Skin Autumnea designed by Zeus00 of the IF Skin Zone.

zIFBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Free Forums. Reliable service with over 8 years of experience.

Learn More · Register for Free
Welcome to Fynrir. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Name:   Password:


 

 The Best of All Things
Justus
  Posted: Jan 25 2008, 11:50 PM


Novice
*

Group: Members
Posts: 43
Member No.: 197
Joined: 10-January 08



“Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there.”


Irritation: Scratchy. Rough. A million needles into his skin. A thousand flames pulling at his limbs.
He felt it, yet he could not find or remember how to move. He could not even find the memory of doing so. Somehow, perhaps by some natural mortal instinct he knew the word “move.”
The word kept pulsing back and forth in the organ in his skull, causing his eyes to flutter as he tried to open them, but could not gather the strength to do so.

Move. Move. Move.


Something began to rise in his throat, like sparks from a raging fire beyond the western woods, yet he could not utter a sound. His lips parted slightly, feeling something…unseen…moving in and out of him, causing his body to be carried upwards from the inside and then back down.
Breathing. He was breathing.
With each breath that filled his body, he began to feel more strength come to him, yet there wasn’t enough yet for him to open his eyes.
Would there ever be?

Move. Move. Move.



His ears suddenly began to catch odd things. What were they called?
He lay there for some time, trying to scratch through the almost impenetrable boundary of his broken memory before the word flowed to him.
Sounds.
A shorebird off in the distance, crying, screeching, a horrible sound that echoed back and forth until it faded into a far off mist. The sound of water crashing at his feet…
As soon as he heard it he…
What was the other word?
Feel.
Felt.
Feeling.

His toes tingled with the sensation of the liquid touching him, but even this could not urge him to move.

Move. Move. Move.

He felt then the sun on his bare back, forcing itself down on him as it broke through scattered clouds, warming him and burning him at the same time.
He tried once more to open his eyes, but could not, laying on the shore with only black pants on and a large golden chain around his neck that seemed to gleam in the sun’s vibrancy.

He began to feel something touch the center of his chest, on the inside…more towards the left, really, then the middle…his…he didn’t know the word, but it was pounding lightly and making some odd liquid rush through him. He couldn’t get that feeling away, partly because he didn’t know how, but mostly because he wasn’t even entirely sure of…anything.

He was like a newborn, laying there on his stomach, eyes closed and mind restless yet completely empty.
He heard sounds again, but they were different than those of before…these sounded like a gentle touching of something, balanced, one after the other…
His instincts began to ignite and he heard it again

Move. Move. Move.


--------------------
Do not ask about the signature. Yes, I lost a bet.
user posted image
Nikolaus Justus---Aerandir Didrick
Top
Maerenna
Posted: Jan 26 2008, 02:04 AM


Master of Runes
*

Group: Members
Posts: 2,459
Member No.: 31
Joined: 7-April 06



It was autumn, or spring perhaps. Most seasons in this part of Fynrir blended into winter, but the cool wind was disguising an otherwise mild day. It pushed the mists around, and they swirled unceasingly, revealing a patch of grey sky for a second, a small section of the equally grey sea the next, and a black smudge of distant cliff the next. The only thing that was constantly visible was the white sand underfoot, blinding in the sun, almost impossibly fine and always slightly damp from the moisture in the air.

She was used to far colder weather, so her scarf hung loosely around her neck rather than being pulled up to protect her face, her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her soft leather gloves had been relegated to somewhere in her pack. The wind, which grew more insistent every minute, was blowing against her back, pushing her forward and wreaking havoc with her long hair as it was blown in front of her and across her face, obscuring her vision (as though it wasn't obscured enough by the mist).

She sighed loudly and tried to ignore it, tucking her hair behind her pointed ears -- which worked for about ten seconds each time -- and turned her mind to other matters. It had been eight days since she'd last stopped in a town and the closest proper cities lay several weeks away in any direction. Food was running low, and there was little to simply be found here unless she felt like shooting a seabird.

