Vindico

Full Version: Migration of knowing
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<center><div style="background: url('http://oi57.tinypic.com/qoc1hu.jpg') no-repeat bottom; width: 650px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 410px; padding-top: 25px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #372e57"><font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>”Tell me than. Why is it that someone such as yourself is alone? Surely you have some sort of family lurking in the shadows ready to leash in your wanderlusting ways.”</b></font> Chuckling, Andrastë peered over her shoulder, the steep ground slowly levelling out as the pair finally reached the peak. The air was heavy with the white clouds surrounding the plateau, blotting out the emerald sea below. The winds howled around the crags, a eerie whistling pulling her senses this way and that, and yet, it was rather freeing, no matter what some would say about the isolation. She stepped over the ashen stones, eyeing the tangled green that somehow managed to grow so high up. And yet, when she breathed in, there was nothing to smell. The earth was barren of all traces of presence, a white canvas she could look upon, gazing upon its colour, and seeing nothing at all. Rather intriguing. An interesting place to be sure. The sounds behind her were the only indication that she wasn’t totally alone, the vibrant ghost behind her paying more attention to the ground than the woman probing him for answers since they had first set out.

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She had stayed quiet for the first league or so, focusing on the razor sharp ground, the sudden drops lining the paths, and cold wind ripping at her wings. But as time wore on, there was little to entertain herself with, and so minimal act of small talk had sprung up, true to its name, what with the few words exchanged between the two. This Andurïl was surely hard to crack, seeming perfectly content to watch the dust roll down incline from where her steps had disrupted its beds. Had it been anyone else, Andrastë would like to think him as boring. But there was surely something there, something that demanded her to waste these moments. He knew something she wanted to know, and it was this very clue that kept her landlocked, climbing cliffs she could have easily soared over. Now, on this island in a field of white, she finally turned to him full on, intending to give this mystery her full attention. Smiling, her wings pulled taunt to her sides, the woman eyed the man coming up over the hill. <font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>”Do you believe in the gods?”</b></font>
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<font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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<center><div style="background: url('http://i.imgur.com/XplJuLN.png') no-repeat top; width: 600px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 525px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #ecccbb">His thoughts were jolted from their aimless wanderings as once more, this womans words stabbed through his usual contemplation. Andurïl was a simple man at heart, one that took comfort in the whispers of the world around him, and the ease of which he could hear them. There was something particularly important to him about being aware of the unseen, knowing what to expect, even before they had risen from the dark in which vile things hid. It was this very reason that the man was content in his own loneliness, for over time, he had come to understand the inanimate. Now, with the presence of this woman who decided he was in desperate need of company had arrived, Andurïl found he was growing increasingly irritated.
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And yet, there seemed there was little he could do in regards to this woman, without either… ditching her or attacking her. Both of which were looking to be plausible actions. Sighing, he shot a glance up towards the source of the inquiring words, a brilliant flash of purple against the grey stone and green grass. Strange…. It was oddly vibrant up here. Ears rolling forward, he looked around the expanse of open ground, eyeing the rich flora that carpeted ever available surface. It seemed rather bizarre, given how far above ocean level it was, and how the cloud coverage was below them.
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It was reasonable to be cautious, his silver eyes assessing the ground before he drew closer, the feathers on his back rising with a tension that pulled his spine taunt. Something was off about this place, something…. otherworldly? <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>”No… its just me,”</b></font> he murmured, shifting around a hulk of stone in his way, claws clicking over the hard surface. He was interested by this place, everything about it telling him there was more than what he was seeing. <b><font style="color:#62021a;">”Gods have never been something I believed in. They are but… shields put up to understand that which we have no right to understand.”</b></font>
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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<center><div style="background: url('http://oi57.tinypic.com/qoc1hu.jpg') no-repeat bottom; width: 650px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 410px; padding-top: 25px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #372e57">It was odd watching this man go about his natural motions, the intense care he put into everything he did. Each step was made as if weighted and measured, each gaze seeing so much. His body moved with an ease few of his stature could pull off, weaving complex tracks through the grass. Andrastë gave him those moments to do what he did, allowing her the opportunity to see him unguarded. it was as if he had forgotten she was even there, to intrigued he was with his current surroundings. Humming, settling her rump on the ground, the Stark narrowed her eyes, tail curling possessively over her hips.
