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Post by Storeh on Jul 6, 2012 0:49:37 GMT -5
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'You can hardly fight with one who knows all...'
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Languidly the wind ran its fingers with taken indolence through his tresses, plucking them as though a harp string, drawing the smallest grain of attention from the pondering the Lord had been considering. Upon the time of arrival into the valley in which he now stood, there had been an abundance of moments to lend to thought. So much so that the future bent itself as though branches, allowing him to catch the glance of that which had beckoned him forth. Piazza Di Saggezza lended itself as Greymarch's perch, the lands allowing his thoughts to align with the Isles, breaking not view but sorting through lives without having to leave the borders. To waste time was all in distaste, but fate was not to be ignored. To meddle in the affairs of destiny was a web that would snare one into an early grave. Ponder not the ways of Time, but allow yourself to become aligned in its wanders. As was this the way of the world, thus he had adopted its meaning. Coincidence was a concept of bitter debate, for then it would conflict with taken fate, the paths to which the stallion had always kept a trailing eye. Knowing what was behind the door brought forth an array of opportunity unavailable to the lesser mortal equine. Yet dabble he did in their games, perhaps to assure himself that there were some still sane while the Isola Dei Dei turned itself inside out with a war of shadowed players. If there would be such a time where the stag could scoff, it would be at the Zuden and the sparks they brought, the lashing of tongue untrained. The Elemental Lord had witnessed true flame, and this would soon smoke itself out, no matter how many had to do without. The Reapers would claim those they may, and the Pale Horse would once more feel sated in its crimes. There was no speaking of indolence or sin, for it was a battle that was driven from within. Shall he wish, the Chikoa could fan the flames and produce something of substance. However, it was easier to get lost in the chambers of his mind when large matters where not chewing on the fabrics of contemplated seconds.
Petaled ear then flicked a twitch, audits ringing with the tellings of nature around. Greymarch was not looking for these idle sounds, but the calling of that which he had come to observe. The smallest twitch of his muzzle upward gave grace to what had been meditated before. There was a meeting that would soon run its course, anchor itself into place with an air of remorse. Belle Valle was a place for niches of this kind, but it was patience that ruled the moments still. The muscles under the expanse of coat twitched not as though made of casting stone. Head shortly turned with ears still pricked, tail stationary as without thought he pushed away the lifeforms that pestered his coat. The wind cooed across the feathering of his legs, allowing him to abandon in his search to focus on the elements in their worth. The Wisdom Lord was practiced in the arts of useful distraction. So rarely, however, did he need to bear such things for his own purpose. The wind rose with the inhalation of breath, falling forth on the exhale. With the flick of the word that only he could hear, the next little gasp of outward wove itself with ashen smoke, twisting forth as he spoke the language of the fire divine. Tasting each syllable with the grace of care, he gave the fire to the air, watching as it twisted and grew. It was a moment of success, though not the bitterness of arrogance, the taming of the wildfire brew, the peppering of control that would subdue. In a second he extinguished the blaze, blowing away the lingering haze, nostrils flaring then to quiver as the smallest expression he had to deliver continue to stretch his maw in two. Once he returned to the Wisdom lands, he would have to continue to twist the flame. Upon the Luogo d'inontro there was a ring charred and burnt, a practice ring where the nature of fire had done its work. It was in fire's nature to burn and strike. Greymarch was sure he would conquer it in time. Time was an abundance he knew well, a companion he had not yet lost, but gained instead.
Snapping forth the focus tightened, the mind narrowing slightly in kind. Knowledge was a thing that could not be traced, and likewise it was a trait the stallion himself could never hope to erase. In this section of the isles this knowing was strong, the familiarity weaving with the solitary soils on which his tread had been marked. Many a story lay hidden under the depths of the earth, tasting not of ash, but of musk- the ages had done well in their work. The valley of beauty known throughout had marked once curiosity that now lay paled with age, ossified with all he knew. The laden sculpture of his head raised a fraction, sightless eyes bestowing gaze to the lands sprawled before him. In a trumpet that broadcasted far, he announced his presence and offered a draw, lacing in it the Elemental charm characteristic to the breeding he had stolen- learned. It was the charisma of the Konjou, teasing out the very life forces around and drawing them as though on string. The single note drawn cleanly from his throat resounded, echoing itself through the valley, ringing throughout. There was the sense of would-be satisfaction that touched him not, the body resorting itself to the stance that it had fallen into before, the mind reeling as though with its own score. The call would bring forth on the hushes of truth that which had sought him from the Elemental lands. The Unclaimables were not a place the Elemental Lord usually found himself intraced, yet the circumstances yielded their clause, one that gave him not idle pause. With the world, in itself, aligned with the stars, the day shimmered slightly with the knowing of beyond. The meeting was looming closer now, his sightless eyes gazing now. He knew then who it was, saw the form taking shape, a shadowed silhouette no longer. There was the smallest taken smiles then. The knowledge was his own, streaming from the mind nought to the mouth. Once must learn to do without silvered tongue and measured things.
The future smiled into his mind.[/center] [/size][/blockquote][/font][/color] Muse: ...
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 6, 2012 2:15:09 GMT -5
 a4a4ff SPEECH
Wandering the Isles as blind as a bat was not quite the easy task. Staying quiet as a church mouse, being as blended in as a leaf on a tree, was essential to survival. Words long ago spoken by her mother of the dangers of the world still echoed in her head, reminding her of all the lessons she learned before deciding to leave the sheltered life she had lived. Her family wanted to insist she stayed, fearing for her life, but how could she find her way when she remained like a helpless creature at the den of her dam? How horrifying it was to be out here, all alone, without the safety of the gentle presence of her mother. Most would be ready and prepared when they left the nest, yet she was still a fresh fawn when it came down to it. If it weren't for her quick ability to adapt, she would have been gone merely days after she fled the coop. There were so many things her mother forgot to mention, failed to preach to her. Had she no idea of what real dangers she would be facing out there? Well, perhaps she had, which was why she tried to make her stay. But restlessness overtook her, and she was forced to say goodbye. Bittersweet freedom.