Which wouldn't be such a bad idea, she thought irritably as a loud screech broke the peaceful near-silence and continued to ring in her ears for quite some time afterward.

Besides all that -- her more ... material needs (she could go without food for days, and had in the past) -- she wasn't quite sure what she was doing here, or why she had wandered in this direction, for that matter. Was her father living on an abandoned beach? Of course not. Her best chance of information lay in travelling in a completely different direction, she knew -- but what was her best chance? She had been to the I'Leith settlement once, and found it disconcerting; furthermore, none of the elves there knew anything about the man who had fathered young Silverin's child. In all her years growing up in Sivenanth the citizens had refused to utter a word on whom her father might be, so it was no use going there even if they did know something. Human territory? Unlikely. Albaeir? Impossible; that thought would not be tolerated. Perhaps the mountains would be the next place to venture ...

"Oh, this hair!" she whispered fiercely, taking off her pack and flopping down into the sand. One of these days it would have to just be cut off; the elves weren't watching now, were they?

She was surprised to see the waves nearly licking at her boots, and drew her knees in closer to her chest. She must have been walking on a slight diagonal without noticing it; or perhaps her path had been straight as the shore curved inwards. She combed her knotted hair with her fingers and began to braid it, a skill taught by her female cousins in Sivenanth, and probably the most useful thing she'd learnt there after swordplay and archery. Her hands moved quickly and expertly as the pale, messy mass of hair was transformed into a neat plait hanging down her back.

She watched the sea as it -- well, crashed wasn't really the right word; the ocean was relatively calm, the tiny wavelets gentle on the sand. Still, it was moving, and to the same mesmerising rhythm as it always did. Like a heartbeat, or breathing in and out; the water encouraged her to breathe as it did, in time to its pulse.

And there was another doing the same, she realised, breathing deeply as if it had never breathed before. Or was she imagining that?

She looked to her left, but there was nothing there but mist and a strong wind against her face. Her hair, which had gone unsecured, immediately began to fall out of its plait. Disregarding this, she looked to the right instead, and a part of the mist cleared like a window for her to look through, and there he was, not a metre away from her and she hadn't even noticed.

A man.

He was lying face down in the sand, the sea straying over his bare feet. How long had he been there? She moved a little closer. Yes, she could hear his breathing, but couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. She guessed, though, that he was either unconscious or near death, for who would lie in such a place if they had a choice? When the high tide came he would be swept away and drowned.

She hesitated. Though she didn't take into account much the welfare of others, to leave him to die there, apparently helpless, seemed to her simply foolish. If she could just carry -- or perhaps drag would be more accurate, she remedied, noticing his tall build -- him a few metres further inland, he would be relatively safe.

Anessathiel stood, ignoring the fact that half her hair was once again hanging in her face, then bent down and slid her hands gently under the man's chest, and flipped him over onto his back.


--------------------
Ainion

Avatar

Okay, I'm sorry about this but I am effectively leaving Fynrir for an indefinite period of time. It is absolutely nothing personal. Please feel free to email me whenever you like.
Top
Justus
Posted: Jan 26 2008, 05:58 PM


Novice
*

Group: Members
Posts: 43
Member No.: 197
Joined: 10-January 08



His instincts were tearing through him like a starving wolf, clawing at his fading consciousness as the sound stopped right beside him, setting that small piece in his chest onto a rampage of beats and the larger piece in his skull into a state of childish confusion.

He suddenly felt an odd sensation pass through his body, feeling two soft hands upon his bare skin, seeming to be filled with strength far greater than his own. He felt now his back being embraced by the cold sand, and now the front of his his muscular and defined torso was facing the sun. He could feel the breaths coming much more easily now as it seemed to him there was more of that invisible substance going in and out of his chest.

His strength couldn't possibly match those of the gentle hands, much less come close. However, he began to feel his fingers...
Fingers. More words were coming to his memory, but instead of helping him, they seemed to only confuse him more, clouding anything of importance.
Such as his purpose for being there, who he was, what he was...Where he was.

He felt his fingers pull across the sand, touching the cold gritty cream that it was, trying to remember how to peel apart his eyelids so that he might see.

