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Played by Offline Sea [PM] Posts: 4 — Threads: 1
Signos: 130
Dawn Court Outcast
Male [He/Him/His] // 6 [Year 498 Fall] // 16.3 hh // Hth: 15 — Atk: 5 — Exp: 10 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#1

There is great honor found within greater silence - the quiet of a tree is noble, it is grand.  Once upon a limb or two ago, I was something spectacular.  I have seen so many eyes gaze upon me in wonder, in awe, and even disbelief.  I know you.  I have known your mothers and their mothers.  I have sheltered your families for years and provided for all of that which you call your own.  

What few of us who have survived you, have fallen prey to the invaders you introduced into our forests with your carelessness.  We have been quiet for too long, the forests have decided in their dying quietude, that they will finally answer for their lost families.   It first begins with a death, then starts a new life, mine.

I was born strange in the hollows of a one hundred year old cedar, small, white, and frail like the larvae that rend the bark from the flesh of our trees.  The forest called me Duir for first four years of my tellurian life, but when the great horns of my grove began to emerge from my brow - my own grove chose to name me after some pagan story that passenger once whispered in the woods.

 Cernunnos, a horned god.  I am not God, but my horns reminded my family the one in the story.  For this quiet, private grove had never seen horses before, they had all been seeds atop the ground, just like I once was when the Aïranacht walked our rooted paths.  Those had been our mother’s, now shattered and scattered ghosts across our rootbeds.  Their memories had faded just like the color of their sustenance had, no one remembered them, they were now just a part of the earth.

I was once a mother too, two thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-eight winter moons ago, I reached up to draw the stars into my many arms for the first time in my prime.  I breathed in the moon, all her sorrows and her light, sighing in storms and crisp autumn airs.  I cannot remember the last time I tasted silver but it has come to my understanding that the forest wants from me, different things now.

Our final journey is to understand the world which we hold so dear to us.  To understand the rest of all that which we do not know.  To go where our roots can not reach.  We are changed over enough time.  We are born into the world like the others we now share skins with.  Though young and naive and so very stupid like a sapling, what we already know, we still understand.  And this must be instinct, our very keys to survival.

Now I have become something perverse within nature.  Something unruly and indistinct from my beech heritage.  I have seen it in the water, when it rains and puddles form in the grove.  Within those rain slick mirrors, quicksilver and true, I see what has changed within me.  I had unbecome everything I used to always be.  I am no longer an archetype of Time itself but a passenger of it instead. My journey into consciousness has begun - this is the gift of Life after death.

I am old enough to understand what I know (and I know a few things).  The gravity of my situation has changed substantially, so many other factors have been absorbed into the orbit of my new world.  For five years now, I have honed survival into a considerable skill, still wild and feral as the day the cedar carried me into Viride as a fauna, no longer flora.  





“I say, the air tastes strange to me.”   To the birds, he says.   Two tits twitter, trill, and tip about in their trysts within the spindly branches of his horns, dead leaves flicker in the breeze which musses his mane.  Cernunnos suddenly sneezes and the company ghosts him so quickly he is offended by their anxious nature, a leaf continues to tick-tick-tick-tick-tick against the base of his woody horns and he can hear it echoing in his ears from how hollow the roots are which grow beneath his skin.  The pale flesh shows their veiny reaches between bone and papery striped white bark.  Where Cernunnos sits comfortably in the gilded grove while late afternoon sun angles in underneath the tangles of a thick and elderly oak canopy, he is invisible.

“Do you think a storm is coming soon?”  He looks up, two long thin birch trees sway back from the motion of his head.  Leaves fan and feather out, some come off and glide down-down-down to the ground.  Birds in neighboring branches seem to discuss whatever it is that bothers them about their living perch without much concern over Cern’s questions.  He can look up and spy the sky from the bare patches in the canopy, by the amount of gray reflected in his eyes - a storm brews.  He has felt it coming for days, the cold air sneaking in over the currents of a persistent summer.  But now frost has come twice to him, damn near chilled every leaf off his horn, and caused Misty to go dormant for the winter.  Birds flock him in his sleep in an attempt to grab whatever remains of the mistletoe’s snowy berries before there is none left for the season.