There were so many things to keep an eye out for - double if you had no eyes to see at all. Trees, plants, other animals, and other horses could be quite hard to avoid until you were practically ontop of them. But as she grew older, the more she began to trust what she had been given naturally, honing her given abilities to be something magnificent. She could hear a mouse creep among the underbrush, the soft coos of a mother bird in her nest from trees away. Avoiding trees was no problem as she listened to the soft echoes of her footfalls to judge where each obstacle stood in her path, and her nose kept her out of trouble many times. But the inexperience still kept her at quite a high risk of danger. Not to long ago, she had the false belief that in only certain places, certain horses would go. Why would any horse really follow that rule or assumption? Being a broodmare to a pushy stallion would have been her fate if she didn't know how to slip away, or scare others off with her terror. Funny, really, her fear could also place fear in others. Trembling, quaking, and wild bolting at the most ridiculous nonsense could make her a huge candidate for a loon house, but she had no way of making others understand her without them gawking at the sight of her. A blind mare lasting for so long? All assumed she would be either under protection, or some stallions play toy. What a plaything she would be, she'd never hurt a soul in her life, no matter what they inflicted upon her. How could she? Retaliation was all she expected, and being blind, how could she ever prevail in a fight? It was best to lie down at your master's feet than to bite his hand.
Belle Valle attracted her for some reason, it's soothing calm environment putting her at ease. The summer heat warmed her skin, but the setting sun kept it's blaze in check, allowing the open valley to begin to cool as it headed towards the night. Crickets already began to sound, eager for nightfall to come. But of course, she couldn't see the difference in such, only the shift in temperature and the blanketed feeling that nighttime always brought. Picking her way through the open field proved to be some sort of adventure, her heart rate speeding up, trying to guess when she would come upon trees again so that she regained some of her 'sight' back. Though the cover of the forest didn't sometimes attract very friendly characters, she preferred it so that she had some form of an idea on where things were. Meadows, fields, and even large valleys like these made things fun for her in an odd way, but too much time out on an open plain also made her nervous very quickly. A panicked mare didn't usually prove to be a good situation, but for now, she was content tramping around without a care in the world, her sightless, baby-blue eyes staring off into space.
A bellowing call that sounded off across the valley made her freeze in place, curved ears pricking ontop of her dainty head in the direction the noise had come from. Something about it was something she had never heard before, a sound that beckoned to her even after it stopped echoing to the mountains. Instead of feeling fear of this new sound, she felt almost eager to investigate, which was completely out of character. The long tresses that swooped past her neck and slightly dragged onto the ground swayed in the wind, caressing her skin as she assessed the situation. She could lie to herself and think that she was merely going in the direction to see if there were any trees that way, so that if danger aroused, she wouldn't be able to entirely blame herself if she got hurt. It was perfect. With some hesitation, she angled her body in the direction and set off, careful not to trip on the long grass that came close to her 13 hand height. Only when she smelled another horse, very close by, did she freeze, just like a deer in headlights. Her nostrils quivered as she took in the scent, trying to analyze who she came across. Male, with some sort of odd, strong power that she remembered was present in a lot of elementals she had met, but this one had it a lot stronger than the ones she had met. A lord, most likely. She didn't say a word, remaining silent, as she usually did. Talking and interacting with others was never something she mastered, and was usually avoided at all costs. Her last run in scare with that stallion proved that other horses couldn't be trusted well, no matter how kind they seemed.
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Post by Storeh on Jul 6, 2012 12:56:35 GMT -5
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'You can hardly fight with one who knows all...'
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Anticipation quivered marginally across his pelting, sending threads of chills underneath his skin, tracking then through the coils of his form. Expression edited itself into a passive line as the petaled cups of his ears swiveled then forth to catch the hushed tellings of the fea's dance as she tracked forward through the valley, heeding the casted line of his note. In the uttering, there had been the weave, stretching as the mare drew closer with nigh but a whisper of her coming. The silence cascaded into his expectant mind. Whisper. A name that lended itself upon the wind, allowing the slightest of interest to draw closer with intent. Youth radiated from her, anchored itself in her soundlessness. There was the knowing of honed senses, her surroundings sharpened with the lack of sight she bore to the world. Greymarch was not surprised by this, but bore the sliver of curiosity. Reluctant broadcasted itself from her form, as well as the lending of her own scrapes of though. Elemental Lord, indeed. The agen stag was needlessly impressed by her noting, for most could not hope to sense the change of air, sparked with energy upon such meetings. Very subtly his mind muttered the thoughts of slight ease, pressing not but expanding through the surroundings with the hope of notable influence. The stallion could do without the thoughts of bolting, though the future bent a stranger line, anchoring firmly in oddest tide. Ears flickered once more, muscled neck arching into the stance, the entire force of his mind focusing on the mare who stood off a ways. There was the drawing nature of speech to seal the deal of undertaken reach, though the borders of his powress did not press, merely continued to haunt the valley in expectance. The young thing would shy away from any intrusion, even with the strings of intelligence he had already pulled. There would be no feeling of such a thing. Greymarch was able to remove these strands easily, in lending to the nature blood in his veins. Cocking an ear he analyzed that which freely came from her mind.
Merely former thoughts caught in the stream from which now he fished so willingly. There was the contemplation of her dam in such things, a figure that had been dominate in her life before she chose to leave the safety of her home. She reflected on the thoughts of open spaces, something that the stallion could not help but smile at. To the blind, it seemed to be a trait that was shared. As much as the stag himself loved the open air, he also preferred the seclusion of the trees, though admittedly the reasons may be for a bit separate things. Distrust, he was also able to tangibly feel, for her fellow equines. That was understandable, though he also could sense that whatever fear lingered within her was less than she would ever admit. Strength. It was odd for him to find another sightless upon the Isola Dei Dei, but to have them independent was almost without reserve. Greymarch could feel a stirring, almost, of the anticipation he had sense felt nought. There, again, was the need for the breaking of the silence, and this time he decided he would heed. [/size] 'I may not be able to see you, but I know you are there,'[/size] His voice was low, the tone considered almos neutral, ingrained with that which need not be said. Yet, he felt as though Whisper should be able to know that he was just as blind as herself. Though, with his own breeding, he was better off than herself. It was not the first time he felt the tinge of pity for the normal equine, especially the one before him that stood. The words were painted with the air of silence, something that the young mare seemed acclimated to. It was the thought of not seeming imposing, despite the fact that the energy surrounding him gave away his stature, as well as his rank. A single petaled ear flicked at this, sculpted head cocking slightly with the movement noted. There was a heed to this energy, something he should have taken care of from the beginning. With heed, his mind whispered a word, masking the power from the surroundings, though the other inclusions of his mind remained in effect. Care should have been taken, indeed, but now the energy was under wraps, no longer sparks about him carelessly. It died down as though without suspicion, clinging closer to him as he kept tabs.