What was it like to see, again?
His fingers relaxed at his side as he recalled images and sights, flashing in and out of his mind, being replaced by others and then coming back again.

Stones. Some were large and some were small, some were rough and stained by the weather and others were clean replacements. They were hidden by a foul mist that was one with the night, a mistress of the misery of the world. He heard the sounds as if they were truly there, some sort of creature uttering a dark sound from within its soul. It seemed to beckon him towards the darkness beyond, whispering tantalizing things of a world unseen by his weary eyes that gleamed beneath the full moon that moaned when the wind made the tall grass dance beneath the stars. He saw a hand reach out, and assumed it was his own, as if grasping desperately for one of the stones, fingers outstretched as far as they could be, and the veins in his hand pusling violently.

Suddenly, the vision faded into the darkness of the night that was within it, and he was sent back to his present reality, but this time...he could see it.

His eyes had opened, one a pale green of the rolling sea, and the other a shade of a rich forest. The light did not hurt them, as much of it was hidden by the mists and cloud, but it was such an odd feeling that crept onto his face as he felt his eyes rapidly close.
He would have screamed had he obtained the strength, afraid that his new found sight and freedom was leaving him.
But, as quickly as they closed, they opened again. The piece in his chest seemed to be dancing around, feeling rushed by the toxicating terror and quick relief.

Blink. Thats what he had done. He had blinked. That was...accepted, correct? Maybe accepted was not the word.
N..nor...normi...normay...normal.

"Normal."
the word escaped from his lips like a bird from its cage as he looked at the heavy sky above him, feeling as though it were going to crash down upon him and crush him. The blue gray shade of the sheet that held the white pieces of loosely strung cotton calmed him, and he found his thoughts starting to collect. Slowly they were collecting, but still collecting.

Something raced over his skin, poking him in the sides, tugged at his fingertips and tried to dig its way into his stomach. Yet another feeling, it was.
He began to feel that he was not alone, not by himself. He was being... He desperately searched for the word in the front within him, his fingers digging into the sand in his irritation.

Watched. Looked at.
He was not alone anymore.
This realization held two things:
Death, and Life. And that did not necessarily mean they were held for him.


--------------------
Do not ask about the signature. Yes, I lost a bet.
user posted image
Nikolaus Justus---Aerandir Didrick
Top
Maerenna
Posted: Jan 27 2008, 02:04 AM


Master of Runes
*

Group: Members
Posts: 2,459
Member No.: 31
Joined: 7-April 06



She straightened, surprised at the lack of effort her actions had required -- she had expected him, built as he was, to be heavier -- and quickly glanced over the being she had discovered.

He was tall, which had been the first thing she'd noticed, and, she guessed, would probably be taller when standing than she was. He was also very well-muscled, with the body of a warrior, though he was not dressed like any orthodox warrior. Was he not cold, being wet and subjected to this wind? She frowned slightly at the sight of the chain around his neck. Tacky sentiment, or a sign of mistreatment -- both options distasteful.

She focused on his face instead. He looked troubled. Her eyes tracked the tiny movements of his features -- a parting of lips, the fluttering of eyelids, flaring of nostrils as he breathed. Perhaps he would soon regain consciousness.

She stepped around so she was standing directly behind his head, crouched down and reached out, planning to pull him by his arms, but she saw movement and recoiled before she had touched him. His fingers were moving, digging into the sand and sweeping over it, and then they were still again.

After a second's hesitation, she placed her hands under his shoulder blades and pushed until he was in a kind of sitting position. His head flopped forward and to the side. She placed her knee against his back for support while she hooked her arms around his shoulders, then she stood and began to walk backwards. His heels trailed across the ground, leaving tracks in the sand, while his upper body was pulled up close to Anessathiel's, his head level with her chest. She dragged him about ten metres inland, then lowered him to the ground. He would be safe from drowning here, she reckoned. She was about to go collect her pack and be on her way when he opened his eyes.

