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+---- Thread: [P] Nothing Left That's Sacred (/showthread.php?tid=5735)
Nothing Left That's Sacred - Meira - 11-01-2020
↞ Meira ↠
The day was fresh, crisp, new. Dawn was rising, casting the shadows of night away. Before her rises the familiar form of the library. It beckons all scholars and seekers of knowledge into its halls. It is warm and cozy for those who have an affinity for the written word. An affinity she knows she will never have. Meira is not gentle, nor kind, nor remarkably intelligent. It has never been the case that she has ever been the brightest light in the room. Nor has she ever been the brightest light in someone's life. The thought makes her stomach churn and her tongue taste of iron and rot. The ripples of earthen tides warmed and flickered beneath the sunlight filtering through the edges of the rooftops. The sun was slowly spreading itself through the streets of Delumine, it was in no rush. The sun would not hurry itself for anyone, it was an enigma. The sun was both selfish and selfless in so many ways. Meira does not understand the sun any more than she understands Solis, though her faith in both does not wane. Both are the reason she has come here this early morning, to learn about the ancient gods the bard sang of. She wonders if the four deities always were.
She wonders if they are the same ancient gods who chose to abandon their past and start the world anew. It reminds her of how she arrived in Delumine. Dust, wax, and silence present themselves to her senses as she breaches the great doors. They spill her form into the sweeping halls. Each step she takes is a foreign one. Meira is not known for her interest in the written word, though there are times where the history of the world intrigues her. She is not studious, for she is far too impatient for that. The answers she seeks are often not the ones that present themselves easily. It is a wonder she tries at all given her nature. Her azure gaze sweeps across the books lovingly placed on their shelves. Meira does not know where to start to find the answers she seeks. Frustration creeps beneath the surface of her sea, an ugly monster she is far too familiar with. It is almost enough to make her turn and abandon the mission entirely. It is the knowledge that her dissatisfaction with the unknown will only grow and force her to return that keeps her here. Meira sighs as she begins to wander the aisles of books aimlessly. It is so early that only a few bodies have swarmed hidden areas of the library. It is a far cry from Solterra. Dust stains the air, not sand. The way the books here are loved too is different. Solterra is built for soldiers, Delumine is built for scholars. Meira once again is starkly aware of how many things make her stand out when compared to a native of Delumine.
Her limbs cease their movement at the thought. It drains her determination, it saps her until she feels she is a hollow shell. Meira wants nothing more than for the books to turn into a sea so that she can crawl into them and return home.
@Pravda
Let me know if this works for you! <3
She wonders if they are the same ancient gods who chose to abandon their past and start the world anew. It reminds her of how she arrived in Delumine. Dust, wax, and silence present themselves to her senses as she breaches the great doors. They spill her form into the sweeping halls. Each step she takes is a foreign one. Meira is not known for her interest in the written word, though there are times where the history of the world intrigues her. She is not studious, for she is far too impatient for that. The answers she seeks are often not the ones that present themselves easily. It is a wonder she tries at all given her nature. Her azure gaze sweeps across the books lovingly placed on their shelves. Meira does not know where to start to find the answers she seeks. Frustration creeps beneath the surface of her sea, an ugly monster she is far too familiar with. It is almost enough to make her turn and abandon the mission entirely. It is the knowledge that her dissatisfaction with the unknown will only grow and force her to return that keeps her here. Meira sighs as she begins to wander the aisles of books aimlessly. It is so early that only a few bodies have swarmed hidden areas of the library. It is a far cry from Solterra. Dust stains the air, not sand. The way the books here are loved too is different. Solterra is built for soldiers, Delumine is built for scholars. Meira once again is starkly aware of how many things make her stand out when compared to a native of Delumine.
Her limbs cease their movement at the thought. It drains her determination, it saps her until she feels she is a hollow shell. Meira wants nothing more than for the books to turn into a sea so that she can crawl into them and return home.
@Pravda
Let me know if this works for you! <3
RE: Nothing Left That's Sacred - Pravda - 11-03-2020
Father Zeus held out his sacred golden scales: in them he placed two fates of death that lays men low—one for Achilles, one for Hector breaker of horses—and gripping the beam mid-haft the Father raised it high and down went Hector's day of doom, dragging him down to the strong House of Death
There is nowhere else Pravda feels more at ease, more at home, than Delumine’s library. Perhaps it is the dappled forest overhead; perhaps it is the familiar scent of parchment and ink; more likely still, it is the combination, and the specific sound of the wind as it rustles leaves and pages alike. The library offers sanctity.
Mostly, from himself.
There are more stories than he can keep track of. Letters of long-dead dignitaries. Mythologies, of Shed Stars and Eira and Davke. Poems and screenplays. The knowledge seems both endless and utterly finite; Delumine largely reads of this world, or the stories Novus residents have written. He does not have to think of his own story while he walks the aisles of tree-shelves; he does not have to remember the narrative of his life, so long as he is Pravda of Delumine and not Pravda of the City Debro.