Slowly, he focused on relieving the tension from his statuette, uncoiling the muscles to allow the air to release the sparks it held. It was the change of his body that effected the mind, the world around shifting as though in idle sigh. It was the calling of pressure being release, easing away as though all was becoming softer at the seams. His blue clouded eyes gazed out without the sense of purpose, the long tresses of his light grey tail flicking at the grasses. The wind breathed forth as though to sway, the surroundings seemed accustomed to his sway. Whisper was now allowed to judge these changes for herself, however well she could make sense, grasping the events. Was this a test, he smiled to himself? A test to see how strong one mind could be when surrounded by inclinations and softening feeling. Normal equines he was able to sway, but that was an experimentation for another day. At present, all he wished was for her to relax, as he was not within the grounds of hurting her. There was nothing the fea had done to deserve such a thing, and though the world was cruel enough in these empty spaces, he was not one to flirt with cruelty. Greymarch stood without deceit, mind keeping tabs on the surroundings, allowing her own mind to press into the space, seeking for herself the change. Again, there was the thought of where she had been, the sharpening of senses as she aged. Speaking would be easier, he reflected, if he had nowhere to begin, if he could merely comment on that which he was given. Such things happened between him and his son, though that was simply because of there breeding alike. Jack was away from Saggezza tending to the mare Char, and there was a hint of fate upon his return. For now, though, the stallion would preoccupy himself with what destiny had won. There was then another small detail drifting forth. Pacifism. The fea was without the want of fight. It was unusual, and drew his mind once more.
There were some things in which he could not ignore.
[/center] [/size][/blockquote][/font][/color] Muse: ...
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 6, 2012 20:44:54 GMT -5
a4a4ff SPEECH
Whisper found it extremely odd at how easily she was drawn to this horse. On normal circumstances, she would have turned the opposite direction once she had any indication that there was another horse around. There were so many things in life that shaped you to who you were, and how you reacted to your environment. If she hadn't been born blind, maybe she would be a lot more social and embracing to company, rather than how she was now, avoiding confrontation at any and all cost. Yet she had came so easily to investigate, when she should have left and made her way back to the safety of the trees. But who knew what sort of monsters were lurking there, waiting for unsuspecting prey to fall into their trap? She was the perfect victim, and yet she hadn't been a target to any other species beside her own. Her encounter with the stallion had shaken her, but she walked away unscathed without incident other than persistent denial until he released her. Why would he father children upon a mare who was unwilling? Even though she wouldn't hurt a fly, raising a child was something that she wouldn't be able to do. Besides the part of barely being able to care for herself, she wouldn't be there to explain things to said offspring. It was a bad combination, and she hoped that she never came across a stallion such as him again, because she might not end up as lucky next time.
Pulling her mind away from such thoughts, she tried to assess who was standing in front of her. He didn't move from his spot, which helped put her at ease, because she would have to be in plain sight how close she was. She kept a good estimated distance between them, just so she would have the leverage to flee if she needed to. Despite preparing for the worst, she felt that this stallion meant no harm to her. Wouldn't he try anything already if he intended to? His words drew her curiosity, her ears pricking as she listened to him speak. She hesitated to believe he was blind as well at first, but there was no where to hide behind for him to say that. She would have to accept that he was probably blind, like her, which was a huge thing to grasp. She had never met any other blind horse, and the prospect made her both excited and nervous. The horses she had briefly spoken to apparently met another blind horse, either. But there were so many hidden nooks and crannies on the island, who knows where he came from?
Whisper continued to remain silent, but she quickly became more relaxed in the stallion's presence, though she still kept an ear out for any danger. She could never afford to have her guard down, not like this. Sometimes, she wished she could see and experience it all in a new light, but being the adventurous type wasn't exactly how she went along. She kept it safe, and only her occasional trips across random meadows proved to be her excitement. In reality, others might find that quite sad or pathetic, but it was what made her happy. She didn't need supervision, she had enough of that when she was little, and didn't need anyone dictating the way she lived or how she perceived it. She was content with being alone, her mother was almost all she talked to for a good portion of her life except when her father came around. He rarely did - he wasn't particularly happy she had turned out so flawed, but her mother assured her she was beautiful, and not to take her father's nit-pickiness into regard. So she didn't; she didn't care for looks, because she couldn't 'look' anyway.
Her sightless eyes searched uselessly, though she tended to pretend to look around out of habit. All she saw was darkness, but it was all she knew. Her eyes focused in the general direction that the stallion stood, unsure of him, yet his presence was relaxing. That intrigued her greatly, and for once she felt curiosity towards another being. He was probably very powerful, though she didn't have enough knowledge to place what breed he was. She would find out eventually, because she felt no desire to leave yet. She was curious to what about him drew her here.
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Post by Storeh on Jul 6, 2012 21:26:01 GMT -5
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'You can hardly fight with one who knows all...'
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Intrigue tugged relentlessly upon the lingering strands of mindlessness, willing them to bear their own witness to that which had seemingly fallen to the stallion through the will of the fates. Interest was not a think to be taken lightly, for Greymarch had bestowed his thoughts upon a great many things, some large in importance, others minuet with prospect. From the mountains of Piazza Di Saggezza the islands opened itself as though a book, a useful read that he indulged himself in throughout the stacking ages. Noted so carefully were where the edges frayed, the places where the binding seemed to be pulling itself apart. Yet also to be considered where the illustrations, the vibrant picturesque paintings that littered also the pages. Upon these so tempting a leaflet was the past of the Isola Dei Dei ingrained, spoken so easily through the minds of those since witnessed. More so, even where the fabricated images of thoughts that were of the present days, singing destruction as well as praise. Through these eyes the Chikoa had seen many a death as well as a dream. Indolence as well as idle, innocent things. They all amounted to the calling of his blood, the seeking of wisdom that would end not. Even after the heart chambered so casually in his chest ceased to beat, it was merely be the start of another chapter, the turning of a selection. To be with knowing the highest power, the very purpose to which he lent his time. Yet, despite this all, the yearning need to fill the void in mind, he stood motionless in the Belle Valle, the charming natures of his appeal directed at a fea. Carefully constructed was each new verse, the lines turning themselves as though to rehearse, keeping them anchored in their place, rooted without the drawing contempt faced by equines since past. Calmness in collection, smoothness in action, his nostrils flared, senses so sharp, as though he were also seeing things in layers as Whisper might have. So long had it been since Greymarch had bore witness to an equine of normal lineage, that he had forgotten that it was a refreshing experience.
