|
|
Post by Saosin on Sept 10, 2009 9:03:28 GMT -5
S U R U L I A N [/color]  And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything
[/font][/color] What were these things called legends but the saga of a trail of tears and the broken and shattered memoirs of loss cradled within the arms of the helpless? Our beautiful raven with the broken wings knew of the word pain. And yet to see it as merely a word… was unfathomable. For he had pain rooted so deeply inside his soul that it had become all that he was, and in time, as if a parasite, it drained him. Eating away at everything he was and had ever wanted to be. Until it left him no more than an empty shell. A hardened exoskeleton that was war beaten and scared on the outside. Yet beyond those walls lay a hollowness that would surely never recover. Yes Surulian knew of pain, for he lived it in every waking day and every waking hour. He heard it whispered upon the breeze and felt it glide its gnarled fingers across his chest and take hold of whatever shadow of a heart he had left and squeeze…. Squeeze it until its suffocating pressure could cripple him to his knees. Surulian’s story was one of love and loss, his saga, one of tears and regret.
There was once a thriving world whose shores are far, far away from these rolling hills and thick forest landscape. Reykjavik had been a home like no other, a place where the stars had seemed to be born and the skies were near enough to touch. It had been his home, and though he had not been born there, he could think of nowhere else he could give such a title. It was there he had built slowly, upon the values of his forefathers, a pack that had thrived like none he had seen. They had been a brotherhood of friends and family that worked in perfect unison until the clouds of destruction and change had come. It was there that he had lent his heart, for the first time, unlocked that secret box and offered the key, ready and willing to give all that he had and more. But such stories do not always have the fabled endings we would choose for them. For you see the key had been taken along with the heart, and yet nothing had ever been given in return. He fought, as any would, with every breath he took, and every dream he dreamed. But all was for nothing. And in the end he was left only with regret and a hollow chamber within his chest as his heart had been ripped from it cruelly.
A year had passed since that time, the shadows that had claimed his body and spirited him away into the nether had rejected him, delivering him once more to the realm of the living. But to what purpose? Hadn’t he chosen to lie down in a nest of autumn leaves, never to rise again? His pack was gone, his home destroyed, the emptiness as painful as it ever had been. Why now did the winds call to him? Why now did the mother moon beckon his breath upon her rays and ask him to dance in her favor? Was there something worth living for out there somewhere? Was there a reason to rise up from the dust and live once more? These questions swirled about his heart like voices chiming in melody until he could take no more. And so he left what was, and began to walk the road that fate had constructed for him, and did not look back.
He traveled for months along the mountain chains as a loner who worried of nothing save the survival of one day to the next. He killed with vicious intent to live, and then moved on as if running from the possibility that chains would find him and bind him down and the cycle of heartache would once again be renewed. But the seasons began to wear away the destruction for past events, and perhaps those silent days of lonesome travel began to heal him without him knowing it. Forever would that sadness hang in his eyes for all that he had lost. But something had begun to grow as well. A new self, a new strength. The vibrancy that was a healthy youthful body was returning. The beauty of the world around him became more vivid instead of being veiled in shadow as it had for so very long. And with all of the cast around his shoulders like a shawl wavering in the breeze he approached the Ravilin boarders, threw back his head and let out a friendly bellowing howl. He wished to enter this pack, to be one with it, to thrive with it.
[/font][/color] All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I'll be
[/font][/color] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by Amanda on Sept 10, 2009 14:35:02 GMT -5
Kira, the lovely white daughter of Larka, had heard her mothers call and was skirting the boundaries to make her way to her family when she stopped all forward motion, auds pricked forth attentively. A deep resonating howl had come from startlingly close to her location.
A lone male was on the borders, and from what she could tell, was no threat to herself or her pack. Moving silently and swiftly, her creamy coat blending into the pale tree trunks, she made her way close to the male, but still within her borders.
Her breath caught in her throat as she laid her cerulean colored orbs upon him. So stark was his ebony coat compared to her snowy white fur that she was lost for words.
Regaining her composure and stepping out into the open, clear bright tones accompanied her words.
My name is Kira. I am the firstborn daughter of the Alpha here. Who might you be?
An inquisitive look was given, for it had been so long since she had seen a new face.
What stories does his heart hold? where have his paws traveled? How many stars have his eyes gazed upon and contemplated?
|
|
|
|
Post by Kaziph on Sept 10, 2009 14:40:06 GMT -5
A tiny spark of spite, in response, said. But how will she feel once she has to take care of "loyal" old Carrick? I'm sure she'll hate it just as much as you will.
