02-28-2018, 08:06 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-01-2018, 03:26 AM by Ilma.)
| A little breeze goes a long way |
Ilma has been in Hyaline for some time now; but she doesn’t feel like she knows every kingdom member. Not by far! She has explored Beqanna of course, flying back and forth to the meadow and field, even visiting the forest for a day, she knows now where what kingdom lies and mostly she understands by description what kind of landscape they hold. Heck, she even hooked up with the grey stallion in the meadow, a rather impulsive action - although she has no regrets. She also has met Lamb and Noirmay there, she thinks they are lovely young females and would have liked to have them close.
But shouldn’t she have focused on the new home?
As she looks around Hyaline she realizes that she knows Kagerus and Solace and that’s about it. Not that this is a bad thing, but she does need to understand the others as well. So she strolls about, leaving her usual patch of grass to seek new faces; perhaps someone has been hidden from her that she should meet. After all it’s no good not to know who lives with you and who doesn’t!
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@[Khaedrik]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
The shadows split like a madman´s smile as Khaedrik wound through the underbrush of Hyaline. Vile, he was, in the morning light. There was beauty in him once; as all children are beautiful; glory in the cant of his head. Not today though; today he was wrought of sickness and delusion. Underfed and dirty. He walked, stumbling almost, dazed by the sunshine that filtered through the laced canopy. It caught in his dark eyes and he shuddered, while the birds and skies watched on, appalled. Where once there was sweet song, now there was only quiet, and suddenly, the hushed but hurried panting of Khaedrik as he slid to a halt, calling forth his shadows from whatever unholy corner they were hiding in. He needed something to take the edge of his restlessness – drum-beat in his veins.
Behind the shadows of his beetle-black eyes, there was still the last trace of innocence, a strange light, a bleeding one that constantly churned and pulsated. His mind; a world of clay and taut convulsion cannot make sense of these things; the world and where he belongs in it. Sin, and not sin. Shadows and light. But he tries, oh, he tries. His salvation from his own head comes in the form of a smell; faint and alluring – unknown to his sensitive nose, and there is a hopeful glimmer of interest in his eye.
He comes to her on a whirlwind of shadows. One moment she is alone; and the next they are standing before her. The colt and the wolf; darkness-spun and terrible. His head tilts to the side; curiously, as he offers a simple “hello” in greeting. The yellow-eyed wolf snarls in return.
@[Ilma]
| A little breeze goes a long way |
Her wanderings have taken her away from the main area, and she strolls through the land slowly. The lake is now somewhere behind her, but as long as she keeps it in sight for just a bit she knows where to go if she runs into trouble. She smells no predators close as she goes, so she keeps a leisurely pace.
One moment there's nothing; suddenly she is accompanied by a palomino colt, eyes deep black - but he's not alone. He's curious though, and the black shadow wolf is not attacking. She has frozen in place like she does many a time when she's shocked or scared, but overcomes this quickly seeing that the wolf is no real wolf; but a thing made of shadows and the colt thinks it's no threat. He tilts his head at her in a curious gesture, and she returns it - ignoring the shadow. She doesn't appear scared, though her heart is still beating fast from the shock and surprise.
So, she takes a moment to respond. However when she does, she smiles, seeing that perhaps the boy has some magic gained from the lands or from either parent. "Hello there. I am Ilma; who are you?" she asks. Surely he must have a name. She glances at the wolf shadow curiously, now that her heart has steadied. If that thing is capable of real hurt, he has a really strong kind of magic to him allright.
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@[Khaedrik]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
It was corruption that defined the darkest corners of night, that cradled its children with lulling whispers and dreams that faded into nightmares. From the pale reflections of moonlight that filtered through the wispy fingers of the surrounding pines came shadows that danced without owners, things that moved without existing and evaporated as quickly as they came. Obediently they collected themselves about his feet, the feet of the boy who never slept, but who watched the night with intrigue comparable to the hunter. His ink-black eyes study the mare before him – all white and unfamiliar. They were as deep and impenetrable as ever, reflectionless, save for the shadows that swirled there.
