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+---- Thread: [P] Tell me your nightmares (/showthread.php?tid=6759)
Tell me your nightmares - Vidaar - 11-30-2021
At the death of summer, as all things fell, the sun seemed to have lost much of its ferocity. Though of course the masked steed had nothing to compare it to for he had arrived upon the cusp of autumn when Solis’ gaze was turned to the growing Night and the promise of shorter days (even in the desert). Even so, those who called the sun-city home breathed a sigh of relief as the temperature began its steady descent to something more bearable.
Nevertheless, Vidaar found himself basking beneath the sun’s eye, relishing the heat upon a face clad in gold metal until beads of sweat wormed their way between his skin and the mask. Sometimes he could swear the light permeated the darkness of his eyes, that he could see more than endless shadows and the images conjured in his mind. His pride would not allow him to ask Legiana what their new surroundings were like and thus he contented himself with imagining them, the dusty streets beneath his hooves, the markets dressing the air with a pungent aroma of spices, herbs, fruit and wines. But it was a crude substitute for the pleasure of vision or the true sight the Lyx blood had allowed him. Nearly a month had passed since the pair found themselves thrown from the decaying world of Edana to the fiery pits of this desert land but each one dragged like claws across stone for his life had plunged into darkness and he found himself floundering in oblivion.
It was fear that struck at the heart of him each morning, when he opened his eyes and found nothingness staring back at him. But, as it always did and always would, the fear festered into something else, something far darker. Bitterness clung to every part of him, a ghost haunting the impatience of each step, a spectre caressing the words from his tongue. It hung upon him from dawn till dusk and beyond.
Though despair drowned Vidaar each and every waking moment, it would be a lie to consider him invalid. He had worn this mask in all the years he could remember and though it was now more than a century ago he had spent years training without the vision that graced others. Indeed, he was capable of a great many things, no matter how much he mourned that which he had recently lost. In fact, the gold-dusted steed found himself upon the edge of the sun-blaze city where one could find a rare silence. There was a try somewhere to his left, he could hear the soft autumn breeze play through the twisted branches. He felt cool where the shadow of the outlying wall shielded him from the sun, but heat where Solis’ eye broke through the barricade. Bird song permeated that gentle silence, a hardy avian bearing it’s soul to the summer that did not see it perish. In that instance, Vidaar realised he could not remember the last time he’d simply listened to the creatures in and on the earth around him. He’d never had such luxury.
@Legiana
RE: Tell me your nightmares - Legiana - 12-26-2021
She doesn't need to follow him.
She absolutely, unequivocally, in no way, needs to keep near the masked warrior's side for any reason. None that she can convince herself matters, anyway.
She could have left the moment they stepped foot in these new lands. Could have left him to his own devices. Could have turned the other direction, offered a haphazard "goodbye" (maybe not even that), and been on her way to wherever else. Anywhere to get rid of the memories he invokes with his mere presence. Anywhere else to get rid of the feelings he invokes.
Disgusting.
Despite everything - he was a safe place. Despite everything - she relied on him. Despite everything - and she still tries to fight it.
Absolutely repulsive.
And yet, when she's left in these quiet moments to herself, following his prints, taking all the time in the world as she stares daggers, burning concentration into the indents in the ground linking his path from one step to another, she feels humble. Quiet. Gentle. A reflective silence that settles among her thoughts and makes its way into the drumming of her heart. Her chest feels heavy, but lighter somehow, too. Like another part of her was trying to ease her into an understanding she didn't want to face; a truth she never wanted to breathe and make real.
She's glad Vidaar lost his sight, selfishly, if only for the fact he wouldn't be able to detect the subtle changes when they arise; the wavering in her eyes that she fears is too clear for all to see at times - because these things made her feel weak; and raised in a world where the strong survived, persevered, and won - weakness was something someone could never be. Not for a moment. Not for a single instant.
She has to constantly remind herself she's not in Edana any longer.
When she finally comes into view of him, having scaled the wall and rounded a corner, she wills herself to furrow her brows, square her shoulders, raise her head a little higher. Even her steps, take even breaths. Everything to make sure she gave nothing away as she approached him.
There's part of her that's uncertain to destroy the silence constructed around him as she comes to stand at his side, the side exposed to the rest of the world and not the wall (she can't stand to feel caged in in any capacity), but eventually she lets the idea flow.
She squares her jaw. Takes a breath in.
"Any orders today."
They're brusque tones of a question that bears more semblance to a rough statement or demand, succinct yet brutal - like the desert that surrounds them, like the heat that beats down on them, on the city, and just minimal enough in delivery that it might also resemble a wall, in some way. Gods knew she was probably related to one.
On top of being in a completely different land, and having her previous one literally crumbled and torn apart beneath her feet, Legiana had played her part as a superior officer for years: now she had to remember her new place as a head among the masses. A soldier - one of many. She was used to commanding at this point, not being commanded. Something she bitterly had to remind herself of, too. Something she had to quite often keep in mind. This wasn't Edana. You're no longer a commander. There is no war. And, most infuriating of all: you're right back to square one.
A slow breath is taken in, and she waits for his answer or acknowledgement - or anything, if anything comes.