The constriction that had once dominated the air seemed to gradually dissipate. The gentle thrum of her mind continued to beat steadily, producing thought as individual sound. Without reluctance he plucked emotion, the thoughts of bitterness from meeting another. A brute, it would seem, with mischief once upon his mind. There was the flaring of sparks as though it where temper, though the stallion was in control of everything, especially anger. The antics of an island stag where something that did not surprise him. In the erosion of the isles' natures, the minds of those who feasted upon her fruits also seemed then to dim, twisting themselves with thoughts of such sins. Yet Whisper seemed to be in peace, the next little bit allowing him to know this thing. His mind lent to the surroundings another word, casually adding to the atmosphere. Peppered now was the air with the tang of spice. Doubtfulness at his lack of sight. Yes, it was something to which he had to agree, an equine that lacked in the ability to see was rare amongst the native kind, especially with the hostilities as they were. Then there was a bit that allowed again for the stretching of his maw, so slightly given. The thought of where he had come, what hole from which he had decided to crawl. It was the smallest thing that he had found, enough to almost make him laugh aloud. Yet, he was practiced in the smoothing of emotional things, considering he hardly felt these things, and easily allowed only a smile to surface, content in the fact that the mare opposite would not notice this. Idly he let the words take form, the past that she had starting to take form. The lending role of her father, again the mention of her mother. Sires, as well as dams, were of the smallest things to consider, noting the role that his own had played. It was the same with the mention of taken mates. Such things the Elemental Lord did not dabble, lending ear again to search for something that might not catch him in the snare of memories best left unsurfaced. Greymarch was not one to spent an encounter thinking then of his own matter. Perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, but at the moment the agen stag needed to focus.
Rambling ceased as thought with the extinguishing of fire, background noise drifting farther as the voice of the mares started to grow louder. Such things were notable of meetings, when the pureblood spent enough time to observe. There was always a time when all drew together, like the snapping of events into succession. At this moment the world narrowed, drawing together a silhouette. There was a crack of pure blankness, an edge of white, tainted not by grey or black. Whiteness was the impression he got, nothing else the edges his mind had wrought. Inescapably, he was brought to the shock of an equine, mortal, with a pelt of snow. Completely so as though a wraith, and usual sort of hide. Very rarely did Greymarch show interest in outer appearance, for the stag could easily do without. Impressions where formed with the testing of mind, not with the build or color of hide. Yet this was a moment where he stood with slight contemplation, thinking to himself if he had bore such witness to her complexion. Among Elementals, colours hosting pale variety where not uncommon in the slightest. Indeed, the Konjou breed itself was entirely made of these pale variants. Yet among normal equines, he could came to the conclusion- another thought came from her mind, one that he had overlooked in his haste to absorb all in which he could hold. Her mother had remarked on her beauty, the outward protrayal that she had shrugged off for disinterest. It effectively silenced his wondering and brought him to narrow, ears flicking forth with the silence of succesion.[/font][/size] 'My name is Greymarch, Silence.'[/font][/size] The stallion would find it most inappropriate and unsuitable if he should use her name, for she had offered nought a word. This, of course, he knew as the usual behaviour. To know was business. Yet knowing itself compared to the threads to the world the Lord did bear, his mind allowing the elements to speak through the mouth casually gifted for speech. Woven into the essense of these words was the casual feeling of conversation, without pressure or the pressing of need, merely the thought of a reply without the bearing of pushing tides. The filling of silence yet the settling of sea.
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Words alone could set her free.
[/center] [/size][/blockquote][/font][/color] Muse: Through the roof and across the expanse.
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 6, 2012 22:39:37 GMT -5
a4a4ff SPEECH
She had always wondered what it was like to be an elemental. To have an element under your complete control, and able to unleash that power while it still being to your will would be an amazing feeling. Of course, she had no idea how they even learned to control such a thing. Maybe for a normal equine like her, she wouldn't understand, but for them, it would probably come as easy as breathing. It was just one of those things that she would never understand. But there was so much more than just controlling the main elements; Death, Night, Wisdom, Day, Energy. Were there more that she didn't know of? There were probably breeds for every thing imaginable, existing or yet to evolve. It was amazing to think of. There were so many possibilities and concepts that she couldn't understand about each breed, and probably would never know. There were just some mysteries in life that were meant to remain secrets, and she was easy in accepting of that.
Curiosity pricked at her to figure out what breed this stallion belonged to. There was so many possible, but none of the ones she had met had been nothing like this presence that stood in front of her now. And if it were a Zuden, she would be long past dead right now in an ash grave. She would have no fair warning except for maybe an insult and a breath of smoke before it would be all over for her. It saddened her at this war that was simmering, though you could barely call it a war at all. It had been going on since she was a very young filly, and yet no one had tried to fight back against the dangerous horses. Everyone was too busy hiding away, which she had no room to talk. She hid away as well, heeding to the occasional friendly raven's warnings that a Zuden wandered close by. She kept her distance, and so far, she had been kept out of trouble. She could only hope it stayed that way.
Her ears turned forward as the stallion spoke once more, telling her his name. Greymarch. Unusual, but it wasn't like her name wasn't either. What struck her odd, though, was that he said "silence" in a way that it seemed as if he were calling her that. Was he mentioning how quiet and unresponsive she was being? Admittedly, she felt a bit guilty that she wasn't trying to put forth a conversation, but it was in her nature to shy away from company. She made something that looked similar to an awkward smile, unable to master such a thing without seeing it on others. "Nice to meet you.." Her soft voice rang, her curved ears swiveling on her head. "My name is Whisper."
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Post by Storeh on Jul 6, 2012 23:26:12 GMT -5
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'You can hardly fight with one who knows all...'