The boy and the wolf stand motionless; the only sign he has heard her words being the flick of a dark-tipped ear. Darkness is an odd thing, as fickle as it was intangible and Khaedrik is a son of shadows. There is nothing unfriendly or predatory in those eternity-eyes, though the wolf lifts its lip to reveal shadow-fangs. Khaedrik simply abandons normality and convention – but he listens and he observes.
”I am Khaedrik” he returns her question ”are you new here?”
His voice is a tangle of wolf-snarl and lilting child-tones he has yet to loose. There are faint strands of curiosity in the boy´s voice, but the wolf takes a hesitant step towards the mare, testing – always testing. Khaedrik only lifts a hoof in warning, but it is enough to send the monster back to his side where it belongs – a sniveling mewl on its lips. Such a strange thing, that the only thing that stands between her and the predator should be this peculiar, gold-skinned colt. And he breathed the scent of death as though it was the only thing to keep him alive.
@[Ilma]
| A little breeze goes a long way |
He is curious;
Not necessarily being curious like another foal usually was, exploring left and right. No, but he wants to know about the world, how things work, dissect them perhaps. Also, of course, he may be called curious-looking or curious-acting, though that wasn't what she was going for right then. Her appearance here must be new to him; new things must be studied.
Yes, studied. That's the word.
She feels his eyes, and the eyes of the shadows, stare at her appearance, somehow it just appears as if she is something to be considered first, to be taken in, and what she says is processed slowly. She flicks an ear towards the wolf when it moves, or rather, changes expression. She is too stubborn to give into the shadow by any means however; it is the boy who is in control, even if barely, he is. And he's not the same as them. Not necessarily hungry.
Finally, the question is being answered. Khaedrik. She nods to take in the name, and again at the question. "I am. I only recently arrived in Beqanna, and Kagerus was so kind to show me Hyaline. It's a beautiful place to live." she tells him - he must know about Kagerus, since she has been a member of Hyaline for some time, at least that's what she told her. She does not know about their relationship as siblings just yet, they are very unalike in appearance to the unpractised eye - though perhaps more connected through the other world - but that's a world Ilma has never explored before and has no immediate need to.
She watched the shadow wolf move, and tenses a little - relaxing immediately when it is called back. She tries to estimate Khaedrik and his shadow. "Are they part of you, or are you part of them?" she wonders. It had just seemed as if the shadow wolf was a self-thinking creature, but he is so in control, she does wonder if perhaps it is more of an unconscious creation of his own, magically enhanced, mind. Mind you, she does know little of how magic works or comes to be - but there seems little difference between the boy and his shadows when they move.
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@[Khaedrik]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
This pit he has fallen into has no remorse. Falling evermore into a world of darkness and monsters he does not quite belong to. Oh, but there are no strings to pull him back up to the surface, and thus he continues his fall – and wonders how long it will take until he reaches the ground. His wolf-thing, barb-tooted and yellow-eyed is waiting; he can almost feel the thing salivate at the thought. It wants nothing more than for him to finally give in; to lose the last lucidity he clings so fervently to.
But today; his turgid eyes – bitter-black and dispassionate - study the pale face of Ilma, and for the moment, no thoughts of crimson red against her skin (pristine white and sublime) pass his mind. Khaedrik collects the stories of everyone he meets – anything to make them more alive - beings not of flesh and blood (to tear and maim) but hopes and dreams and life. So that he can scribble them into the storybook in his chest. Together these stories make up what is left of his sanity, small strands of yarn to weave around his soul. He desperately hopes that Ilma; white as a misplaced angel, can help him fill those pages.
”Kagerus” he echoes in response, and his wolf sinks further into the shadows as if the mere name is something to loathe and despise. But the boy’s eyes grow more lucid. ”She is my sister.” Oh, there are no visible similarities between the two; except for their inherent penchant for darkness. But he doubts this is something she knows about her. Kagerus hides her fangs well; even to herself.
Alas – an advantage Khaedrik lacks.
