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[P] the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Printable Version

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the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Maerys - 08-13-2019


there are nights when the wolves are silent
and only the horses howl

There was a sleeping cobra in the scene today - it lay in the land in smoothly seductive curves that glittered in the morning light, cool and innocuous. Its scales were seething waves and its hiss was the sound of churning water. Blood did not flow through this animal like it did others, but instead fish and other small creatures did. There were a myriad of dangers in its depth, both poisonous and deadly alike. The bends are icy, chilled even at this time of year as the waves run from the cold north to here, never settling enough to be warmed by the sun's brilliant rays.

Should a one feel the beating of the birds' wings - that would have been the only breeze on this day.

The serpent known as Rapax River - oh, was it lovely.

It was tranquil, not much to see or do. Maerys easily patrolled as she always did, with Vradara sitting on her spine and her ax never too far away.

Maerys loved these quiet days, the ones were the world felt still and the conversations grew silent. She'd run into very few on this day and didn't truly know if she'd see anyone else. She wouldn't be bothered if she didn't run into anyone else. The girl loved solitude nearly as much as she loved companionship.

It was still, utterly still.

Little Maerys, silver-haired and naive. She didn't know that sometimes stillness wasn't good or calm or peaceful or desireable.

She didn't know that one court away there was a dictator that would die only after murder and starvation had been thrown on the land like rain in the summer. She didn't know that the sun would pause in the sky and time would freeze like a lag in their world and it would be up to them, the mortals, to figure it out. She didn't know that enemies were turning lovers and lovers were turning enemies. She didn't know that perhaps even in her own court there were toxins that flowed like heroin through the veins of an addict.

Maybe she was too young or maybe she just didn't know.




RE: the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Sloane - 08-14-2019


There was a stillness to this day that drove Sloane mad. She hated it. It was as if the world had simply stood still. The trees did not creek, the leaves did not rustle, waves did not crash against the sand with a ferocious vigor, and birds did not call out. The summer was already stifling and the lack of breeze was not helping in the least bit. Even as she stood on the beaches of her own private island, Sloane was growing restless. Her hair stuck to her neck in a matt of sweat and keratin. It made her feel disgusting and it only pissed her off more than she already was. And perhaps that was what caused her to decide that she would take a stroll to the river. Perhaps the moving water would make this day a little less like living in the fires of hell.

By the time she arrived at the river, the sun was straight overhead, the heat almost making sweat evaporate off her body like steam. Where she had hoped the moving river would offer her some sort of relief from the warm temperatures, it only brought irritation.

Feet stand in the calmness of the river, the lack of rains making the current slow and the water level low. Not even the river made a sound as it rushed over the smoothness of the rocks below. In fact, the only sound made was the splashing of the water as she churned it with her hoof in utter irritation. Fuck Delumine. Fuck the river. Fuck Somnus (not that it was his fault, he was only guilty by association).

Ears flatten against the crown of her head as she tries to do something with the irritation and annoyance that seem to run rampant on this particular morning. Normally, she’s not quite so unpredictable, but she cannot help it. She needed something to distract her thoughts. Normally it was the gentle rustle of the trees as the wind moved them from side to side. But on this particular day, it was as if the whole world stopped and there was no longer anything to distract her.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, from around the corner came the vision of another that she had not met before. God help the poor soul because the look that Sloane gave her as she turned to lay eyes on the individual who had ruined her moment (as if it could be ruined) was nothing short of the look of complete annoyance and utter disbelief that her moment could be disturbed. Sloane, poor soul, hated to be in the company of others, but especially when she was so worked up and uptight that the slightest thing might set her off in the wrong direction. This was definitely not the way their meeting should be, but unless the wind suddenly picked up, Sloane wasn’t sure this mare could make it any better.

And if the look she had given the youngster was not terrifying enough, the tone of the words that left her lips were downright rude and vile. “What do you want?” There was an underlying tone of annoyance that was perhaps accentuated by the look that accompanied the words. Poor Maerys, sweet Maerys, what ever have you walked into?

@Maerys






RE: the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Maerys - 09-11-2019


there are nights when the wolves are silent
and only the horses howl

It was befitting that the ophidian stream manifested itself into the figure of a four-legged viper with the eyes and temper to match.

What do you want?

Maerys only wanted the light of day, the comfort of a home -  of loving embraces. She craved to mold her dreams into gold that was as tangible as wishes, yet as real as the dawn of Delumine. She wanted these dreams, given to her by the divine hand, to dance with her into the future that calls to her wandering hooves and bohemian soul.

The stranger would not fancy that response, however, and so the girl met that glare with the shine of benevolence rather than words. In anger and argument, Maerys would be blind to the stranger, to the delicate petals of her heart and soul. To learn to respond with love and kindness would mean the beginning of a cure to the monster within the stranger, to return her to the angel of her better nature. The words she ached to speak in such well-intentioned purity could trigger something that comes from a place of fear in the dark mare. The words that tranquilize the stranger would scare the girl and vice versa. It was the different ways these souls have been raised and cultivated.

So there they were, in opposite camps, suddenly blind to each other's good hearts and building barricades instead of bridges.

"Well met, stranger," the girl said finally, ignoring the stare and the vulgar tone the black mare had used on her. "Tis mine own duty to patrol."

She didn't stand stiffly in the cold metal of armor. She had no threads that marked her out as a fighter; a protector. Yet still, she is barely recognizable as the girl she was only four seasons ago. Her shoulders had developed the lean muscle of someone in training. She learned how to run for hours in the mud - over rocks and through rivers - while simultaneously forming connections with those both less and more experienced than herself.

Maerys didn't look like it, but she was a warrior and would not back down from a stranger's stern glare.