“I said, do you think a storm is coming soon!”  What is different now is that Cern can no longer hear the words of the birds which used to do so much more than just sing and startle when around him.  Never the less, the apostlebird group, who has grown up in his branches, still returns year after year, and in turn raises its progeny to do so as well.  Unlike all the other visitors that he can no longer rely on for conversation, the apostles trustv im even in their silence.  Something within their presence still soothes him, their inability to communicate with each other verbally does not prohibit Cern’s ability to understand what they want from him - what they need as well.

“Forget you, ruddy birds!”  A crack of thunder sounds and Cern is up, moving and shaking with life, graceful and fluid like a leaf on the wind even in his stormy flurry.  Hair flows like spidersilks in the breeze, the leaves stream like schools of fishes in the air, and the branches that carried them bend and sway as the terrulian decides his path.  Cernunnos begins to press forward into the trees but his visage is so overgrown that it is not long until he becomes entangled.  Grumpily, he rakes his head down and shakes the birch free from the low grabbing hands of the oak.  He does not want to be in the dell when the rain starts to fall - and he will creep into the pine for the duration of it all when the weather takes a turn for the worst.  

And it does.  Terribly so.  It is as loud as it is bright.  It is as wet as it is electric.  It is as active as the throes of raging spring rapids.  Only bears can endure a strength like this - Cernunnos has seen it himself.

Thunder grumbles its dispute over the tangling currents of hot and cold winds, lightning takes on the form of his elders as it branches wild and wondrous across the sky.  One strike takes an oak, causing Cern to press deeper into the wood.  The smell of ozone causes a great unrest in the beast and he moves away from it like prey from a predator. The rain soaks through the outermost layers of Viride and begins to make its way into the lower levels with its heavy pour.  The birch-bark stallion can feel the first drops of it down his back.  Soon he is the color of moving water, light, and shadows as the rain soaks him. 

A leonine tail slithers quickly through the trees like some banded alder-beast as he quickens his pace -- wending through familiar trails in the dense copse of unexplored woods.  He knows them well, and has spent his whole live(s) both growing within them, and can use them with his eyes closed if he must.  Tonight is no different, the storm has come upon him quickly.  Even though he knew of its presence days ago, it has still caught him by surprise.  And for once, it has driven him farther from his grove than he has been for quite some time.  Even though the paths remain familiar, his uncertainty rises the same way fear does, cold sets in and his thin-skinned coat cannot stand it.  Hail mercilessly begins to pepper through all the spaces Cern tries to avoid until he finds a cedar, almost as large and as round as he once was, and beneath the vale, a bare and perfectly dry earth.


Ooc: A tree walks alone in the woods …. Not sure why this got so CRAZY.  @Below Zero





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Played by Offline Dyzzie [PM] Posts: 71 — Threads: 11
Signos: 120
Dusk Court Entertainer
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 6 [Year 498 Summer] // 15.2 hh // Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 13 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: Yukime (Ice Serpent)
#2


B e l o w Z e r o
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
Bel's electric cyan eyes seemed to be solidly locked onto the sky above her, watching the billowing clouds with apprehension. Thunderstorm. The word still seemed foreign - echoing in her head as images of the lightning that had alarmed her a few weeks ago crossed her mind. She suspected this one would match in it's ravenous anger. Lightning would criss cross the sky with the power of a thousand eels supercharged, thunder would roll as if the Kraken itself had been transported into the heavens. Not that she thought that was what was really happening in the heavens, not anymore at least. She had had that mistake pointed out to her gently by another when she'd fallen prey to the last thunderstorm to take her by surprise.

That didn't meant the young aquatic equine appreciated the sudden thunderstorms that have appeared to greet the sky with their anger and might. Just a few days since the trauma of the last one, and the sky was brewing with the promise of another. The water vapors trailing from her spine shifted in temperature, colder like the home she'd come from, sinking lower to brush lightly against her hide in a reassuring wrap of welcome and promise. Everything would be okay. She wasn't sure how the vapors had come to evolving into the comfort mechanism they were now - few places required them to take on their more traditional role of regulating her temperature easier, but she was thankful of the moments when it did feel a little less like a new world and a little more like the arctics she had come from. 

