautiful, but this place—the one she stares at from just across the invisible border—seemed harsh, unforgiving.
In the dying day the light that trails behind her as she moves glimmers like a beacon, shimmering along the edges of her blush-pink wings. When she catches movement from the corner of her eye she grows still, turning her pale head to find the face of a stranger, and her heart leaps into her throat.
She has kept to the common lands, or at least, what she has deduced are common lands. The other lands she has observed from the sky, but some unnamable caution had kept her from touching down. The initial exhilaration of discovering this place had worn off, and reason had slowly taken its place. The realization that perhaps strangers were not welcome in the kingdoms had settled in her mind, and now she could not shake it.
She had tried to leave. Had taken to the skies, only to find that the clouds led her in circles, and that every spot of land she discovered after flying for what seemed like hours across the glittering surface of the sea ended up being this same place, over and over again.
Allaire is not sure what kind of force is keeping her here, and while she tried to swallow away that trapped feeling, all it did was sit like a stone at the bottom of her chest.
For now, she lingers on the edge of the meadow. The sun had slowly begun to sink behind the hills, the heat of the summer gradually cooling off to a more tolerable temperature. At least, it would have, if she was not treading along that area where rolling meadow gave way into sand. She had flown across this red waste of desert before, had seen the canyons and the winding river from above, and of all the places here, it intrigued her the most. Beqanna, from what she had seen, was mostly lush and beautiful, but this place—the one she stares at from just across the invisible border—seemed harsh, unforgiving.
In the dying day the light that trails behind her as she moves glimmers like a beacon, shimmering along the edges of her blush-pink wings. When she catches movement from the corner of her eye she grows still, turning her pale head to find the face of a stranger, and her heart leaps into her throat.
-- my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you
allaire.
@Fyr
RE: we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Fyr - 02-09-2022
FYR
@Allaire
RE: we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Allaire - 02-15-2022
i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland --
When she first notices the flames that scintillate along his spine her instinct is to recoil. Fire meant danger; she has seen what a spark gone rogue can do, the way a wildfire can eat up a forest in what felt like a single breath. It was destructive and ruthless—it showed no mercy for anything that stood in its path.
She has never seen anyone that could harness fire themselves. There is magic where she comes from, that much is true. But it is a limited kind; flight and healing, shimmering light trails and other things that might inspire wonder, but not fear. Her time here has been short, but she is learning quickly that Beqanna is not the same. The magic here stretches further, and she stands there staring at the fire-laced stallion before her, she realizes that it goes further than she had initially thought.
The thought of leaving crosses her mind, but she does not.
Her sheer wings shift uneasily, causing light once again to shimmer along the edges of them, as if she is debating flying away—the way a deer would fly from a wolf if it could.
But he smiles, and she finds her suspicion and fear growing into more of a curiosity. She does not move closer to him, and does not quite relax, but her lavender eyes begin to focus more on his face rather than his flames, and then on the bright yellow eye that reveals itself from the tossed aside forelock. “No,” she responds cautiously, willing the stammer of nerves that is trying to override her steady tone to stay away. “I was just looking,” this is spoken with a bit more conviction, since it was true—she had been looking, and hadn’t really planned on going.
Her delicate head angles away from him, sweeping her gaze across the barren desert landscape—a sea of scorched red dirt that seems to stretch on for miles. “What is that place?”
When she first notices the flames that scintillate along his spine her instinct is to recoil. Fire meant danger; she has seen what a spark gone rogue can do, the way a wildfire can eat up a forest in what felt like a single breath. It was destructive and ruthless—it showed no mercy for anything that stood in its path.
She has never seen anyone that could harness fire themselves. There is magic where she comes from, that much is true. But it is a limited kind; flight and healing, shimmering light trails and other things that might inspire wonder, but not fear. Her time here has been short, but she is learning quickly that Beqanna is not the same. The magic here stretches further, and she stands there staring at the fire-laced stallion before her, she realizes that it goes further than she had initially thought.
The thought of leaving crosses her mind, but she does not.
