He's tired. So very, very tired, and it reflects in the way he walks across the field; his hooves drag slightly on the grounds while his head hangs low. The way Mannon carries himself one could easily pinpoint the constant emptiness that lives inside his body. The man's head is empty as each step pushes him closer to his goal: Finding Ithilien. His brother, the last ties he has to a true home, the last of his family. He trudges through the snow in such a way that it easily announces his presence, the sound of his body pushing through it like a plow with crunching fills the air.
He knows she's not actually there, he knows that she's gone. Wholly, utterly, completely gone from the mortal realm and that Roheryn will never come back. He knows it, his heart knows it, his soul, and every inch of him is terribly aware of this. And yet he can't let go of her; Mannon clings to the memories of his late wife like a child clings to the shirt of their parent. The painted man knows that nursing his heartbreak is anything but healthy for him, oh God he's been reminded of that one too many times in his life, but she was his everything. No. No she is his everything, even now when so many years have passed by. Yet Mannon has never forgotten the softness of her voice, the caring lavender of her eyes, the ever gentle face that had tended to his wounds while she scolded him, and the soul that captured him like one would capture a firefly in the summer nights.
His mind was devoid of thought when he had first entered the fields but in this moment she fills every groove in his brain. He can hear her, smell her pushing him forward with the gentle touch of a breeze. Roheryn's memory tells Mannon that he can find Ithilien, he can make it another day, he can still find a life worth living. With a heavy sigh he pauses in his steps to look up at the night sky, to stare into the cold gleam of the moon as a pain strikes his chest. "Ten' lle Amin caela auta no' melamin." The words are whispered softly into the wind, his pale eyes close with a deep intake of the cold winter air.
"Talk." NATIVE LANGUAGE, HOVER OVER ME Thoughts Amarië
Tags » Voice » OOC »
I, whom loneliness destroys, let silence fall, drop by drop
Standing in the shadows of a tree he watched the other creature suffering. Walking as though the troubles of this place had sipped his life from him. He seemed to shamble onwards, head hanging low and hooves dragging with each movement. The creature had seen battles before, he could see scars across his flesh. Perhaps this one would be of use. He would need allies in this world. This vulnerability may make this stallion easier to recruit. He watched the other stop and talk in a language he could not understand.
This was something he hadn’t calculated. What if this creature didn’t speak any reasonable languages? It would all be a wasted effort. Perhaps the stallion could tell him more about this place he had journeyed to. It had been a long and challenging trek to the plains. He stepped from the shadows, his breath visible in soft huffs. Blue icy eyes focused on the stallion as Jarek aimed to close the gap between them a little.
“Hello Stranger, You appear to have seen better days. Are you ok?” He said smoothly with a friendly demeanor. He channeled inner calm, attempting to quell building anxiety that he would not be understood. “I am Jarek.”he added softly. He left some distance between them in an attempt to lessen the intimidation of being approached whilst seemingly wounded in the dark.
His ears remained pointed, focused on the other creature listening for a reply. He was unsure what the natural inhabitants of his land would be like.
He hoped that soon the old desert gods would recommence their discussion with him. They had previously helped guide him here. But since his arrival they had been surprisingly absent. He was sure that this discovery would please them, that he was in the right place. However they remained silent. Perhaps it was that they were finished with him, that he had arrived and now it was in his discretion how he completed their goals and desires. The memory of their hunger still gnawed at his insides.
Was it his age that had made him less attentive to the world around him? Perhaps it was simply that Mannon was too lost in his own grief; too consumed by the ache in his chest to notice the sound of another. He didn't hear the crunch of snow, he barely registered the feeling of someone else's presence until they spoke.
An ear swivels back, a puff of breath visible, pale eyes open, lowering his head he cranes his neck slightly to look over his shoulder. For a second one could suspect the painted man of being blind from the paleness of his eyes; it's only the way his eyes roam over the other that shows he can indeed see. Confusion shows on his face for a moment while he registers the words, ears tipping back with his brow furrowing until it clicks. He was speaking in common tongue and the realization wipes the confusion off with his ears snapping forward. "Forgive me, it's been a year or two since I've heard the common tongue." Mannon offers a smile with a nod of his head to confirm he's ''Okay.'' "Yes. Yes I... I suppose you could say I'm okay." He makes a note that Jarek is taller than him, tall enough to tower over the former warrior. There's a brief thought that if he's wandered into an aggressive land full of giants then he's most likely going to be accumulating more scars.
The tattooed man turns to fully face Jarek, bowing his head just enough to be polite. After all Mannon is not familiar with the cultures of this world but he'll take a guess that, just like in Isilme, it is also considered polite here. "A pleasure Jarek. I am Mannon." A soft hum comes from deep in his chest with a twitch of his ears, he's thinking of something. But he's not lost in his own world again, he's now well aware of the other being despite his eyes traveling away from Jarek and into the shadows. Mannon's humming comes to a sudden stop and his eyes snap back to the taller stallion. "You wouldn't happen to know this land would you nessa er?" It's clear that the older one means no offense with the term, he's not entirely sure if the other one will understand him but nevertheless Mannon has now dubbed him ''Young one.'' "Young one, a term of ''endearment'' I suppose you could say. Though I'm unsure if those are given out freely in this land? Forgive me if I am mistaken."
"Talk." NATIVE LANGUAGE, HOVER OVER ME Thoughts Amarië
Tags » @Jarek Voice » OOC » Thought I might add for reference: His native language is Elvish!
I, whom loneliness destroys, let silence fall, drop by drop
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Here behind the curtain lies a darkness feeding
Pooled inside, in hunger cries, and still it's eating
Everything I had to hide is all on my sleeve
And behind the curtain lies my soul, I’m bleeding
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He observed the older stallion with interest. Listening to his explanations and words. So he too was a new arrival, if he didn’t speak the language and was unfamiliar with the landscape. When Mannon bowed, Jarek imitated the motion. This drew his attention to the marking on the stallion’s chest. He hadn’t seen a marking like that before, its straight and tidy edges weren’t like the splotches and colours he had seen many born with. What was its purpose, was it natural?
He listened to the humming of Mannon, it was soothing. It was a sound that he was not familiar with. “You are very musical Mannon, the pleasure is mine” he said with a soft chuckle. Swirling visible breath coming out in heaves. He listened to the foriegn words spoken, the language was light and beautiful. Were these some kind of singing words from Mannon?
Jarek sighed softly at the next question. “I don’t know these lands well, I have just arrived myself. I have spent an entire season walking across a desert, the winter has bitten my heels and my bones enough. I am told it will soon be warm.” The hope of warmth almost caused him to imagine that the chill had receded. But reality had a way of forcing its way back, shattering illusions and wishful thinking alike.
He wasn’t accustomed to being called anything in an endearing manner. Jarek was used to a court surrounded by unrest and suspicion. Even his own father had never referred to him in such ways. His father had appreciated his physical strength, but only so far as it could be used for his own personal endeavors. The kindness and open warmth had endeared him already to Mannon. “What would a musical wise man be in your language?” he replied with a soft smirk. It felt comforting, to seemingly drop some of his concerns and to just exist. “As for what is socially standard here, I haven’t the faintest idea.” he added with a puzzled look, there was much yet to be learnt about this place.
image by:https://giphy.com/Allyouneediswall
02-02-2022, 09:09 PM - This post was last modified: 02-02-2022, 09:11 PM by Jarek
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