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Captivation was not a rule when meeting those outside the reach of ones own homelands. In all true taste, it was taken to be rather the opposite of such a thing, an opportunity for the casual lists of conversation to be twisted and convoluted with the straying of intention. Misconception between equines lead to confrontation, and having witnessed skirmishes between two stags, it was needless to say it left nearly a bitter taste upon his tongue. Even though at present his curiosity was sated enough for their pairing of conversational stance to continue, there was the sensation of missing standing, as was the case when Greymarch was not upon the soil of Saggezza. His reign over the lands had lasted longer then the lifetime of most, something that would bring pride to Elementals able to convey a wider spectrum of emotion. Just as the everyday qualms of the generic kind lent a specific brand of interest, the affairs of the other Elemental Lords were something he cared not to dabble in. Of course, this was not to say that Greymarch did not know their own standings, their intentions, their ranks, and their plans. It was said that one could not trust someone who knew everything, meaning the Chikoa had never been of popular breeding. Yet, their numbers, as with the case of the remainder of the Elemental Lands, was not of substantial standing, so none had many complaints. Saggezza sought nought an alliance with any of the other herds, nor sought to lay siege upon their borders. It would all be a foolish endeavour, as he knew, one which he would rather not bother with. Despite what had occurred upon the past, Greymarch did not wish to take on the Fire Lord again, nor any of his chosen pets. Terra Di Fuoco had claimed enough Chikoa lives, and the stallion was to not going to kneel to flame nor bleed for the spite of revenge. No, the Lord of Wisdom was not a Konjou. Revenge was a concept only fools seemed to harbor. As amusing as it was to watch an equine twist their lives and ruin themselves with its seed, it was hardly a thing one would tend to in their own garden. Plant in their enemies, may be.
Yet Greymarch had already sown that seed.
The contemplation of Elemental life broadcasted itself into expectant mind, turning it over as though to examine. Yet Whisper had nought the proper tools to dissect a case not understood. Equines unnative to the isola where of interesting breed, without doubt, their minds sometimes reaching for things they could do better without. Control of an element was truly a poison, though one of the sweeter ones, without doubt. Each who was born to such a breed tried their hardest to outdo each other, harbor a skill that would make others envy, no matter how hard they sought to deny. It was in their blood, and it is the blood that survives. The stallion himself had seen those try to go back on to what they had been birthed. For instance, he had witnessed a Zuden who refused to allow himself to bent the spark. Over the years, this flame built itself inside, enraged at being contained. One day, the equine born of fire, became the fire. Nothing was left but a pile of ash. It was a lesson to those who tried to do without. An ear flickered once more, catching more of the notes that she had in store. Her acceptance of the fact that life had it mysteries was vexing to the stallion. He himself had never been able to allow life to hoard these things for itself. Did she not yearn to know that which others did not? To seek the things that time had laid to rot? Was there not a hollowness inside, a void from which only thoughts could abide? Nostrils flared with these thoughts and the next. Of course this was something the youth did not feel. It was the tellings of his breed speaking aloud, something he knew, indeed, but could not help but wish to shroud. There was the knowing that he could show her the skies, give her all her life had been denied. Greymarch could whisper the truth in her ear, her surroundings when then become clear. Through his mind, the knowledge, she could look upon the stars. Yet these where such small, mortal qualms. She did not know this, indeed. For this was another thing characteristic of his breed. It was of note that he thought these thoughts, an indulgence that usually trifled in he did not. The layers showed themselves, and for once, he felt young, as though he were learning something he had not. Bitterness swelled and he shook the ash from his metaphorical tongue.
Silence broken open the floodgates that had barred the broadcast of her youthful mind. The breaking of voice painted an easy picture in his mind. The speaking of her name was the first that he took, allowing the tab on the surroundings to press itself with a slight more insistence. Working, though, as it was, he listened to the tone, understanding the meaning that was woven between. The tone was soft and he let it lay, filled the hollow edges that no longer would stay. It was the binding contract of her voice that allowed the smile to captivate once more, the whispering of a single word. An idle suggestion had taken root, and he kept an eye on it as he uttered more, allowing them to underscore the words that he then sought to convey.[/size][/font] 'The Pleasure is mine,'[/size][/font] Manners were off a variety that one did not see, for the ages had sought to the killing of proper speech, just as they had done away with the former Law of the Elementals, as well as the marks of the breed. Refreshing, it could be taken, to hear something that could be considered introduction.[/size][/font] 'A fitting name, to match your manner.'[/size][/font] It was the smallest of observations, one that could be cast aside in other speaking, but for now it would serve the purpose that would keep her from reeling. There was the thought again for experimentation, but this soul was not the proper choice. Not a thing had she done to show him vice.[/size][/font] 'How do you fare on this day?'[/size][/font] The words were laden with honeyed things, skimmed as they were by the silver of tongue. It was a customary thing for the stallion, for practice made perfect without the casting. Distraction was in the nature of things, the knowing of luring. Though the saying went, as it were, give a name and make it tame. In truth it was a bit more assured, get a name and it shall be tamed. Chikao had known this for the ages past, that conversation was the snaring point of those who knew not how to cast a barrier between the thoughts inside and out. Knowledge was a curse to others who went without its watch. Yet, for Greymarch, was merely a matter of himself. Truth, it was not a game, nor was he breaking her wings to make her tame. Rather, he was enjoying social encounter. For now, this was the only matter.
[/size][/font] A thousand little tiny things.
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 7, 2012 15:24:14 GMT -5
a4a4ff SPEECH
It began to amuse the mare at the turning of her thoughts. How all over the place they were, and so far and strayed from the current situation at hand; like a bee, her thoughts drifted from topic to topic like bees to flowers. Greymarch's soothing presence allowed her guard to drop, and her posture to become lax, shoulders slumping, a back leg resting on the tip of her hoof. Normally when around another, her entire focus was on that equine, judging whether they were trying to kill her or become her friend. Not that most would stick around long enough to try for friendships, but in all honestly she didn't need anyone else. She was addicted to her independence, and she had half a mind to go visit her mother just to show her she was still alive and completely unscathed. As cruel as it sounded, her mother probably assumed that she was long since dead by now. She was upset, of course, by that fact, but you couldn't change another's thoughts. But she understood where she came from in this; blind animals, whichever species, didn't last too long when they were braving the dangers of the wild. It was just the way of nature, survival of the fittest, and there was nothing you could really do to change that.