She raised her head slowly, dual sets of eyes taking in the cloud migration, attempting to read the thunderstorm like she could a snowstorm - those had been easy, watch the sky lighten to a near white and monitor how close that dense whiteness was above you, keep an eye out for curtains of white in the distance that may hint at a blizzard approaching. Wind could increase that potential - easy. This however . . . the storm was moving quickly - she could see that in the angry clouds above her as the migrated closer and closer to her. She sighed - aware she needed to locate some shelter before the worse of it set in, aware that this wasn't the type of storm to be caught out in.

The first crack of thunder still had her jumping, her fin flaring high atop her back even as frilled ears pinned faintly. Her muzzle twisted down and she picked up her pace, searching for a suitable shelter from what ever the rainstorm would bring. The heavens opened before she saw the first tree. She had been visiting in Delumine, searching out the forest she had heard about - curious if it would be similar to the kelp forest  beneath the waves, wanting to see what a land-forest was like. Seeing the cropping of trees ahead was like a blessing as the rain pelted her hide, darkening the blues of her pelt and merging them with the creamy white of the base color. Her gaze traveled to the sky, still too light to be a proper storm, but it was darkening, and likely to be darker still with in the forest.

She stood briefly on the outer edges of the forest, wondering if it smart to trust the trees to shelter when the lightning would come. The first prick of ice against her hide had her deciding for herself. Her vapors instantly warmed, rising higher above her as they did so, softening the hail as it peppered her back until it hit her with slush and ice instead of the ice by itself. The blubber that protected her from the cold waters of the arctic assisted keeping the hail from doing more than skin-deep damage, but it didn't stop the mare from wincing when as she was struck. She dove among the trees, her pacing kicking up as she weaved between the trunks, dunking low beneath the lower-hanging limbs and careful to keep her fin folded flat against her back, least it be caught on something. The dorsal, while fairly flexible was still made of a rigid material, and folding it so close was always a touch uncomfortable, but at this time, it felt like the wiser option.

Above her, through the canopy of trees, with barren patches from leaf fall, the hail continued to descent, slowing among the interlocking branches and the foliage, catching the shards in the heated water vapors so more slush than ice rained down on the aquatic creature, a reprieve Bel was relieved for. Thunder rolled still, while lightning lit up the sky in an arc of zig-zaging electricity that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. Bel's head lowered as she headed deeper, and deeper. She didn't see the creature ahead - though could you blame her as he blended in with the trees, his coat patterned of bark, the limb of a tree substituted for horns. She never saw him beyond being another splash of tree in with the others. So as she moved around a trunk, and he himself moved on his path, it seemed their paths would cross as Bel ran straight into him.

The shock was enough to startle the half-sea creature, as her hooves stumbled her backwards, the water vapors surrounding her pitching lowering and hanging closer to the mare as she stared up at the walking tree. A walking tree?! Why was a tree walking. It wasn't until lightning flashed and silhoutted the larger stallion that she began to make sense of the situation. A horse . . . that looked like a tree? Not that she could talk - her own pelt patterned mimicked the hues of the water, blending her into the oceans so that predators were less likely to notice her. But a horse that was a tree, well that was something new. Bel blamed her next moment of rudeness on the shock; "There are trees . . . growing from your head." Her statement was blunt with shock, as she stared up at the creature, and then a sharp piece of hail brought her out of her shock with a wince and flinch, and instantly those vapors were rising again as they heated up and met the hail, turning it to slush before they could hit mare. The water droplet produced by the vapors hung around her, and in relation, the stallion now in her company.

Stallion, right, she needed to apologize, "Oh Starfish! I'm so sorry!  . . . For running into you, and . . . my bluntness. I didn't really see you, you kind of blend into the trees and all." She said, her expression earnest, both sets of cyan eyes opened wide, hoping he'd understand and forgive her, "I'm not usually so careless! So, how about we just consider it water in the current, and forget about my blunder, yeah? Are you trying to escape the storm too?" Another crack of thunder rolled, as if laughing at her attempts, and her frilled ears flattened slightly, her fluked tail swaying nervously, suddenly wishing she could find a good size lake to dive into - even if she preferred salt-water when she could find it.

