The vast span of woodlands that lays to the East of Aeliyr, this is the claimed woods where Tellus Mater is often times seen walking along the edges of streams, or taking a rest upon the outstretched branches to watch over her children. A woodland of lore that has been often the spot chosen for more malevolent means, however, the natural wildlife and beauty of the woods has also made it a spot sought out for the righteous and pious, making a spot common in the romance novels of Aeliyr.
Last edited by soulbrand; 05-22-2010 at 08:58 PM.
When alone, Zephyra counted down the hours; She counted down the hours when it would be time for her to leave the emptiness of her cottage, and venture into town. It was there, amongst the townspeople, where her loneliness subsided and she was free to converse with those around her. The cycle seemed to end while she slept. Yet during the night she slept amongst cold sheets and a hard mattress without any other human, as she had done all her life. The only sounds came from the dog at the foot of her bed or curled up near her feet. In the morning, she would wake to the same dog ruffling around the room, wanting to be let outdoors. She preformed these tasks with only the sound of her own breath, the sounds of her own thoughts.
It was not until an unexpected date, when Zephyra began feeling different. Her appearance, appetite, and demeanor all remained the same. She continued on throughout her days, tending to her household work, painting, and even reading at the end of the day. Amongst her chores, she couldn’t help but feel as though a pair of eyes had been following her. Despite her dog, Zephyra still felt as though another person was intruding upon her quit life.
One night, while reading silently by the light of a single candle, Zephyra looked outside from the window of her bedroom. She stared at the moon, and in disgust, she thought, “Perhaps it is just I who is destined to be lonesome for all. Am I the personification of loneliness?” It wasn’t until minutes later that the red-haired women received an answer to the silent question in her head – by a man.
Last edited by soulbrand; 05-22-2010 at 08:58 PM.
Flora was batted away with a light backhand; the same plants that had overcome a lightly treaded path, those of an itinerant nature had crossed these woods without a burden upon their souls. Soles that carried no weight would leave no trace behind, lighter than the breeze that caused leaves to dance gracefully in tune with the chirping of the birds.
A path unmarked and marched slowly by instinct, the man would stop a moment to admire the sights before him, as he would often find himself aloof, tacit and otherwise prone to behavior that stopped to smell the roses-- as it were. Colossal in his mind, the countenance of Epirsada was diminutive at best; yet, with a defiant step he claimed these woods, swatting once more the annoying flora that claimed his route. Heels stopped firmly atop a light growing moss, his head craned to the left and dipped with a chin held heavenward; a voice caught his attention-- but it was not spoken. Soft features curled as his lips cut into a gentle smile, his body twisted and he would face the direction in which it came.
"Perhaps, perhaps you are so disgusting, both in mind and in body, that there is not a soul who can stand you." A mere thought back to the girl, perhaps since he had heard her, she would in turn hear him. A hopeful shifted evermore, as he would take the first few steps in the direction in which he felt her. "Then again, it has been sometime since I have a demon, a troll or even a woman in these parts that would bear such a resemblance. I am sure you are truly mistaken."
It was a polite response that shifted outward from that of Epirsada, his voice even within was whispery and soft; a true joy to land upon the ears. Rather though, in her head she would hear as if it was spoken directly to her, already accustomed to his timbre as he shifted onwards.
It was as though he was standing right next to her, shoulder to shoulder. Was the voice of a man the work of her mind? She inhaled a few deep breaths, hoping the voice would subside. But his voice was so clear and crisp; Zephyra then knew her first intentions could not be possible. His first statement was so unfavorable, such harsh words from a soft voice. The skin on her cheeks turned to a light shade of pink. Statements made by strangers made Zephyra want to jump out of her own skin. It may be true, for all she knew. But then again, a small part of her hoped that it was not.