Her sheer wings shift uneasily, causing light once again to shimmer along the edges of them, as if she is debating flying away—the way a deer would fly from a wolf if it could.
But he smiles, and she finds her suspicion and fear growing into more of a curiosity. She does not move closer to him, and does not quite relax, but her lavender eyes begin to focus more on his face rather than his flames, and then on the bright yellow eye that reveals itself from the tossed aside forelock. “No,” she responds cautiously, willing the stammer of nerves that is trying to override her steady tone to stay away. “I was just looking,” this is spoken with a bit more conviction, since it was true—she had been looking, and hadn’t really planned on going.
Her delicate head angles away from him, sweeping her gaze across the barren desert landscape—a sea of scorched red dirt that seems to stretch on for miles. “What is that place?”
-- my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you
allaire.
@Fyr
RE: we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Fyr - 02-15-2022
FYR
@Allaire
RE: we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Allaire - 03-07-2022
i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland --
She notices, too, that she is making him nervous.
That her initial uncertainty had been written too plainly on her face, and she can feel her chest begin to tighten. She was too new here. She did not understand all the different brands of magic, did not know that someone could wield something like fire without intending to use it for harm. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes to him in her soft, breathy tones, her light colored eyes alight with the worry that she has committed an irreversible offense. “I have never met anyone that could make fire. It—a lot of things—are new to me.”
As if to further prove that, his explanation of the desert spread before them elicits another confused stare from her. The single sentence is full almost entirely of words that make no sense to her: Pangea, Carnage, Dark God. Wordlessly, she shakes her head, almost ashamed to admit that she isn’t sure what he’s saying. It was spoken as if he expected her to know, as if she was ignorant to some knowledge that everyone else already knew. “I’m not from here,” she says quietly, uncertaintly finding his gaze from behind a wispy curtain of blush-pink forelock, hoping that her explanation will earn her the forgiveness she thinks she is seeking.
When he offers his own name she feels the knot in her chest loosen just slightly, a quiet sigh breathing past her lips when she gives him hers in return. “Allaire. My name is Allaire.”
She tears her gaze from him — from the fire that dances over his skin, as if the jaguar-spots are embers—to look back at the desert. “You said it was made by a Dark God,” she begins, trying to think of how to phrase the questions that are blooming inside of her in such a way that she will not offend him anymore than she already has. “But what does that mean?”
She notices, too, that she is making him nervous.
That her initial uncertainty had been written too plainly on her face, and she can feel her chest begin to tighten. She was too new here. She did not understand all the different brands of magic, did not know that someone could wield something like fire without intending to use it for harm. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes to him in her soft, breathy tones, her light colored eyes alight with the worry that she has committed an irreversible offense. “I have never met anyone that could make fire. It—a lot of things—are new to me.”
As if to further prove that, his explanation of the desert spread before them elicits another confused stare from her. The single sentence is full almost entirely of words that make no sense to her: Pangea, Carnage, Dark God. Wordlessly, she shakes her head, almost ashamed to admit that she isn’t sure what he’s saying. It was spoken as if he expected her to know, as if she was ignorant to some knowledge that everyone else already knew. “I’m not from here,” she says quietly, uncertaintly finding his gaze from behind a wispy curtain of blush-pink forelock, hoping that her explanation will earn her the forgiveness she thinks she is seeking.
When he offers his own name she feels the knot in her chest loosen just slightly, a quiet sigh breathing past her lips when she gives him hers in return. “Allaire. My name is Allaire.”
She tears her gaze from him — from the fire that dances over his skin, as if the jaguar-spots are embers—to look back at the desert. “You said it was made by a Dark God,” she begins, trying to think of how to phrase the questions that are blooming inside of her in such a way that she will not offend him anymore than she already has. “But what does that mean?”
-- my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you
allaire.
@Fyr
RE: we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Fyr - 03-10-2022
FYR
@Allaire
RE: we've become echoes but echoes fade away, fyr - Allaire - 04-06-2022
i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland --
She is certain that he must find her incredibly ignorant, or perhaps it is only her own self-consciousness showing its teeth. Her old home was not woven with the same lore as Beqanna, it seemed; they did not have gods, dark or any other kind. Their magic was simpler, too, and she is beginning to feel as if she had been robbed of some fundamental foundation that everyone else seemed to have—an intrinsic understanding of how magic worked and how it fit in the universe.