It wouldn't be too long now until she was snapped up into a trap to meet her demise. She knew she had been lucky to survive this long, and it probably would have been wise to remain in the safety of her mother's care, or joined up in a herd. At least then, her life expectancy would improve. But she had no desire to be dictated over, and was perfectly happy being alone.Though it was unfortunate she would probably die young, she was accepting of her fate. It was all apart of life, and she wouldn't try and change it. She would just continue to live how she wanted, and whenever fate reached her, she would go willingly. That's how life was, wasn't it? No matter how hard you tried to escape it, it the Pale horse would always get you in the end. So did it really matter when he came for her? Her life was as boring and meaningless as anything, which justified whatever could happen to her. She had made it to adulthood, and that was good enough for her. But when and where she succumbed to her fate, that she was unsure of. She could only hope it would be quick and then over.
Whisper's wandering mind returned to the presence at hand, her blind eyes still having been focused on where she thought that the stallion stood. Her ears flicked as he spoke, angling them back towards him. She let her awkward smile drop to the normal, lax, almost bored expression she usually had. Having never seen body language or anything of that sort on other horses, it was only logical that her expressions were few to none. Only the most raw and natural emotions showed up on her face. But to her, she wasn't really aware of how lacking her facade was. As long as she didn't know, she didn't have a problem. She was glad at least this stallion was polite; her mother had made sure she knew her manners. She flicked her ears as he commented about her name, and remained quiet, unsure on how to respond to that. It was true, of course, that was how her mother decided her name. Even when foals were strung full of energy and talkative, she was not. She was always calm and quiet, which her mother always complimented on, so she wouldn't have to deal with a high strung filly. "I'm fine, how're you?" she responded in her soft tones. If any other came upon the pair, they might find it a bit odd at how it was playing out. Not the conversation itself, but rather the lack of any emotion on either of their faces. Whisper would never notice the oddity, and with that, she was fine with. She never worried about anything, she kept the flow easy and undisturbed. It was what it was.
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Post by Storeh on Jul 7, 2012 16:19:19 GMT -5
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'You can hardly fight with one who knows all...'
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Inclination of wayward tongue turned over present happenings as though parting the passing of churning seas. Oceans of thought spilling across the channels, sorted to be put then into lines. Picking threads on to remark was a course charted nought from the start. Greymarch had found himself the loom and started its weaving, mindful of circumstance and substantial feeling. Now the seas had completely calmed, allowing the reins to be exchanged to his 'hands.' A mannerism left from the human's plaguing history. One of the more distasteful subjects the Chikao had dabbled in. The surroundings held themselves with collected inanimate harmony. He himself reveled in this, the feeling soothing through the warmth of thought as well as skin. It was the smallest thing that he could control, a grain that he found enjoyment in. The shifting of Whisper's taken stance allowed him to farther lull the encounter into waltzing sway. Contentment in company was achievable, he had now found, though before there was hardly the telling threads of doubt to bear witness. The powress from which he instituted the control was limitless, as it was drawn directly from the capability of the mind. With each tab to subdue, it was as though he was directing a musical alignement, the director, as it could be said. In other words, the master controlling the marionette. Yet, for the moment it was enough for the surroundings to lend their competent strand. A day to dawn without contemptuous strain, a conversation that was clouded not with indolent haze. The stag could almost allow himself to confess that this was not in distaste. Slowly the pages turned play by play, his eyes level with the book, the notion of holding the cards. Cards that he could turn as well as flip. There were some he could discard, as though the game itself would be turning inside out. Even the smallest of calls to the mind before could change the end that the Fates would have to endure. They set the course, yes this was true, but what substance stuck between was all in his control. This encounter could be shifted into dreamlike trance, then be erased with the merest flick of the word. The words to summon the thoughts that were not belonging. Unsuitable for these seconds so easily aligning. Greymarch had a tendency to wish to do more than observe. The casual onlooker tended to do not well for the turns. Fairness untasted. Shaking thoughts like leaves from trees, he lent his ear to the mind to which he possessed the keys.
Addiction was not a foreign word, yet for the moment it seemed candied. Independence was a concept before that had yielded its own small collections of trails and stories. Many a time a soul could paint a picture in the mind of going where the isles had sought ever so to hide. The merest thought of never needing another made the stallion prick his ears forth with significance that strayed from the usual indifference. It was a thought that seemed to be plucked like the strand of a harp. Thoughts then brought back the figure of her dam, something that struck a different chord within. Whispers want to show her that in the time she had, indeed, succeeded in living through the obstacles that barred her path. The want to show that she had overcame, despite what the world had wished. Despite all wanting to put her in cage. Upset, she was, with the inability to change another's thoughts. The stallion felt the stirrings of humor, but killed them in the illusions of irony. The mare yet seemed to understand, a trait that was set aside for future debate. The thought of knowing in normal equine was something that tempted his intellect perhaps a tad too much. There was a shifting in tone, as well as inner voice, the speakings of the Pale Horse. Whisper wandered there much with her readiness, with an unusual sense of acceptance to what the Fates would decide. A value that was placed on life itself, the survival of those who where able. Greymarch thought of Stranger then, with nostrils flaring and eyes closing. Death was a concept that few could grasp, the gambling plans that many sought to hatch. To die and be brought back seemed to be an occurrence, as though the isles themselves were farther poisoning with the darkness that led those back from the depths. Meaningless, it rang hollow through his form. A word with more substance than others owned. It twisted inside for a moment before he willed it away. This was not for him to implore. His part in this act was merely to listen, before her voice ceased and he ended their conversation. The Pale horse was a haunt, indeed, yet it was not a thought one should host with such ease. Weight and depth should hang from such thoughts, and though the tone of her mind seemed absorbed in this kind, there was still the air of youth that features could not mask. Too young to precipitate on what others spent a lifetime trying to cheat. Greymarch bowed his head, eyes still closed as he hosted his own darkness within.