”Where did you live before you came to Hyaline?” he desperately needs to know; needs to knit her story together so that it can fit neatly into that book of his.
Until she asks him about his shadows; his demons that never seem to stray too far, for their fury lay hidden beneath a blanket of feathers. The wolf lifts its atrocious head – as if it knows she is talking about it. And perhaps on some plane of existence it does. The question is one Khaedrik cannot answer – even if he wanted to. He knows so little about the monsters that have been his constant companions since he was born. He doesn´t know that they are mere figments of his own sick imagination, no, to him – they are their own. Terrible, vile things of destruction and death. And still; somehow they are part of him.
”They are part of me.” he answers, and his voice is shadow-smoke. The shadows reach for her sleek white hide, twirl around her like a second skin. But these shadows have no wolf-teeth or hidden claws; they are mere wisps of darkness, distant, cold, harmless. ”Just as I am part of them” he concludes, and just like that they return to their master. A brilliant spider web of darkness against the golden of his skin.
It is where they belong, after all.
@[Ilma]
03-15-2018, 05:29 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-15-2018, 05:32 PM by Ilma.)
| A little breeze goes a long way |
The white female looks at the boy; wonders what it is that intrigues her about him and him about her. They seem like opposites; he's burdened and leaning towards darkness; she's light-hearted, trying to find the good in everything. As she knows that there is light in him, as well. He is young and innocent enough in a way; there must be.
As is young face lights up at his - apparently - sister's name, she beams as well. She studies his face again, yes perhaps there are features in there that are recognizable, although not at first glance. "So your shadows, are they anything like Kagerus' dreams?" she asks him, genuinely curious; she doesn't really dare to utter the word 'nightmares' but she does not think she needs to, for this rather clever young man to understand. Similar, but opposite in a way. Except perhaps that Kag can still have, or create, a nightmare, Ilma assumes.
She smiles at his question. "In Suomi. I lived with my parents, my twin brothers, and my little sister. I used to babysit them a lot! Allon and Altan wouldn't really sit still, mind you. But Aamu's really sweet. She's a yearling now, I think." she muses - yes, probably Aamu is a year older than Khaedrik. Ilma's not a hundred percent sure if the timing is right; when she arrived in Beqanna, it was summer after all. "She also has the more adventurous spirit. I wonder what she's up to now." she thinks aloud.
The wolf drug her back to present life; it stares at her after she had asked her question, and it seems that she has unwillingly upset Khaedrik. A small shadow trickles up her skin; cold to the touch, she shivers involuntarily. However, she also sees what Khaedrik doesn't; he is right that the shadow is part of him equally as it he is part of the shadow, but it moves as if it is his unconsciousness.
She smiles at him as she realizes this; suddenly he's just a lonely little boy that needs someone to hold him. And hold him she can, and will.
There's no-one more certain at this than Ilma. She ignores the shadows, in a way that she is certain they will part to let her through; she steps forwards and gives the small palomino kid a warm hug. "You're no shadow, Khaedrik. You're alive." she tells him softly.
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@[Khaedrik]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
The curious smile in Ilma’s voice, and her sun-bright eagerness to answer his questions has him at more ease than he should have been. Perhaps he had asked too personal of a question, he thinks, he had only just met the sun-silver mare. But Khaedrik has no concept of social boundaries, and he makes no efforts to hide his morbid curiosity – instead he turns to watch her, as she composes herself and replies with ready grace. The bright-spun wisps of her mane float in the sweet breeze. Khaedrik scribbles her story into his memory. Memorizing every detail, every name given, every smile she offers. What exactly, Khaedrik had learned he was unsure. But in her words, there lay history. There lay purpose.
He remembers this, and moves on.