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So he truly was alone. It… oddly fit his personality. Andurïl didn’t seem the type that got along well with others. He didn’t even seem the type that necessarily liked other wolves. Perhaps he was more at home in the dark woods he wandered, or perhaps he felt safer putting leagues between him and those who could hurt him. Maybe he had been hurt before. It was an thought that was both disturbing, and so… riveting. She may have been a cruel thing, finding fascination in anothers injuries. But the cause of pain was usually the thing that could offer insight to the inner workings of this puzzle she so wanted to solve. Dive into barely healed scars, get a reaction from the sturdy man.
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Everything bled after all.
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He spoke of being a non believer, which furthered her own assumption of some great wrong having been done to him. Turning her head, looking at him from the side, Andrastë spoke slowly, <font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>”So you don’t believe in anything than?”</b></font>
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<font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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<center><div style="background: url('http://i.imgur.com/XplJuLN.png') no-repeat top; width: 600px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 525px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #ecccbb"><font style="color:#62021a;"><b>”I believe the sun will rise again once it vanishes beneath the horizon at dusk. I believe in the ever turning seasons, their course final and constant. I believe in the path of the rivers, flowing from deep lakes under these very mountains.”</b></font> Cocking his head, Andurïl looked to her, his gaze eyeing this woman who asked such strange questions.<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>”I believe in plenty of things. I just don’t believe in things I cannot see.”</b></font>
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It was foolish after all to follow words spoken of blindly. He could never understand the pull of the gods, their might this great thing that coerced the endless masses to bend to the wills of those who spoke in the name of these nameless gods. He had always thought it was ridiculous, this fear driven desperation to have meaning behind every action in life. Why did the sun have to come up, if for no other reason than behind the command of a great force. Why couldn’t it just come up for no other reason than it was the way it was? Sighing, he shook his head, not wanting to dwell in these thoughts, long having spent endless hours lounging in the shadows, watching the light glisten off the rain drop hued spider webs, clinging to the frail limbs of fresh sprigs. Instead, he looked to her, his neck wedged between tense shoulders. <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>”What about you? Do you believe in gods? Do you believe we are all born with some great purpose upon our shoulders, ready to crush us beneath the weight if we look away?”</b></font>
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It sounded harsh, halting any further discussion. The anger <b>he</b> so desperately tried to keep at bay snarled just under his breast, hating this woman for bringing about irrationality to his decisions. Perhaps it was better to just sit back, allow himself to breath, but than, it wasn’t unusual for one such as Andurïl, one so often left in an endless drift to rebel against those who questioned his motives, his way of life. He didn’t like that she hadn’t asked to accompany him, didn’t like that she was probing him with questions about his own opinions. He didn’t like that he was responding. Huffing, the dense train at his heels swung loosely over the ground, moving towards the edge of the plateau at the other side, wanting to get in order the reason he had come up here in the first place. Walking as he was, he entertained himself by watching the lazy flow of whisking clouds around the damp stone below, the faint breaks in its surface offering visions of glistening seas and deep rolling forests.
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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<center><div style="background: url('http://oi57.tinypic.com/qoc1hu.jpg') no-repeat bottom; width: 650px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 410px; padding-top: 25px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #372e57">
Religion was always a touchy subject. It could so easily ruffle feathers, so easily turn someone's world sideways. Andrastë may not have been an avid follower in her years on earth but she liked to listen to another opinion. Some of the greatest inquiries of the land and the origins of life could spring from conversations brought forth under divine light. Responses that said much able the person speaking the words. Andurïl was a man with of rationality. He was a man that refused to relinquish control because to do so would let in the unknown. The once quiet loner grew cold, his scent tainted by the madness that came from a cornered animal, as if he was about to fight for his life. Perhaps he thought he'd need to.
