Vindico

Full Version: Dressed in Crimson Furs
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The great realm of the silent wood hummed with power, with fleeting frigidity that arose from the changing seasons. Winter was coming, heralded by the falling of leaves, the colours of the canopy dull and barren; absent of life. Little had changed in Macitibilis, the gargled branches tangled in on each other, creating a web of harsh lines and grotesque picture. The ground, patched and worn, the undergrowth course and without true longevity, Andurïl stood out as a messenger of the sun, a radiant lord of dazzling crimson and illuminated marks. With the change in the season, with the darkening of the days, his powers had leeched every source it could touch, creating an almost present halo across his frame. A spirit, a ghost, he made his way through the paths, seeking the ever scarce prey. Soon, the larger creatures would travel further south, hugging the shores where the lands would not be as vicious in cold, the great oceans heating the air.
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His territory had expanded, his realm stretching out into the neighbouring lands of his domain within the shadows of Silvis since the dawning spring. Soon, the circle would be complete, and a new year would begin. Sighing, stepping down the reaching arms of a fallen pine, he examined the terrain, the steep slopes of rocky earth, and the roots breaking off from the solid ground to tempt injury from those who didn't keep a careful eye on their stance. There had been little activity in this forest, since the fire storms that had ravished the land, and Andurïl, in his attempts to assess the damage, had reached out to examine the lands surrounding the tarnished Tantus.
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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Fall was almost at the end of its turn; winter was approaching, slowly but surely.  She was not a big fan of the colder seasons; she enjoyed the warmth of the sunshine, the sounds of new lives being born, and the blossoming of colorful flowers.  She dreamed in color and loved living life in color.  Everything went to sleep in winter and Pandora enjoyed being the life of the party...only when she had an awake audience.

As she walked through the unfamiliar territory, she could feel the taste of autumn on her salmon pink tongue. Everything here was so...quiet. The scenery din't take her breath away, but it made her more aware of her steps.  Each paw that touched the ground made a soft <I>crunch</I>, proof that the leaves were falling from the taller branches.  Every time she breathed, tiny puffs of ice were exhaled in front of her face before evaporating. Turquoise blue eyes looked over every inch of nearby ground, mind silently wondering if anyone or anything lived there. She felt a branch softly scrape her right wing, causing her to pull them closer to her back and sides. Slender legs continued to carry her through the trees, the sky more welcoming from her point of view.

It wasn't long before she caught the scent of a foreign wolf. The musky smell that came from her left struck her like a piece of plywood and she took a few steps to her right. Her body then gently collided with a thin tree, making a sound eco through the nearby vicinity. <b>"Shit."</b> Her ears flattened against her skull and silver horns as she realized that there was no chance of disappearing now. Even with the wings, she was helpless without being taught how to use them.
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This world, this forest, deep in the embrace of devastating thorns and choking vines, Andurïl ruled. It was not a sovereign dominion of commerce nor was it held in military force. It was a silent, all consuming frankness that came from the ownership of a land held in the keenest of mind, one who knew the ancient paths, the quiet internal night beneath ashen soil, and the great pillars of petrified trees that held the ground aloft. He who knew the poisons and toxins of treacherous plants, and the vile beasts that came into the light at the falling of the sun. Silvis, was not a kind master, she never was, nor would she ever be. Yet, her children, those who came to understand her, broke off a piece of that malice, and created living sentinels in her image. The Varda was not a kind man, he was not a evil one either. Andurïl chose to exist in a plane greater than simple choosing, one more than black and white, but the nefarious grey, the unknown of knowing, of predictability. He slithered with serpentine grace, each step fading like a phantom, intangible and untouched by the grasping forest.
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The smell of ash was strong, continued to be even days after the great fires and smothered themselves to death. Along the rivers, along the smooth stones and burnt flora, he found remittance of such an elemental force, chunks of black bark, ancient shields littering the earth, their surfaces brutalized by flexible blades and scorching heat. The trees, they lost their splendour, encouraged by the falling winter, yet, murdered in finality with the raging infernos. They lingered, in memory, the once lush and prosperous border, dark and cruel in the eyes of an outsider, now lay in waste. Shaking his head, turning on his ivory talons, the man retreated, not wishing to gaze upon it any longer.
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Deep into his land he would go, through paths invisible to most, yet, oh so obvious to him. His path was rarely a straight bound, riding along the coiled bodies of the vines, serpents in slumber, their wide black thorns hidden least one dare to look. Twisting along the trunks, slipping beneath rising roots, Andurïl delved deep into her bosom, her sweet fragrance tantalizing her tongue, seducing him beyond the carnal sin of mortal flesh. Yet, it wasn't Silvis who whispered her tease, silver eyes catching the movement that bellowed forth such a noise. A petite little thing, one of feathers, such as he, yet, different. Glittering horns, and writhing golden mandalas upon her thighs. Tilting his crown, the marks on his body grew hot, burning as the surface of the sun, itching around his eyes. Who was this? Stepping over a fallen pine, its fate one of but the many to fall under the necessity of nature, the man snuck up upon the woman, straddling a wide arch overhead, gazing down upon her, a flurry of crimson feathers haloing her form. <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>"Wary is the sound in a silent wood."</b></font>
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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The blue vixen had figured that someone would know she was there before anyone even appeared. Her focus was snagged, however, after she took a few steps and realized there was soot -- maybe ash -- left on her right side. She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, <b>"I just fixed it how I wanted it, too!"</b> before she began to work her magic on her cobalt fur. Her prissiness came from her father's side, even though she had no clue about those specific wolves. Such things didn't make her think, which would have been a good thing in this circumstance.