His shadows grow restless; one by one they sneak out from under his careful gaze, desperate callous things seeking things he is not ready to give them. They continue to dance around her; a sick void against the pristine-white of her skin. bite, bite, bite they chant; and he ignores. Family he thinks instead as he stares at them Allon, Altan and Aamu
Khaedriks lips quirk at her question. He remembers his time in his sisters’ dream and in remembering he is reminded of her cruel fate. The one that only he knows. To follow the path of her, to follow the path to death – he narrows his glitter-dark eyes, and shadows lurk in his face. He has seen enough of death. He has caused enough misery. Perhaps he is a formidable thing, and perhaps one day he will accomplish great things, but he puts these things aside. He ignores his shadows’ thirst for blood, but she had given in – and she had lost. There had been hidden motives behind his sisters´ path, as well. Motives rooted in her past. Motives that Khaedrik – no matter how much he wanted too, could not grasp. Khaedrik is sworn and possessed by his own shadows, and now that his sister is gone (if not to the arms of death then certainly to the pain he has caused her) he feels the sharp-sour ache of her absence in his veins. He mourns the loss of her bright-hot presence beneath his skin. Kagerus. She rules the dreams – and perhaps, if Khaedrik masters his powers –
He halts his thoughts, as he feels shreds of hope burst and bloom in his breast. It would do him well to forget these things.
”Her dreams are her own makings” - he closes his dark, tumultuous eyes. He opens them, and they are shine bright with madness. But he cannot. His voice is strange when he speaks again, less rich melody, more harsh talon-on-stone. ”My shadows…have a mind of their own.” He tries to collect himself, but the double-imaged shadows remain. There is a hunted look to his face, and perhaps he loses some of his childlike innocence. His regrets and desires press close. He yearns.
He flinches as she presses closer to him; as if the white-warmth of her skin should burn, but his shadows recoil – against such acts of kindness they hold no power, and they are a mere hiss in her ear as she drapes around him and he presses his small head against her. "Thank you" the boy whispers. It is a strangely comforting thing - the–warmth of flesh to his own frigid coldness. It, she, reminds him of his sister. How things used to be simple. Before.
Khaedrik closes his eyes against these memories, as her voice reaches his ears. You are alive. and at this he laughs softly – but it is a hollow, mirthless sound. He is alive, yes, every trembling muscle, every labored breath and every shallow beat of his heart tells him this. But what life does he have, when all there ever was – was the struggle not to perish to his own grating madness.
”See, that is precisely my problem” he answers, as he untangles himself from her warmth as if he can no longer stand it. His shadows crawl back onto his skin, swirling, sniffing. Their eagerness spills into his eyes as he meets her gaze; and that moment of innocence is lost. Allon, Altan and Aamu he repeats under shallow breaths, Allon, Altan and Aamu as if the names of her family could somehow save them both.
”Sometimes I think it would be easier if I wasn't”
Ofcourse it would they whisper. What use have you of mortal boundaries and morals?
@[Ilma]
03-19-2018, 03:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-19-2018, 03:27 PM by Ilma.)
| A little breeze goes a long way |
Ilma ponders on his responses. To her question, he answers that they are alike but different, different in that the dreams by Kagerus, are her own doing, and that his are out of his control. The white winged mare twists her ears in response, thinking, and ignoring the shadows that whisper and tickle while she does. She has stood here for some time now and they have done nothing to hurt her; though naieve maybe, she assumes that they will do nothing else. "They want you to think that, I think. But so far you've been the one in control." she offers him with a wry smile. "You may be better at this magic than you think." She calls it a magic, because, even if the shadows are real, existential beings, it is still a magic to control them.
She steps back as he loosens himself from her warmth. For a moment, it seemed she had been able to help him find a bit of comfort, but then her helpful remark had turned back on her, on them. The shadows return as soon as he does, and she cannot help it but think of it as a shield, an instinctive defensive reaction. He says it would be easier if he weren't alive, and she nods. She is a little shocked, but she knows it to be true. "Yes. Not feeling things, is always easier. If I were dead I would not miss my little sister. But don't you think she would want me to be alive and happy instead? Life is more than just your own feelings," she offers. "Sometimes the one thing to live for, is someone else. Like a sister, or perhaps a lover. Being a shadow like them... well there's still time for that at the end of it; after you have done all other things."
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@[Khaedrik]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
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