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Andrastë watched him walk away, her eyes set on the harsh rise of his shoulders, his keen awareness of the world around him. Intriguing, yet, at the same time, there was something there that whispered a dark past. He was someone who had seen the twisted reality of life and managed to survive the confrontation. She'd seen far to many fall to the corruption. Why believe in something that had never done anything for him? A reasonable approach to life, but than, it was highly hypocritical. One had to help themselves before another would. Andrastë mulled over his questioned, toeing the edge of his sanctuary before attempting to breaching the walls once more, deciding to go for a different route this time. <font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>"Its a romantic thought I suppose; believing in strings of fate and such. But I'd like to think there is something besides this life, this reality. All there is is... Struggle and suffering. But there's also joy and goodness. Maybe instead of destiny, you only have to make the most of what you have."</b></font> <p><p>
<font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>"But than maybe that is foolish thinking and we are indeed play things for those bigger than us. As you said, there are some things we cannot possibly hope to understand."</b></font> Chuckling, she sidled up next to him, her cynical nature rising up even as she played the part of inquisitive philosopher. Her clan had never been really spiritual, far to set in their ways of the here and now. Titus Stark as an ambitious man, believing only in his own power. If gods truly did exist at they had blessed him. Or found amusement in the agony of those who fell upon his sword. Gazing out over the clouds, the woman mused, cocking her head to the side. <font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>"I think we might be to high to see much of anything."</b></font>
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<font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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<center><div style="background: url('http://i.imgur.com/XplJuLN.png') no-repeat top; width: 600px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 525px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #ecccbb">He listened to her, listened to the opinions of the stranger he knew not, knew only as a woman who came down from the sky an demanded his attention. Perhaps this would be the only time they met, perhaps this would be one of many moments, 'destiny' calling them together to force these questions into existence. He did not know. All that he was sure of was that he had much to think about in this moment, the prods bringing forth a deeper knowing, questions rising that he wanted answered. It was Andurïl's way, one that he had always fell upon when the celestials were questioned, when his beliefs were brought to focus. He didn't want to say he didn't believe in anything, but it was hard not to hold such a harsh stance when life could be so cruel. It was only them, it was only their hand that drove the purpose of their lives, not some grand creation that decided for them the desires of their heart.
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>"I suppose we'll never truly know,"</b></font> he mused, looking out over the rolling clouds, a sea of white interspersed with glimpses of the world below. Separate and unfeeling to the trials he knew lay beneath the curtain that was pulled tight. Humming, he'd stand from his seat, looking over at her for a moment, only to step down onto the ledge below. It could be a cowardly move, he knew, running away from the questions he did not want to answer, and yet, it was something he did not yet wish to face. His purpose up here on this rock was found to be futile anyways; there was nothing to see of the mortal plane from here. <font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Perhaps it means we are meant to stay closer to earth. Or perhaps... there is just nothing to see up here."</b></font> Flashing a grin, he'd drop down out of sight, moving along the steep slopes down towards the clouds, a pale beast that would engulf him, and steal him back down to land.
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<center>-Exit-</center>
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<font style="color:#62021a;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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<center><div style="background: url('http://oi57.tinypic.com/qoc1hu.jpg') no-repeat bottom; width: 650px;"><div style="padding-right: 25px; padding-left: 25px; padding-bottom: 410px; padding-top: 25px; font-family: georgia; text-align:justify; font-size:12px; color: #372e57">He was a ghost, a man that clung to the fabric of lost times, where the damned were forgotten and the blessed knew not what they possessed. She watched him go, humming softly beneath her breath as the crimson man vanished into the veil, falling back to earth as he fled the thoughts to grand for him to yet accept. An interesting creature, a man with potential. So many of the sort on these lands, capable of grand and prosperous things, if they would but relinquish their hold upon what they thought was normal and right. He seemed to sit on the edge, not quite falling to one side or the other, yet, with time, perhaps a gale would come that was strong enough to set him upon the path. A path that might yet create something memorable in these lands. Chuckling, her wings unfurling from against her sides, the woman would glance over her shoulder, towards the stones and the stillness, towards the warm air that existed, yet was so high above the ground. Perhaps gods were something mortals took for granted, or perhaps, they could exist. Titus always believed in them, and though he was a ambitious man, he prayed to them every night. This alone spoke of the power belief held over another.
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<center>-Exit-</center>
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<font style="color:#8b72a6;"><b>Speak</b></font>
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