Inquiry stranded upon the seas of grasses, hanging with the softest of incantations. Brought forth the reason for question, and his ears flickered back with contemplation. His feeling was not to be pondered. Feeling was something he did not.[/size][/font] 'In good taste, I am alright.'[/size][/font] Honesty was the harbinger of guiltless clause, yet to a question to which no answer could be reached, there was sometimes the need to lie through the teeth.[/size][/font] 'What brings you to the Belle Valle?'[/size][/font] Knowledge held close to the stars, something that could not be lent. It seemed to himself that thought these things did not have to be professed aloud, it would be without the sense of taste for him to allow her to stand without speaking. Of course, with a word, it would feel entirely nature, to allow her thoughts to pour into his mind without the need for speaking. For this odd use of their time. But these things were of the taste of normal equines, and it was decided that it should be this way, despite how odd he found it at times to speak instead of use his mind. If the encounter should continue to lend its way, perhaps he would start to speak into her mind. Then again, the mare would know nought the difference, with the lack of expression either of them could see. A quick experiment, perhaps? The connection was made with the smallest of murmurs. [/size][/font] 'A wanderer, are you, perhaps?'[/size][/font] His voice was the usual tonelessness of emotionless grace, placed in low. Smoothly it was seamlessly added across her thoughts, a layer above as though spoken aloud, the change in air lending as though he had spoken the audios. The difference was subtle, of this he was more than sure. But would the fea be able to catch what others had been trained to ignore? The using of vocals became quickly tiring for the Lord. If this continued to occur he would certainly lose interest. The encounter did not need to end so quickly. This would prolong its stay. One one hand, if taken in stride, the conversing would not die. On the other instance, she would not panic, but be curious moreso to the change of the tone. Either way, it was the experimentation to which he flipped the coin, the surroundings still completely under his control. Reactions to which he waited patiently, eyes finally opening once again, the light flaring inward.
[/size][/font] The subtlest of changes.
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 24, 2012 18:30:50 GMT -5
a4a4ff SPEECH
Often, her mind's eye and imagination tried to cope with the unknown world around her. Descriptions from her mother were completely useless; colors and shapes couldn't be registered to her, though she tried to imagine and put things in place in how she thought things would appear to be. She knew generally how other equine looked like, because she could feel her own body shape, the muscle under skin, her heart beat cased by a cage of ribs. Frustration often pricked her when she was a foal, unable to understand the world around her, constantly tripping and stumbling over her own feet, and over small objects that other horses could have stepped over without a second thought. Learning how to stand without the use of visual encouragement from her dam was pure hell, driven only by the instinct imbedding into every horse. Her mother tried to teach her alternate ways to explore. She learned by touch and texture, but one thing she hoped not to feel soon was the razored jaws of wolves or the bite of flames. As previously thought before, she accepted her fate would catch her soon, but until then, she would prevent anything from happening to herself until then. Death was something that she had to cope with every day, because she never knew when the morning would be her last. Waking up to see the sunrise was a blessing, and it made her come to appreciate every waking moment she had. Though she may not show her outward appreciation of being alive - it was there, buried in the healthy thrum of her heart. Many took advantage of the highs and benefits of life - but sometimes it only took them one thing to snap them back and set them to face the reality. There was no one that was perfect, and there was no where that was perfectly safe. Death was immanent, and there was no point running away from it. It was a part of life, and once the last grain of sand has fallen through, your time was up.
Outside from her lessons, she often learned the trade of the island by the clever ravens that flew across the isles. Quite smart creatures, they were. They saw all, because they were able to remain silent and observe even the most attentive animals. What social she skill she had came from the ravens, whom she found had taken quite a liking to her. They would flock around her in almost a dozen every day by the time she was a yearling, and they did bring her good company, and they chattered all day long until her mother grew tired of the talking and sent them off to put her to bed. For quite a while she was entirely submissive to her mothers whims and commands, even when she was way past an age that other normal horses would be gaining independence. In fact, she may of remained that way if not for the raven's intervention, telling her that she might as well go off and make a life of her own. It was no way to live under your mother's constant vigil for the rest of your days. And even so, what would happen come the day her mother grew too old and passed? Then she would be all alone, with no idea how to fend for herself, and she would perish shortly after her. Of course mother was angry at their suggestions and ideas, but it was to her despair that she actually followed their advice and tried to leave the nest. Forcing her to stay would only cause her misery, but her mother tried everything she could ever say to keep her from leaving, some that stung her pride. Not as if she had much to begin with, anyhow. But either way, that was left long since behind her, and it was time to move on.
Greymarch. Still, what a peculiar name, she may mention again, but not unlike her own in the sense of being unusual. He also seemed to be more of the quiet and observing type, much like herself. Perhaps blind creatures all shared that trait; it probably saved their lives several times to be aware of detail of the things surrounding. She hoped for some level of kindred-ship between them, so that she may have someone to speak to that could relate to her and the problems of being blind in a place like this. Did he duck and cover at everything that made a sound? If he had approached her first though, perhaps not. Every individual was their own. Her curved ears twitched as he spoke, her nostrils flaring at the sudden embarrassment of the childish reason why she was really here. Exploring through open fields without trees serving as view points was an adventure for itself, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to mention it to this horse. Perhaps he felt the same as she? She was about to answer when she closed her mouth shut again, her ears pricking to attention as he spoke again. Only this time, it was..different. It seemed to intermingle with her train of thought, but it was perfectly clear. She remained silent for a short time, trying to make sense of what had happened. With some hesitation, and to answer to not make herself look idiotic, she said, "You could say that, I suppose. Having no herd sometimes categorizes you into that.. and you? Are you here to collect mares for a herd? I think that is what this place is for, if I'm not mistaken.. " She was still deeply puzzled by what had occurred, and though she was slightly uneasy that she couldn't figure out what was so different, she tried to put her worries at rest.
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Post by Storeh on Jul 26, 2012 10:17:47 GMT -5
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'You can hardly fight with one who knows all...'