He paused a moment, ears twitching. Had he heard that right? Another loner on the borders, asking for permission to enter the territory? Carrick knew better than to take the stranger into pack lands without Larka's permission... with how things currently were between her and himself, it'd be the end of his time in the clan. She might chase him out. Yet it wouldn't hurt to investigate, and it would buy him time away from her hot, golden eyes.
The old wolf, still large despite the effects of many seasons in the world, trekked through the silent forest. It was late summer, but the days were still hot even under the shelter of the trees. Their shadows cast strange patterns on the big canine's back, making his coat appear darker than it actually was. He finally came near the borders, close enough to scent the new wolf... a male. His growl rumbled from the depths of the forest, for he was still lurking within the underbrush, watching the outsider. Who are you, stranger? |
|
|
|
Post by Saosin on Sept 13, 2009 15:44:22 GMT -5
S U R U L I A N [/color] And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything
[/font][/color]
Anticipation and excitement rolled across every nerve fiber that traversed the entirety of the raven’s physique. How long had it been… how many months now... since he had felt such a spark of life kindle within his chest? He was actually yearning for something… reaching out with needy hands to grasp something that perhaps was not out of his reach. Of course he was not seeking to pluck the very stars from the indigo sky, or lull the pregnant moon from her celestial throne. No he was merely reaching out for hope… a hope for the future that may recollect the loose ties that was his soul. So many strings were left dangling from what had made up his previous life. Some of those heartfelt pieces of twice could never truly be mended. But there was some… like the need for a home, the structure and discipline of a pack, and the closeness that was friendship.
It did not take long before his needful call, which had resonated perhaps more boldly then he had meant to, was answered by a member of the reigning pack. She was as stark as her mother moon, ghostly as she haunted the timbers that she progressed through, approaching him confidently. The scent that surrounded her was of distinct female, but beyond that… it held all the intricate secrets of this land. The delicate aroma of ripening mulberries and the earthen smell of cedar and moist soil. Instinctively he made sure to lower his posture into a submissive one. And though it was not what he was used to, no pang of spite nor begrudging thoughts transpired, for this was the way of things, as ritualistic as the psalms sung unto the sky. And as he began to answer her simplest of questions, another, bolder, more masculine voice reverberated from the underbrush. The puppeteer of the baritone still out of his sight. Their questions, though answered in different ways, remained the same. And so as he took hold of his voice once more, he answered in an even tone which spoke of respect.
My name is Surulian and I come from lands far and away from here. I seek to join this pack if you would have me. I wish to bring no harm or threat to you and yours.
[/font][/color] All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I'll be
[/font][/color] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by Amanda on Sept 13, 2009 16:03:51 GMT -5
Kira, ever the gentle soul, untainted by her mother's troubles immediately relaxed. she was desperately lonely and quite sick of being in that state, so the sight of a friendly face who would talk to her, run with her, hunt with her, was a soothing balm to the ache that resided within her young heart.
Surulian? What an interesting name. You come from lands far away, so were we the first terra you happened upon? Or did the mountain wolves of the kameskai not strike your fancy?
Her gentle blue eyes sought his, hoping that her remark would not send him away to investigate the other pack, to see if perhaps they had more to offer than her family.
I cannot accept you, but my mother can. I will grant you temporary access so that we might find her together. Understood?
As she stepped forward to blend her scent with his own, she realized how foriegn he did smell, but it did not strike fear or prejudice within her, merely a curiosity as their scents mixed, she herself smelling slightly of his wild ways now.
Lifting her muzzle to scent the air, she moved off in the direction of her mother, leaving Carrick to remain hidden if he so chose.
|
|
|
|
Post by Kaziph on Sept 15, 2009 14:21:56 GMT -5
Carrick grumbled to himself as he realized that Kira was there, too, but he had no fight with her. There was no reason for him to go off to avoid the younger version of Larka, but it did irk him. He should have realized before she spoke that she was there. Was his nose not working properly anymore? It didn't matter. She had confronted the strange, black male. The loner's coat was in pure contrast to the majority of the pack. Carrick himself was something strange compared to Larka and Lorkan, and Zena's pelts.
He straightened his posture as Kira invited Surulian into the territory. The big wolf's nose wrinkled back as he caught a whiff of the loner's pelt, and he snorted to ride his snout of the rank smell. The wildness was foreign, and although parts of it reminded him of his birth-place in the north, it was also alien. He decided to trail behind them, not getting close enough to talk but staying near enough to be with them when they finally found Larka.
|
|
|
|
Post by Amanda on Sept 17, 2009 15:10:10 GMT -5
(post in the lunar fire thread, Larka's gonna need help, sending Kira there now)
|
|