Pandora had sidestepped next to a fallen pine before she began to remove the ash from her body. As she was working on her pristine appearance, the presence of a stranger made itself known. She didn't react right away; her focus had been on getting rid of the nasty-tasting powder that had settled in her coat. When the presence finally spoke, only did she register that a male had appeared. Golden-backed ears perked and she turned her head up to gaze at the brilliant eyes of her "captor". Whoopee, she had been caught walking in the woods -- he deserved a big old medal. 

Annoyance was evident on her face when she felt the feathers of his tail dance near her raised nose. She let the emotion slip from her lovely maw as she opened her mouth to gently nip at what he was unintentionally offering.  Instead of pulling at the lovely crimson feathers, she blew a soft breath of ice crystals upon the closest one and let it freeze. For a few seconds, she thought it would stay that way; oh, how quickly it changed! The ice melted right off and her eyes shined with quirked curiosity. There was more to this wolf than she knew.

Time was due for her to reciprocate his words and she did so with a flawless Romanian accent. <b>"Is that so? Well, this noisemaker was wary before she even stepped across the threshold."</b> She finally left the feathers be and looked up at the crimson male's own set of opts. <b>"I suppose there is a price for warily waltzing into the woods?"</b>
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The ancient past, the worn stone and gnarled wood. Pristine in their elegance of forgotten rot, the silk withered and gossamer, fine tendrils of spider webs clinging to the masculine curves. Silvis, her presence was all consuming, ever present on the edge of his mind. Whispering, cooing, weavings songs of a tongue he knew not, at least by word. His bones, his spirit, they hid from him the lost lore, the lost shared essence of every living thing. A time when the land itself was the greatest of predators, and most giving of prey. They thrived as she did, suffered as she did, and in time, the very blood of the land dyed their fur black and white, ashen in the harsh light of the pale sun. Here, upon his throne, gazing upon the one who moved away from the possessing embrace, harsh and obvious to the world around her, Andurïl hummed, a low trill in his throat dictating the fall of each pulsating touch of invisible light.
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Magic was a deep whisper, a low beating drum that consumed all senses, unknown to the unlearned, yet, oh so obvious to those who knew the song. It stroked over his spine, sending tingling bells cooing in his ears. It appeared, a soft mist in the air, painting gilded paintings over his red feathers, until they were consumed by the crystal glass. Silver over the sunken silks of a deep ocean, veins of precious metal, the tapestry, the soft cage gave way to fall as snow and ice. Caressing the curves of the sloping vines, the man dropped no sooner after her spell had failed, his own magic vurberating over through his chest, endless whispers clawing, probing, the presence of beast and plant cued in to his own reaction.
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The light was a old ally, something that triggered memories of a long forgotten past. The press, the gasping breathe of a foolish youth, unknowing of the promise to come. It possessed him, owned him in a way that came from a loyal companion, flooding his veins with radiancy, cloying a hold on crimson cloak and shield. Like a eager sprite, fine tendrils seeped into the ivory marks, brilliant in the shadows, vanishing just before its dominion could truly be established. <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>"There is always something in the dark that watches the gate,"</b></font> he whispered, tilting his head, his chest pressing into the smooth bodice of clawing vines, armoured bracers reaching out, until he could touch the ground. The long trail at his heels followed suit, until the feathers themselves trailed along the ground, stirring to life the whispers of the solid mother below. Kneading dark soil, he stepped forward, tracing her silhouette. <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>"It is not I the price is owed."</b></font>
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Ambiguity was a strange habit the man possessed, secrets he owned, unwilling to share. They were held to his chest, a stack of cards transcribed with each new find, until the deck was complete, and the world was but a text to flip through at leisure. Peeling away from the woman, Andurïl strode along the path, soft ghosts following his steps. <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>"Why has the noisemaker come to a place such as this?"</b></font>
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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@Pandora
Oc: Sorry x.x It's horrible. I'm getting back into rp again so it might take a few posts first