Yet, the things he read maintain a certain distance. They are stories that do not belong to him. This morning, he reads nothing. He simply walks along the books, running a telepathic finger down the spines. He breathes in the fresh, bright air and tries to feel alive, tries to feel new, instead of a over-read, too-old classic—
Later, he will assume that he stopped to observe her because there was some note of hesitation on her face. Later, it will be because there was something in her posture that intrigued him.
(Truly, it is because he is alone, and that aloneness sits between his ribs as sharply as a knife).
Pravda clears his throat softly at the end of the aisle. “May I help you? Are you looking for something?” Although not a librarian, the scholar has spent more than enough time cataloguing the contents of the library. He cannot quite keep the sharp otherness from his face, the inquisitive raise of his brows, the profound depth of his eyes. Regardless of how mundane the question, Pravda’s voice carries a disembodied, misplaced severity: the voice of scholars, of priests, of warlords and men of station.
It does not correspond with his youthful face and disposition.
But, he is nothing if not contradictory.
"Speech." || @Meira
RE: Nothing Left That's Sacred - Meira - 11-08-2020
↞ Meira ↠
Away. She wants to get away from here. The insidious creature that is doubt begins to seep into the cracks of her frame. She hates how it infects her. How it urges her to flee rather than face the potential of learning something new. She is no scholar, she is but a false prophet cutting through the unfamiliar aisles. They will never bow to her the way they bow to those who dedicate their lives to them. His hooffalls whisper down the aisle, he is coming closer and closer to the sea. Soon he will be within her tides. Meira turns her head to face him, as man made of marble and obsidian. He is stunning. There is an otherworldly aura to him, one she has cannot place because she has not encountered this aura before. Meira is fascinated by the ebony line carving a path through his finely chiseled marble features. Blue chasms peer out from visage. For a moment she panics because he can see her. Truly see her. Meira's features harden quickly in response to this realization. She doesn't want him to see her. The sea inside her wants to drown this library, to drown him for his kindness. Smother it from his beautiful, enchanting face. She knows, how looks can lie. Meira listens to him as he speaks. She is caught in the tides of his otherwordly embrace.
Meira wonders if he is yet another mage, one who will burn her the way they did the night prior. Shameful, her actions were shameful. Guilt joins doubt and seeps into the space around her heart. "I am looking for the stories about the old gods. The ones who may have come long before Solis, Caligo, Oriens, and Vespera." The words fall from her mouth, their sounds are foreign. Perhaps her companion is not the only one who is out of place in this world. The sting of the strange mage's words returns. She has salted her own wounds with her actions the night before. Meira tries to smile, but it is like cracked sea-glass. It is not beautiful. She is not beautiful, he made sure of that. "And perhaps somewhere I can learn about conduct within Delumine. I am not sure I understand the culture here yet, Solterra is a very different place." The sea begins to shift inside her, it moves to soothe the ache of her heart. She cannot speak of her life there. He cannot ask her. She will drown in the sea that her sorrow has created to fill the empty space he left behind.
Her blue chasms peer at him with curiosity. She knows that neutrality is preferred here and that knowledge is heralded as the be-all and end-all. She wonders if he knows a fraud when he sees one.
@Pravda
I just .. Pravda is such a beautiful character <3
Meira wonders if he is yet another mage, one who will burn her the way they did the night prior. Shameful, her actions were shameful. Guilt joins doubt and seeps into the space around her heart. "I am looking for the stories about the old gods. The ones who may have come long before Solis, Caligo, Oriens, and Vespera." The words fall from her mouth, their sounds are foreign. Perhaps her companion is not the only one who is out of place in this world. The sting of the strange mage's words returns. She has salted her own wounds with her actions the night before. Meira tries to smile, but it is like cracked sea-glass. It is not beautiful. She is not beautiful, he made sure of that. "And perhaps somewhere I can learn about conduct within Delumine. I am not sure I understand the culture here yet, Solterra is a very different place." The sea begins to shift inside her, it moves to soothe the ache of her heart. She cannot speak of her life there. He cannot ask her. She will drown in the sea that her sorrow has created to fill the empty space he left behind.
Her blue chasms peer at him with curiosity. She knows that neutrality is preferred here and that knowledge is heralded as the be-all and end-all. She wonders if he knows a fraud when he sees one.
@Pravda
I just .. Pravda is such a beautiful character <3
RE: Nothing Left That's Sacred - Pravda - 11-21-2020
I AM THROWING MY ANCHOR BACK INTO THE SEAS OF HISTORY
MY CALLOUS, WILD-HEARTED, WONDROUS ANCESTORS
MY CALLOUS, WILD-HEARTED, WONDROUS ANCESTORS
Pravda is not, necessarily, adept at reading others. But he is observant enough to recognize the way her face hardens when he meets her too-blue eyes. I am looking for the stories about the old gods. The ones who may have come long before Solis, Caligo, Oriens, and Vespera.