She paused as he blinked once, hand on the hilt of her sword. He was not armed as far as she could see, but could still be dangerous. She tensed, waiting for him to move, to speak, to ask her who she was and what she was doing, to attack her even, but he did none of those things. He made a noise that sounded like he was trying to speak, but his diction was bad and his voice had obviously not been used for a long time, and she couldn't understand. She wondered if she was supposed to make a reply, then realised that he did not know she was there at all. Those oddly-coloured eyes did not see her, but remained fixed on the sky above.

She relaxed slightly, and noticed that the wind had inexplicably calmed to a slight breeze ruffling her hair and clothes. The mist swirled around them still, but somehow it was not as thick as before.

She took a deep breath and spoke to him in a clear voice. "So, stranger, you have awoken. Know that I have not harmed you and will expect the favour returned." She used Elvish, her mother tongue, without stopping to consider that he would be more likely to understand the Common language.


--------------------
Ainion

Avatar

Okay, I'm sorry about this but I am effectively leaving Fynrir for an indefinite period of time. It is absolutely nothing personal. Please feel free to email me whenever you like.
Top
Justus
Posted: Jan 28 2008, 09:53 PM


Novice
*

Group: Members
Posts: 43
Member No.: 197
Joined: 10-January 08



[(My apologies on this post being sort of short in length)]

He hardly felt the dragging, which was an odd thing indeed, taking into consideration the fact that his senses were beginning to come like the dawn. He had been in the cold water for so long that it seemed to not phase him, but as his body began to dry, he felt very odd and strange...terrestrial, for lack of a better word.

His breaths started to become even and more predictable, and color began to come to his skin.
But had it not been for a faint trickle of a voice in his ears, his eyes would have closed once more and he would be flung back into a state far more fragile than the one he was in, if that was even fathomable

"So, stranger, you have awoken. Know that I have not harmed you and will expect the favour returned."


The instant that he heard her speak, the boundaries in his mind of language and speech shattered like a crystal glass. But no sooner had that happened, had another vision wrapped itself around his mind and forced him to see it, constraining any will and self restraint that he possessed.

He saw the same place once again, the misted misery of before, only this time all his eyes beheld was one simple stone with some odd character crudely etched into it’s base. As he tried to focus to see what it was, he was, also as before, taken back to the present.

He could not place the source of the voice, knowing only that it came from somewhere behind him, wherever that may be.
He swallowed, his mouth now not so dry and his hopes growing that he could be understood. Funny, as he could barely understand his own self.

“Who are…you?”
was the only group of words that arrived in the front of his brain, and they barely made their way out of his mouth, but it was clearer than the last word. Why that group of words was spoken was not something held in his present knowledge, maybe it was a lack of trust, or sheer loneliness. A loneliness that gave him the desire to know who was with him, what they were doing, and why they were there.

How had she understood what she had said? It sounded very odd to him, not like the words he had spoken which seemed to him more familiar. He would have laughed to himself had he been able to. Familiar? Nothing was familiar anymore. Had it ever been to begin with?




--------------------
Do not ask about the signature. Yes, I lost a bet.
user posted image
Nikolaus Justus---Aerandir Didrick
Top
Maerenna
Posted: Jan 29 2008, 10:09 AM


Master of Runes
*

Group: Members
Posts: 2,459
Member No.: 31
Joined: 7-April 06



She stood patiently, studying his face, but no reply came. Indeed, he showed very little sign of having understood her at all, and his eyes still had not moved. She bit her lip, wondering if his mind had somehow been injured. Nothing he had done so far indicated that it was functioning properly. Perhaps his apparent weakness was not only of body. Or perhaps he was wild, had never had any language. She quickly dismissed the latter notion. His clothes suggested otherwise -- the chain in particular. She was just about to bend down and inspect it further, when he spoke to her.

His voice was still rough, but this time she understood. He spoke Common, and how wrong it sounded in reply to her own voice startled her, though she couldn't say why.

Different languages, she realised. He does not -- or will not -- speak Elvish. Still, this was a positive discovery, in a way. It showed that he did have command of a language, was probably completely normal and intelligent -- just weakened, somehow. A mystery.