"I'm sorry, I don't normally have the manners of a Pufferfish. My name is Below Zero, but call me Bel. You wouldn't happen to know of a place to hide out from this weather would you? You seem to fit into the forest far better than I would - so I imagine you must know it far better than I would as well." She added with a bit of an awkward laugh, her hooves lightly prancing against the ground, even as the vapors continued to melt the hail in the surrounding area into softer, more slushy versions of it, as it warmed the air around them, twisting and twirling as the heated waters rose steadily higher from her back. The Water-Horse and the Living Tree, who'd have imagined such a potentially symbiotic meeting in the making. She kept her cyan eyes on the male, hoping for his assistance, even as another flash of lightning lit the sky, and the thunder echoed around them. Bel was really beginning to hate this weather.

"Speech"
Thoughts
@Cernunnos
Notes:: Poor Bel does NOT appear to enjoy thunderstorms, and of course she can't NOT speak with out water-related sayings xP I've been waiting to use the 'water in the current' line for a bit now!





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Played by Offline Sea [PM] Posts: 4 — Threads: 1
Signos: 130
Dawn Court Outcast
Male [He/Him/His] // 6 [Year 498 Fall] // 16.3 hh // Hth: 15 — Atk: 5 — Exp: 10 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#3

Wind whips and rages as a great storm moves through the otherwise placid territory. Even though the storm’s reach can hardly make it down into the thicker parts of the forest where Bel and Cern are hiding, it can still berate them with pine cones and branches. It scatters needles and seeds and leaves from the tops which are being battered by the eye which looms above them. He would blame it on the Gods, but he knows better than that — their ire is much worse than this, and they will move mountains when provoked, not treetops.

He wants to say so much but a peel of thunder takes his lionlike gusto and makes a kitten out of it. Cern’s horns rattle and click, a reverberation from shivering in his bones. “Not to be a real stick in the mud, we are safer under this tree.” Cern’s orange eyes are as wide and round as Halloween pumpkins in the dark, and the great oak is reduced to timber and fatwood. Underneath the dense canopies, the wind makes breezeways out of the path.

Lightning strikes so close, it licks a dead tree not too far off the path which lead him to here and paints it neon. Instinctively he drops his head as the underneath of the forest illuminates xerox white with bright light. The two of them shuffle closer underneath the dense protection of a fir tree whose trunk is so thick around and sculpted that together they can find some solace against the chilly winter wind.

Comfortably cradled within the protective embrace of a three hundred year old forest giant as put the birch bark boy to ease, now, Cern can talk.

“I am Cer—” think again, thunder growls again, the stallion wilts when lightning promptly follows, “--, Cernunnos. It is good to meet you. May I branch out and ask, where are you from Bel?” Even in a torrential storm such as this, he cannot ignore the steam rising and pooling around her (around them, really) or the cool, amphibiousness of her skin which is pressed against his dry, papery, birch-like skin. The two of them smell like cedar and salt together, the land finally meets the sea.


@Below Zero sicker than a dog, but I wanted to get my puns on. Still working on getting more in there. i am also working on different tenses/pov's





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Played by Offline Dyzzie [PM] Posts: 71 — Threads: 11
Signos: 120
Dusk Court Entertainer
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 6 [Year 498 Summer] // 15.2 hh // Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 13 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: Yukime (Ice Serpent)
#4


B e l o w Z e r o
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
The heavens were angry, the rain striking hard and frozen that could welt an innocent caught in it's tyrant reign. The skies cackled with the sounds of the rolling thunder, and lightning flashed like spells hurled through darkness. Bel hated every moment. What was wrong with a good blizzard where the hardest thing was the wind pelting snowflakes at you? A white out where the world was as white as the icebergs that floated on the frozen sea. What was wrong with frigid temperatures that didn't freeze the rain as it fell. She never missed the arctic more than when the rain fell in angry waves, while the sky waged war upon itself. Fall and it's abundance of this weather was not her favorite period of the year.