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Disjointed fancies of the season kindled sensation between the pair making stance, coming forth as an idle wind to blow across their willing backs. Spring’s own stance, perhaps, offering to serve a collection observational feeling as the world was kept apart. The flaring of nostril may purpose to catch the scent, but the discerning of the message was in the consideration of these things, automatic responses. Details, however menial by appearance, were sent to be decoded, picked apart by the cloaked expanse of the mind. Working so endlessly, without tire, a plethora of metaphorical cogs and gears that pressed the need for observation, communication. An occupation of the universal thought. It was a primordial need that composed the Chikao, refined each instrument of his mental state, tuning in willingly to that which was spread before him so lavishly. The tall shade cast by his intellect was not lost on himself, for it loomed uncomfortably over others, a weight that their own shoulders could not bear. There was the need for a rein, to choke back on the want to simply lean against this mare, to seamlessly connect their thoughts. Not to be considered, though the possibilities seemed without limit in such an endeavor. Shouldering away from these momentary urges, the thought leaped to the consideration of Life and Death, their proper places within the world as well as their subjected right to all that walked or crawled. Once, in a time that seemed to be fading far more quickly than fair for all its spark, there was a manner in which the equine concentrated upon life, went through its motions. The manners that were thrust so heavily upon every pair of properly raised equine in this age where once of expanding taste, laying evenly across tongue. With the downfall of the righteous herds, with newcomers washing upon the shores with ignorance in their minds, such a need for elegance had been rendered almost moot. Expectations in philosophical reasoning became few as well as far between, simple as the line between making out of an encounter alive. Wolves, demons, the Reapers had always plague the region with dangerous games, but for most with the blood in their veins, they were a toying thing. Yet with those who stumbled in from the ocean came a cloud of acceptance of fate. Greymarch understood the acceptance, yes, for Fate was its own master in Wisdom. But, this willingness to embrace death was a characteristic lacking amongst the ranks of the natives. Pride was something for them that was never easy to swallow, the pressing need to continue on the path of life even as the last threads were being torn from their dying eyes. The stag himself had bore witness to these things, the energy fading in whisps but still managing to thrash with the duty- the misguided need- for the fight to go on. Life was a war, as it could be said, not for the sheep to interfere with. The Fire Herd held this belief, that their ranks were the wolves while the rest where arrant sheep. Distasteful, to say the least, enough so that it pulling the smallest expression upon the stallion’s composure.
The apparition of a mare before him turned so slightly the direction of thought toward the steady beat of her heart, if only for the smallest moment shared. Entranced, he listened with ear to its thrum, the softness of living that called through her pale frame, singing with the fullness of life’s own substance. These functions held a certain air of fascination for him, the mortal cogs that grinded ever so until the pressing could not longer hold. Indeed, the organ was one for others to try and hold candle, but he was still in the preferring of the brain. Thought, however mundane or disconnected, was another sure sign of the prevailing of Life. Even after death seized, the energy was captured, from the soul in whimsy, in the threads of the mind. Yet Whisper could nought be expected to now such things, nor should the Elemental seek to dwell on that which discuss could he not with that company he currently held. In truth, on the spectrum, the fea would most likely feel a level of frustration with these things, unable to grasp their corners, for all her intelligence. Intellect unfeigned, but it was the merest thinking that would go to waste in the Unclaimables. Unsavoury things, to be most sure. Ravens. The method of her teaching, the swiftest thought to shudder through calm. A shift in the stillest of waters, running deep in his conscious. Her past was a book from which the pages could be skimmed, the surface stemming from the bridges of minds. A current that fascinated him, in almost a primal way, a prolonged encounter. He was in use to turn a mind inside out and then go without the need for the use of Time. This, however, was a rewritten verse, the younger’s mind switching to her mother once more. Lineage, blood, emotions bubbling from the brother, was a vexing thing in itself. A grain of intent that repelled as well as sought to draw in close. The roles of those inside its ranks, a promise of his own that could have brought shivers. Whisper had flown from the nest on wings that she had crafted of knowledge, made for herself. All of this done in spite of the frailness that had been thrust upon her, the appearance that was weaved to make her think that she was in weakness. It was to be commended, in truth, with almost a peppering of his awe. Passing, the seconds seemed to lend. Moving on, the mind murmured with a conviction that seemed oddly sought, a pacification of a time apart then lost.
The intent bestowed towards the focus of his calling was almost an urging for explanation, a indulgence into the sporadic weave of his past, so sealed to the casual observer. Perhaps, in time then due, the mare would be allowed to hear of such a story, but for the present the stag could not allow it to pass his lips. Patience was a virtue as well as fault when it barred progress and prohibited thought. Whisper seemed to then continue to try and render herself a clearer picture of himself, what could have been clarified as a psychological profile. Quiet and observing was a trait that was shared freely amongst the Wisdom breed, though he himself only bore the scars of lack of sight. It was a wondering sort of strand, as though the Chikao held all the traits of non-seeing with the addition of their third eye, the layer of sight that seemed to dominate all forms of interaction, a social normality that would otherwise be frighteningly abnormal. Her hoping of kindred-ship brought to his expression a rendering of slight emotion, willing as Greymarch was to allow such a thing to exist in the spanning between them. The reasoning of her journey meant nought a thing to him, though the need of communication pressed it. The stretch of the lips expanded as the mare noted within her mind the change of interaction, the subtlety that she could not quite place. The stallion did nothing to either encourage or dismiss these thoughts, though softly suggested with the murmur of word that it was not something ill. Toying with the idolistics of the collection of words she offered, there was again the subjected righteousness of smile. Foreign expressions, no doubt, that still surfaced even without the need to address their standing. The substance of her conversation settled, turning toward himself in ease. The truth was what this mare deserved, truly, though she could not fathom what, in fact, she had endured.[/font][/size] ‘Despite my wishes at times, I am no wanderer,’[/font][/size] Again he lulled his voice into the chambers of her mind, splicing as though without inference. It was the same process as before the shifting aside and overlay of his voice breaking through the conscious. The push and pull of audits responding through her thoughts.[/size] ‘I am Lord of Piazza Di Saggezza,’[/size][/font] An Elemental Land. He offered into her mind without the direction of voice, as though the collection of information had been there all along. Without the strands of foreign nature that his voice seemed to ignite. Merely an observation that could have been picked upon by the ravens, as their arrant gossip usually shifted to speaking of the Elementals.[/size] ‘Collect is without taste, for beings cannot be thrust into a collection,’[/font] Though the words appearance harsh, they were spoken inwardly with a lightness, almost a laugh to the tone. It was a lightness he was unaccustomed to, a playfulness that was almost without air upon his usually placid tone.[/size] ‘The members of my herd are not subjected to my own wishes. They come and go as they please.’[/size][/font] The tone of his thoughts darkened slightly with the sudden sparking of his son, Call Me Jack. His heir was hardly even amongst the lands of his breeding, despite the urging of his father, despite being the Heir of Saggezza. The reasoning was flimsy for this, for the arrant forsaking of his duty. Yes. The members came and went without regard, usually.
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