She switched to Common. Her speech had only a hint of an accent; her language tutor had had an exceptional grasp of the pronunciation of all the languages Anessathiel had ever heard of, and had passed much of his skill onto her. "Your rescuer, it would appear," she said, unwilling to give her name. She still didn't know who he was, and though he clearly wasn't dangerous in this state, well ... she couldn't be too careful.

Still, she could grant him a sight of her face. One hand holding her hair back, she slowly crouched down, swivelling and changing her position slightly so that she was next to his right shoulder. Her sword's scabbard brushed the sand and stuck out from her belt. She waited, trusting that he would turn his head toward the movement. "And you? What may I call you?"


--------------------
Ainion

Avatar

Okay, I'm sorry about this but I am effectively leaving Fynrir for an indefinite period of time. It is absolutely nothing personal. Please feel free to email me whenever you like.
Top
Laurelin
Posted: Jan 30 2008, 07:36 PM


Forever the Witch
*

Group: Members
Posts: 13,554
Member No.: 89
Joined: 30-May 06



The waves were beautiful in that time of the day, the mists and the sun playing, weaving within and without of one another in a smooth and fluid movement. A dance, or so it appeared to her artist's mind. Her brush moved effortlessly across the wood that was resting against her raised knees, its weight feeling natural in her lap. Her eyes scanned the sea in front of her, only to lower and watch what her brush was doing in its attempts at mimicking everything around her. She could taste the salt in the air, could feel the dampness of the mists on her skin, as well as the heat of the sun. The longing to capture all that on her piece of driftwood she had found was intense, leaving her aware of nothing but what she was doing.

Perhaps if she had been paying more attention she would have been aware of the sound of voices, one obviously feminine in its lilt, the other harder to decipher. As it was, she did faintly hear them, but thought of it as only the wind and nothing more. The beach had been deserted for days now, her family had seen no one as they visited this area. The affairs of nobility had been wearying her parents for years now, and a much needed holiday from their native elvish land had been decided upon. Although the kingdom that contained their home was small compared to others, her parents both found the tasks that were expected of them in the running of their estates just as taxing as it would have perhaps been for nobles of any other kingdom. So, taking their two youngest daughters with them, they had practically fled for the safety of the shores, a place that her parents had not been since Maeva and Journey were teenagers, even though they owned a small cottage on the shore only a mile or so from where Journey was now sitting.

The chances of nothing disrupting her painting were likely, it if had not been that the wind slowly loosed the ribbon tying her long and thick curls back, resulting in their flying into her face, completely blocking her view and disrupting the rapture with which she had been painting. A soft cry escaped her lips and she immediately pushed her hair back, looking around on the sand around her for her ribbon. That was when she caught sight of them.

They were in the distance, but it did not take someone with an extraordinary amount of reasoning to discern that one being was on the ground and that another appeared to be crouching over whoever it was. Thinking first of the fact that someone could be injured, and not that she herself could be heading into a dangerous situation, Journey placed her painting down on the sand, looked around again for her ribbon, then decided it was gone and stood.

It did not take her long to walk over to where the two people were, and she stopped a few feet away out of respect, as she did not know them. Suddenly hesitant, she caught her curls in one hand in order to keep them out of her face, and her soft green skirt in the other. "Hello?"

The situation before her seemed strange, although not dangerous. The slim elf that was crouched beside the man, although looking cold in personality, did not appear to have been the cause of the man's laying position. He seemed almost delirious, or ... not quite sane even, though Journey knew no fear of him. He looked half dead, in all truth, although she had to admit that his muscles surely proved the opposite. He was hardly defenseless, that much was certain. The thought of how long it would take her to run back to her parent's home, if she had indeed misjudged the situation before her, flashed almost alarmingly through her mind.


--------------------
Top
DealsFor.me - The best sales, coupons, and discounts for you

Topic Options



Hosted for free by zIFBoards* (Terms of Use: Updated 2/10/2010) | Powered by Invision Power Board v1.3 Final © 2003 IPS, Inc.
Page creation time: 0.0385 seconds · Archive