Meadow
Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
Posted on February 9, 2021 at 08:23:04 AM by Faldne
The face of the world had been repainted with skeins of shadow and ribbons of mist; as if all the color had been leached from ground and sky, leaving nothing but monochromes in its absence. And so when the red figure emerged from both—like petals of blood blooming from a fresh wound—Faldne was all but blinded by the sudden brightness of it. Facing the source of the voice with a half-lidded gaze, the stout mare’s lips pulled back in a warning snarl that attempted to stem the relentless tide of his advance. Though the shape the creature wore was equine, something about the way he moved—slow and supple and sensuous—was too predatory to match his appearance. And when he spoke again—so near that the deceptive velvet of his voice might have caressed her—the hairs along her spine stood up in unison to bravely defy that which might seek to destroy their mortal host.
Yet despite all the warnings that pulsed within her dark body, Faldne shook not with fear, but relief.
She didn’t know who this chestnut male was, but she could be certain of one thing: he was not the one whom she’d been sent in search of. Even apart from the obvious divergence in breeds—the too-long legs, the tall and slender body—it was clear. It should have been clear from the first moment that his voice reached her, smooth and intoxicating and absent of even the barest note of fear. Fear that her quarry had already succumbed to once in fleeing from those who’d sought to serve him their so-named justice. But was it? That single question had haunted Faldne’s thoughts across distance and time unmeasured—begging so desperately to be answered that she had even deceived herself into believing that she might hear the nīðing’s justifications here.
The truth washed over the Icelandic, turning her cold enough that her body forgot its instinctive fears and leaned closer to the red man—like a flower seeking the sun. And for lack of anything else to occupy her thoughts but disappointment, Faldne answered his accusations with the unrefined honesty that had become her trademark. "Justice sways me. Truth sways me. And you know nothing of my wounds," she hissed. It seemed unreasonable to be affronted by a stranger’s nebulous graspings, but she was. Whether she knew them or not, it rankled the seal-brown mare to think that there were any who believed she might regret the decision she had made. "Unless you wish to claim that I wounded myself in breaking the seal that held my eyes closed and seeing my world as it was for the first time."
The festering wound within her had been pierced by the stallion’s barbed words—but as soon as her piece was spoken, Faldne felt a curious relief as the purulence was drained from her. Falling from grace had freed her to speak her mind, but at the cost of deafening every ear around her. And nameless though this creature might be, she at least knew that he heard her, which in itself was a gift. "I must confess that I don’t know you… not truly." She spoke after the dust of her vehement speech had settled. "I thought that you were… someone else. In the mist, my eyes saw what they wished to see. So perhaps it is in me to still be blind, just as it is in you to fear being known. After all, I learned in my service that our kind rarely offer the truth without prompting—our first impulse is to speak the lies that we would will into truth." Her pale eyes search his, wondering whether he would understand.
She did not truly know him, and yet—yet a part of her thought that it might.
"My name is lost to me," she continued after, gaze flitting over the red river of his body before returning back to his face. "But though we place so much importance on them, a name is not needed to truly know someone. So tell me, creature of mists, if you are truly unafraid of being known... what was your greatest deed, and your greatest regret?" Her dark head tilted to one side as she waited expectantly, the white collar that she wore tightening until it resembled a noose from which she might be left to dangle.
"Tell me yours, and I will tell you of mine."
FALDNE
forsaken daughter of the sovngarde
forsaken daughter of the sovngarde
Replies:
- his red right hand to plague us - By Ma'alruin February 14, 2021 at 09:54:15 PM
- he who passes the sentence - By Faldne February 16, 2021 at 08:43:01 PM
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