She did not know where her magic—small and unremarkable though it is, for her wings and her trail of light seemed to pale in comparison to the fire the jaguar-spotted stallion could conjure—came from, or what the history of it is in her birthplace, and as she listens to Fyr’s recount of Carnage’s history and how it was entangled with Beqanna itself, she hopes that he does not ask. Was there such a force in her old home that could have stolen magic from her, too? Her wings shift, as if subconsciously reassuring herself that they still exist; that she had not committed some offense that would have them stripped from her here, too.
“That’s incredible,” is all she manages to say at first, her voice hushed with a hesitant kind of awe. The story is incredible, if not a little frightening—the idea that someone in this place is powerful enough to create an entire land. She looks at the stretch of red sand with fresh eyes, but the trepidation remains. “I don’t think anyone had that kind of magic back home,” she says with a small frown marring her pale face, shadowing her lilac eyes with a thoughtful kind of worry. “Does he…still live there?” she asks, cautious, as if this dark god might hear her, might materialize out of thin air at the mention of him and recognize her as an unworthy intruder in this land and smite her where she stands.
Fyr must be a brave creature, she thinks, to so willingly live where danger lurks, and though the look she casts him is an admiring one, she does not voice these private thoughts.
Her attention is drawn from Pangea at his question, and she cannot explain why, but she feels a small flame of embarrassment when she glances at the meadow. “I suppose you could say that, yes.” She turns back to him, an almost sheepish, yet hopeful smile at the edge of her pearlescent lips. “The meadow isn’t so bad, though. Perhaps not ideal, but it seems safe enough.” Though after his story of the making of Pangea, she is becoming less sure that anywhere in this land is as safe as she had initially thought.
She is certain that he must find her incredibly ignorant, or perhaps it is only her own self-consciousness showing its teeth. Her old home was not woven with the same lore as Beqanna, it seemed; they did not have gods, dark or any other kind. Their magic was simpler, too, and she is beginning to feel as if she had been robbed of some fundamental foundation that everyone else seemed to have—an intrinsic understanding of how magic worked and how it fit in the universe.
She did not know where her magic—small and unremarkable though it is, for her wings and her trail of light seemed to pale in comparison to the fire the jaguar-spotted stallion could conjure—came from, or what the history of it is in her birthplace, and as she listens to Fyr’s recount of Carnage’s history and how it was entangled with Beqanna itself, she hopes that he does not ask. Was there such a force in her old home that could have stolen magic from her, too? Her wings shift, as if subconsciously reassuring herself that they still exist; that she had not committed some offense that would have them stripped from her here, too.
“That’s incredible,” is all she manages to say at first, her voice hushed with a hesitant kind of awe. The story is incredible, if not a little frightening—the idea that someone in this place is powerful enough to create an entire land. She looks at the stretch of red sand with fresh eyes, but the trepidation remains. “I don’t think anyone had that kind of magic back home,” she says with a small frown marring her pale face, shadowing her lilac eyes with a thoughtful kind of worry. “Does he…still live there?” she asks, cautious, as if this dark god might hear her, might materialize out of thin air at the mention of him and recognize her as an unworthy intruder in this land and smite her where she stands.
Fyr must be a brave creature, she thinks, to so willingly live where danger lurks, and though the look she casts him is an admiring one, she does not voice these private thoughts.
Her attention is drawn from Pangea at his question, and she cannot explain why, but she feels a small flame of embarrassment when she glances at the meadow. “I suppose you could say that, yes.” She turns back to him, an almost sheepish, yet hopeful smile at the edge of her pearlescent lips. “The meadow isn’t so bad, though. Perhaps not ideal, but it seems safe enough.” Though after his story of the making of Pangea, she is becoming less sure that anywhere in this land is as safe as she had initially thought.
-- my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you
allaire.
@Fyr