There are some things that do not change. Pravda had not been a Priest of Knowledge; but that is what the world had always needed the Priests for, in his old homeland. Knowledge. He is made curious by her inquiry, but remains unsurprised. Those are the questions of humanity; they are the questions of the ages. And yet, her request is one of the more intriguing he had heard thus far. Pravda nods, quietly.
“I would be happy to show you some aisles with information that might align with your interests. However, I will warn you—the history of this land does not exist before the four solar deities. Aside from Tempus, that is.” Assuming she will follow, he turns and begins to walk. Pravda is contemplative, but rather than continue to elaborate, he waits for any additional questions.
“As for Delumine—I can refer you to books, or perhaps answer whatever questions that come to mind. I was born here.”
If she is a fraud, then so is he.
But Pravda’s eyes would not betray it; nor would his voice, calm and nearly clinical. The voice of a doctor, or a pilot, or a fabled researcher. “Are you from Solterra originally, then? I don’t believe I introduced myself. My name is Pravda. I am a scholar here.”
"Speech." || @Meira
RE: Nothing Left That's Sacred - Meira - 12-26-2020
↞ Meira ↠
She does not feel an impenatrable steely gaze when she glances up yet again. He seems to regard her question adrift in a state of neutrality, or perhaps it is thoughtuflness. Her sea rushes to fill the cracks forming in her heart. It is eager, hungry to close the gaps that are breaking all that she is made of. When he speaks, it is hard to concentrate. The way his frame is so gently chiseled from marble. She wonders what god loves him so. It makes her miss the way that she believed she could feel the gaze of Solis upon her flesh when she walked the streets of Solterra. He instructs her that he is happy to show her the aisle, but that there might be very limited knowledge about anything prior to the solar deities. Aside from Tempus. Meira tilts her head in curiosity, a reaction she does not have often. She is made of wrath and hatred, not knowledge and beauty.
"I think, even knowledge about the other deities would be fine. Truthfully, I know the most about Solis, and Caligo. I know very little about Oriens and Vespara. Perhaps even less about Tempus." She admits, but the sea has soothed her. It has provided a balm for now so that she might seek knowledge that may help her adjust to this new world she finds herself in. The man speaks again, offering to answer her questions about Delumine whether by referring her to books or from his own experiences. For a moment, his blue eyes have her stunned. She did not think that she would encounter a native of Delumine here. It is a foolish thought. The sea rescinds itself from sealing the cracks inside, and the ache in her bones begins again.
"I'm not sure where I would even start with that, truthfully. I know very little of the Delumine's court values. I am not certain even now that I will ever really fit in here." Her stark honesty pours fresh salt onto her wounds. It is her admission of her doubts of belonging here that is what stuns her the most. It shows, her face expresses the shock she feels. It is the kind of honesty that one blurts out before they can form a more appropriate response to a stranger.
It is relief that floods her when he asks if she is from Solterra and then introduces himself as Pravda. "Yes, I am from Solterra originally. I would say my heart is still there most days though. I still deeply love Solis, but I hope that I might find comfort in Oriens too. I'm Meira, one of the new soldiers here." She returns his introduction, again surprised by her own honesty.
Honesty is dangerous, so dangerous. Yet, there is something about this man that encourages her silently to open up. He is almost enough in these moments to forget the way her skin burns from the memory of his touch.
@Pravda
Finally got this up a;fjdl thank you for being patient Syn <3
"I think, even knowledge about the other deities would be fine. Truthfully, I know the most about Solis, and Caligo. I know very little about Oriens and Vespara. Perhaps even less about Tempus." She admits, but the sea has soothed her. It has provided a balm for now so that she might seek knowledge that may help her adjust to this new world she finds herself in. The man speaks again, offering to answer her questions about Delumine whether by referring her to books or from his own experiences. For a moment, his blue eyes have her stunned. She did not think that she would encounter a native of Delumine here. It is a foolish thought. The sea rescinds itself from sealing the cracks inside, and the ache in her bones begins again.
"I'm not sure where I would even start with that, truthfully. I know very little of the Delumine's court values. I am not certain even now that I will ever really fit in here." Her stark honesty pours fresh salt onto her wounds. It is her admission of her doubts of belonging here that is what stuns her the most. It shows, her face expresses the shock she feels. It is the kind of honesty that one blurts out before they can form a more appropriate response to a stranger.
It is relief that floods her when he asks if she is from Solterra and then introduces himself as Pravda. "Yes, I am from Solterra originally. I would say my heart is still there most days though. I still deeply love Solis, but I hope that I might find comfort in Oriens too. I'm Meira, one of the new soldiers here." She returns his introduction, again surprised by her own honesty.
Honesty is dangerous, so dangerous. Yet, there is something about this man that encourages her silently to open up. He is almost enough in these moments to forget the way her skin burns from the memory of his touch.
@Pravda
Finally got this up a;fjdl thank you for being patient Syn <3