Mistaken? Are you sure you are mistaken, sir? It would be only be up to his eyes to find the answer to the questions she purposed. What would come of this conversation held without words? This conversation would never exist between another s – no one would ever hear nor know of such words. Zephyra’s relationships with others were nonexistent. Her heart held no hope for forming new ones – especially with those who were strangers, regardless of the kindness of his voice. Zephyra’s heart could handle another letdown, who knows if her spirit had the strength to do the same.
Idle hands grasped a small bundle of wet linens. The sun would provide the proper amount of warmth on this day. A small line of rope hung from two poles on the eastern side of her cottage. One by one, the linens made their way to the rope – fanned out for anyone to see. Amongst the linens, a pale red dress; Zephyra had often dismissed her wardrobe, she had initially dismissed the dress as well. Oh how she was wrong.
A fading distance as each step drew the visage closer to her, close towards the resounded section of woodland in which she inhabited; like a beacon of psionic pulse, he was drawn to her. A countenance that pressed forth was merely a shell, the falsity of life that trekked forth. It would not be long before he was alongside her, but for now, he remained confined in the mental rebuttals.
“Mistaken? I don’t think so-- then again, there is not a path of withered roots leading towards you, to be as hideous as you claim; this forest would surely weep and die.” Her mind would be filled with the soft whispery timbre of his voice, as he once more brushed flora to the side, fauna became started and leapt away from the man. Birds would chirp and flock into their respective patterns, as scarred lips bore a gentle smile.
“But to whom am I speaking with? The beautiful guide of the forest? Or perhaps something even more than that.” Would the distance seem lessened if she were? If at the end of the path, he came upon a sight that could only be described in lore and nestled in the pages of marvel. Would his steps become feathered and his endurance greatened?
Perhaps.
It wasn’t until her last piece of clothing was upon the rope that she heard the man’s voice once more. Zephyra’s arms swept to her sides in one easy motion. The woman gave a small smile from the corners of her lips – it wasn’t every day she received compliments that detested the ill way she perceived her very being and what she claimed about her appearance. His words, it seemed, already comforted her discouraging ways. An invisible voice was capable of calming a troubled mind and easing a delicate skeleton.
“It is kind of you to speak so highly of the forest and my occupation, sir. I assure you I am keeping the forest alive and well. But I am not the guide of the forest that you seek.” Zephyra’s cottage, not far from the well-travelled road that ventured into town, sat near the edge of the forest. She detested those who held spite against the lofty trees and exotic foliage. Living on the edge of a forest, and on the outskirts of town was living between two worlds. And only Zephyra knew of these two worlds equally well.
“My namesake holds little purpose, I am afraid. I live only among the middle class.” She hesitated and uncertainty took over; it was uncommon for one to ask of her vitals in a simply and distinguished way. Others were always so impatient and wished to know within seconds. “How can I know you exist, sir? I’d much rather have you prove your existence before we exchange personal truths.”
A parted brush of vivid green would place a narrow and solace seeking gaze forward, to land upon the area just before that of Zephyra. Her voice rang like a soft song, unspoken but nonetheless the majestic, as it would be returned furthermore.
“I disagree, a namesake holds great purpose, whereas a class-- now that, that holds little purpose.” Disgust consumed the latter half of his timbre, shifting some as he pressed passed and left in the wake of his steps down and toppled foliage. “If a voice, backed by a clear working mind, offers not enough proof of existence, then what more is needed?” As each word cut the trees, his steps carried him on a defined path towards the girl.
“If a physical interaction is more suited, then, I ask only patience of you and soon I will have sliced these shrubs in twine and will be before you.” Words rang true as he would smile softly, his head bowing softly, waving from side to side, his mannerisms calm.
Zephyra had seen global aristocrats relish in that fact that they were humbled to be a part of a society in which the majority was peasants or middle class. However, most aristocrats dismissed their very words not mere seconds after stating the opposite.