RE: the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Sloane - 09-28-2019



Sloane is always rather irritable, but there are times that she can be a little more personable. Ipomoea had caught her on such a good day once, along the same rushing river beneath them. He had managed to catch her in a moment of weakness and for once, she had not been quite as snappy as she is now. It was a rare sight, but surely it would not be the only time she would be caught on such a day. Perhaps there would be several more of these rare occurrences that would eventually lead to them becoming a regular occurrence.

It has always been said that deep down in every individual, there is a flower waiting to blossom. That flower, after watering and nurturing, would bloom into something beautiful. Sloane had that flower buried deep within her soul. Unfortunately for her, she has never experienced kindness before. Her life had been nothing but uphill battles that calloused her heart and made it far more tougher to get to know the real Sloane, the Sloane that had been buried beneath years of neglect and abuse.

Sloane had not really expected the little filly to back down or go away, nor did she really expect her to stay and want to chat. However, the way she looked back at her, with a determination in her eyes that mimicked Sloane’s own, she almost looked as though she wouldn’t leave on principle, that she would stand up for herself. It was admirable, really.

However, when she said that she was out patrolling, Sloane gave her a pointed stare. Patrolling? Was she even old enough to be in the army? She didn’t look to be more than two, maybe a young three year old. Sure she was filling out in the chest and shoulders, but it didn’t scream army to her. "Your duty? Are you one of Somnus’ army?" She knew the answer to the question, but she asked it anyway. Truth be told, she was a little curious about her answer. Would she admit to being too young, or would she speak as though she had already gone through boot camp and made the cut.

Perhaps Sloane should be a little nicer to the filly, but honestly, she just didn’t care. There were very few things in life that she cared about, and protecting innocence was not one of them. In fact, the only real thing that Sloane valued in life was the art of buying and selling secrets. However, as she was learning, Novus was lacking in anything of value. Perhaps she should move on…then she wouldn’t be anyone’s problem anymore. Then again, Sloane rather liked to press people’s buttons just to see how far they would bend before they snapped.

@Maerys






RE: the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Maerys - 12-18-2019


there are nights when the wolves are silent
and only the horses howl

There hadn't been much stated in their conversation, but each of their movements was a conversation of its own; the backward snap of ears flattening against a muscled neck, the furrowing of dark brows, or even the small twitch of velvet lips all meant something distinctive and pointed. 

Maerys had perpetually heard that the eyes were windows that could be seen through at any moment. They exposed torture and tenderness in the same flutter and showcased how every sentiment felt spun through one another to compose the very fabric of any soul. If one was not careful to remain utterly composed they could form, in an instant and with full depth, a comprehensive picture. So as Sloane's eyes offered Maerys a keen look, the reds in her tresses spilling across a sea of darkness like blotted vivid inks, it was like being out in the open amid a hailstorm where every thick chunk of ice was a frosted dagger ripping or bruising skin.

"Aye, thou art correct," she responded with a balanced tone as Sloane's eyes continued to drive, reminding Maerys of the sort of dusk that lingered like soot and ash from the last embers of a sweeping blaze - and despite their power for desolation, they ensnared Maerys in a net of intrigue.

The girl remembered the war history from Varak, her homeland, how for centuries they sought to subdue with a show of power as an opening tactic, the right display of might would save them the bother of going into the trenches at all. So many battles had been won with an impressive display of horses and well-woven banners and Somnus had not shown a second of such leadership tactic, and it was well-received by the girl. She did not want a king who's only desire was expansion and demolition. "'Tis a most wonderous to serve the sovereign, this court, and Oriens," and after just a brief pause, she pressed onwards. "What doth thee do?"

It never crossed the girl's mind that the stranger may have no one job. Maerys had always had this insurmountable drive to be ranked and to rise in the ranks. To be a commoner was, in her opinion, a great disservice to any court if one could be something else. Though who was a two-year-old to judge or question? The ways of the world hadn't relinquished her of her drive yet. 

The standoff had seemingly transitioned in a matter of seconds from something hostile, to something fueled by sheer curiosity from both parties.

Or perhaps Maerys simply misunderstood what was truly happening here.




RE: the quieter it is, the more you can hear - Sloane - 01-08-2020



When the filly mentioned that she was correct and that she was a member of Somnus’ army, Sloane couldn’t help the way her lips curled into a grin, the way a chuckle started deep within her chest and slowly bubbled to the top. Sloane didn’t believe the girl. Who in their right mind would enlist a filly to protect a kingdom? Then again, it was Somnus. The man had less balls than a field mouse.

But, because Sloane was trying to a little nicer (call it her New Years Resolution that started whenever she damn well felt like it), she said nothing to the filly. Instead, she let the girl feed into the delusion that she was actually helping Somnus, that she was actually protecting Delumine. No one protected Delumine. No one protected them from the fires. The people of Delumine were nothing but on their own, left to fend for themselves and hope that some day, they might actually figure it out.

And then the filly kept on talking. Her eyes drew wide, the smug smile on her lips curved closer to her ears. "Well, at least someone is thrilled to serve the court, the sovereign, and whoever else you said." Gods. Gods meant nothing to Sloane. She didn’t worship them, she certainly didn’t serve them, and she expected nothing from them in turn. They were glorified individuals who thought themselves to be seated in the highest seat of power. In reality, they were nothing but egotistical pansies.

Her question about what she did made her pause in contemplation. It wasn’t often that she was asked what her role in this court was. Did she even have a role? Really, all she did was lay around, irritate people, and eat. However, she couldn’t very well say such a crass answer when the filly was speaking as though she had come from a medieval era. "I doth lay around, eateth of the grass, and enchant people with my gift of comedy." But by the time she was done eating, she erupted into laughter. This medieval slang was definitely not her cup of tea. Yes, she was making fun of the girl. Life’s tough, get a helmet if it bothers one too much.

@Maerys