It was luck to come across another, even if she hadn't been able to pick him out from the trees at the time. Not that she could blame him for his appearance, her herself had a tendency to blend into the waves beneath the sea - no matter how you looked at her, her markings meant to mimic the blues of the water, down to the way light filtered through it. So she'd be startled when she'd first seen him, even as she sheltered against the storm beneath the pine cones and branches. The storm wages a war, and she and the stallion of the trees were but innocents caught in it's anger. More violent than the sea when the waves battle with the air, and the oceans turn dark with the storm capturing the sun.

She glances at the odd male who looks like part of the forest, a king that looks at home with in his palace of trees. She sees in him what others see when she's part of the waves, a creature dictated and part of the biome that created them. He is the stallion of the trees, just as she's the maiden of the sea. His horns draw her attention as they seem to rattle and click, like branches in the wind, like a ship on the waves. She tilts her head at his phrasing - stick in the mud? And ponders if it's similar a phrase as 'trash in the current' or perhaps 'beached whale?' But he does state it is safe beneath the tree. Her gaze draws up, meeting his halloween orange eyes with her own clear water cyan before her gaze draws up to the trees that shelter them.

Lightning strikes across the sky, threading electricity through the many dark storm clouds, before it suddenly veers off path and is at a dead tree. She shies away from the sudden abundance of light, and seems to move closer to the unfamiliar stallion - a pillar of strength similar to the trees that have stood the test of time around them. "Not to be a beached whale, but the sky eels, er . . . lightning seems to feed off of the trees we're sheltering under." She retorts, though her voice betrays her fears, seeming to waver with the flow of a current. Nervous and influenced by the elements around her.

The male speaks then, his speech broken briefly before the storm, but his name is still given. Cernunnos. She's quiet as he asks where she comes from, and the corners of her muzzle stretch slightly, emphasizing the slightly longer than normal lines of her muzzle, hinting at the width it can be opened to when hunting for small fish. She glances up at him, her cyan eyes curious, "Cernunnos." She repeats his name briefly, tilting her head curiously at him, "You have a . . . powerful name." She briefly wonders if it has a deeper meaning, as her own people tended to name their own - names that derive from where they come from, names that would offer them the strength of the harsh elements they made home, "I come from the sea, but my people come from the stars." It's a casual comment, her gaze briefly trailing from the direction of the ocean (a place she can seem to know how to find no matter how far inland she was) before meeting the heavens as if peering through the clouds themselves, to the planet of oceans where her people once swam freely - defending themselves from a vastly different sort of predators.

Her vapors slowly turn cooler, gentler, no longer required to melt the threatening hail, and hang lower around her (and in return Cernunnos). The shift of temperature is welcome, the aquatic mare appreciating the more familiar touch of cold to her pelt. It settles the last of her nerves and allows her to draw comfort from the stallion beside her. It also allows her attention to be directed back towards him, and his tree-kinship. Even his pelt, where it is pressed against her cooler one seems dry, tree-like. She glances at him, and her words take a more honest approach, less like her riddles she usually answers inquiries of her origins, "The arctic waters, I lived in the arctic waters of the north. Snow, ice, freezing temperatures, that sort of thing." Anyone listening would focus on the waters aspect, her aquatic appearance, even as it was a vast difference to those siren-horses, the kelpies and the like who preyed on those of the land.

"What about you? I'm no blind guppy, so pardon me for pointing out the obvious, but . . . you seem more tree than horse." It's phrased like an observation, but there is a question buried in the statement. "When do you think the storm will let up? It's angrier than the Kraken when you make a jest about it's size." She added, partially speaking from experience. Her attention has returned to the sky, flinching as another roll of thunder echoes around them, limbs treading the air as if to keep herself afloat in the fear wishing to drag her down. She did not appreciate the storm, but at least the company was interesting enough, a polar opposite to who she was. The King of the Forest and the Maiden of the Sea. Perhaps the storm was merely the catalyst to their meeting, the meeting of land and sea.

"Speech"
Thoughts
@Cernunnos
Notes:: Oh gracious -- how I love this <3





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