“I beg to differ, sir. Citizens and royalty alike are consistently reminded of their place along the spectrum of society. Everyone experiences a hindrance to their class sometime within their lives, it is all too common.” Stricken by her thoughts, the very conversation felt like burden. Zephyra walked to the entrance of her small cottage, struggling with what to do next. She felt her point had been made, and she refused to spark a dispute between the man who only existed in her head.
“Your voice is proof enough, I suppose…” She entered her cottage and closed the door behind her. The door latched with a soft click as Zephyra watched her chest rise. With her chin to her chest, she continued. “I have a hard time believing myself, you see. I wish not for my thoughts and eyes both deceive me at the very same moment.
Zephyra stiffened, with her back resting upon the door. “I am all but too patient, I am afraid.” With her head rising, she spotted the color of the sky outside a window. A soft breeze had begun to blow; the sky held the first hints of amber amongst the blue. His promise of arriving soon was unexpected. She hadn’t thought the man desired an appearance. Would he keep his promise? Perhaps it was up to the foliage to decide that.
Unbeknown to her, a heartbeat rose inside a chest.
Night would surround the city soon.
Flattened flora marked a man created fork in the road, from which the visage of falsity, Epirsada, strode with a lighthearted swag. It was as he predicted when the final shrubs that kept her from him were quelled, he would find himself peering slowly towards the direction in which he felt her presence. A single pulse emitted from him as well, beacon that would guide her gaze.
“Perhaps, however, I have never been one to follow either names or classes; importance was always on actions, not upon birthright.” His voice echoed for the first time, landing upon ears instead of being sent to her mind. “Or really, in the case that you have mentioned, a lack thereof.” A soft smile as he would slowly shift his gaze, oculars would become impressed as they caught sight of her, the female of whom he could only envision. It was as he predicted once more, her façade far from that of an ogre, from anything that should and would be frowned upon; it in fact enticed lips to curl.
Dusk would bless them, the veil of night to hide the path that brought him here.
Her apprehensions were cleared when she heard his voice. Her ears seemed fastened to the sound of what was clearly a man. She remained calmed, carefully thinking of what action she should take next. Smoothing her clothing, she straightened her spine, inhaling a long breath. Smoothing her auburn colored hair, Zephyra couldn’t help but feel under dressed. Her worries were casted aside - she had bathed early in the morning, just as the sun had risen over the horizon. She would not let herself cloud thoughts of unacceptable appearances. Zephyra was enchanting, anyone sane could notice how the shy woman enraptured all she touched.
With night looming, people had drawn themselves inward towards their houses. All had become quiet for the time being. The talk of villagers, the loud , angry voices of men and women alike passing by, venturing from in and out of town had subsided. All she heard was this man’s voice echoing in her ears. The closeness of his statue resonated with the canine that was under Zephyra’s constant care and protection. The collie’s naught and rather mischievous expression had subsided; two ears hidden behind mounds of fur, the dog rose its head. The distinctive shaggy coat of flat fur moved softly with the dog’s sudden elevated state. The dog removed itself its resting place with ease, despite the fifty pound stature it carried. Clawing at the door, beside Zephyra, the dog gazed to its master, wanting to be let outside.
A smile passed her lips. The dog had heard the man’s voice as well and it wished to greet the guest. How brave a dog! Much more brave than Zephyra - to offer a sudden greeting to a perfect stranger. She opened the door just enough for the dog silently escape. The shaggy canine had always been well-mannered despite itself consistent mischievous appearance.
“Birthright is quite poor amongst my lineage.” Zephyra said, replying to the man. Yet, this time her own voice did not echo inside her head as it had in the past. Her voice rolled off her tongue and escaped her lips. Perhaps she had subconsciously known that she and the man were such a close proximity, that now there was a need for actual voices. Talking between thoughts would only cause confusion, as the echoes were eminent and lasted for several moments.
[justify:3tkxt265]The steps of the Epirsada carried him and closed the short distance, he would now lay a soft gaze, met by the one that beckoned back-- finally the two would have the chance to see each other. As chestnuts locks whirled, the head of the shelled Epirsada would crane first towards Zephyra, the serendipity of the woodlands, before cascading to the brave march of the dog. To which, the dog was well met with the soft hands Epirsada, a slew elongated pets atop the creatures soft coat.
“What a lovely animal you have, a nice pet.”Slowly and with a mumbled groan, he would once more rise as the slowly returned alongside that of Zephyra. The conversation continued, his head nodded as the final syllable resounded from the tip of a delicate tongue.
“Maybe, I am a poor example, I have just acquired what I have wanted, ignoring both the birthrights and lineages of those before or after me. It in all honesty, is something that I have never understood-- why let something as unimportant as name, obstruct you from the experiences you wish to have?” With a shrug, he would slowly peer passed the girl, unto her homestead with a soft and swift nod. It was appealing, even more so than the many houses his trek has taken him across.[/justify:3tkxt265]
This thread / city is designed to just be a perpetually open thread, allowing people to freely plot and advance both their characters and the city (or area), so with the end of the above plot; the thread can simply revert back to the original state of play.
And yes, this is a universal message being copy and pasted.
The fundamental concepts of tranquility were vastly known throughout the forest, as it held a honored calm throughout its entire being. His mind was a solace, though it held the rectitude that was needed to remain sane. Almost as if somnabulant, the hand remained held against the obstinate wound that spurt an interminable flow of crimson which flowed down his arm and poured onto the ground beneath him.
Anyone could trace him through the woods by viewing the trail of his life upon the forest floor, covering beauty with elegance.
Step by step, he drew closer to the lakeside. Conrad didn't seem aware that the lake was there, or perhaps he was... and he simply wished to become on with it. And just as he reached its side, the entire forest was no longer quiet. The wind whistled with flying objects that neared him from behind, but were just as soon redirected by his raised right foot. Though kicked away strategically, he suffered a tear in his shoe that evoked a groan in his mind, but then he lost all form of emotional placement, and became apathetic in the tide of continuing battle.
The shade roared across the forest floor in the tracks of Conrad's blood, and just as soon as it saw Conrad's body, the longsword at its side was unsheathed and swung ahead. Typically the head would be where the blade was swung, but Conrad had long since thrust his left foot outward to stop the attacker in its tracks before it could get far. The blade was a mere inches from his eyes, before the body rocketed backwards onto the beautiful forest floor, just as teammates came into view behind him.
Conrad was happy they didn't speak. That saved them a conversation, and more importantly less of his time would be wasted killing them. Why did they want to kill him anyways? There was still trouble piecing together the infamous history he was known for, so much that he had almost killed himself for not knowing who he was. These midnight robed shades that hurled their bodies into his direction were so inexorable and dynamic, that he knew he must have done something terribly wrong in his past to have angered them.
The right foot brought him a few inches above the ground, then the left swiftly cut in a horizontal path directly ahead of him. Two were caught in the devastating blow, and bones were broken before they had even hit the ground. After the kick the right foot had already touched base with the ground, and was spinning with the remaining momentum of his kicks, while his left lowered passively and his left hand removed itself from his shoulder wound.
Another darted ahead and thrust a longsword towards his chest. Taking a single step to his right he narrowly dodged, and broke his foots contact with the ground in aim to break the man's ribcage, or so it appeared. The man's right hand grabbed the foot, and used it as leverage to gain a higher ground just above him. Just when he did, a front flip was committed in mid air, and the man came down once more with his longsword... however it didn't officially get its chance to swing.
Just when he was aiming for a horizontal down-slash from the heavens, a fist crashed straight into his nose with such ferocity that it was clear the man was dead. The nose bone was relentlessly broken, and the blood vessels in the honey plum eyes were shattered without a doubt. The corpse toppled to the ground lifelessly, before Conrad took a moment to view the remaining two figures that he was faced with.
The situation wasn't pretty. Three more, and he was almost unconscious from lost blood. The genius intellectual nobody had to devise a plan, or he was going to die.
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