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Darkness and fog covered and cloaked the swamplands of the south. Autumn kissed the land in an evening fog that masked all in haze, turning the usual threatening suffering swamp into an eerily peaceful place of seclusion. For you see all those day travelers were surely to have returned home. Safe in their warm beds. So when a brown creature moves through the woods and slop on the outskirts of the swamp he seems to be only creature for miles. It’s hard to tell if he cares. In fact, it’s hard to tell even what he is at first. Four brown caked legs drag like leaden shovels through the waters, stumbling and mangled in pace. What appears to be the head is low, brushing against the swamp grasses. Brown continues to coat it and the horns rising from it, but eyes are absent, closed under the weight of more mud. Body is laden with the same themes, only this time added to drying mud comes strange red marks upon the creature’s hip. In all, it’s a completely unrecognizable swamp creature. You would never know it did not belong to the depths of the muddy waters, that is, until you noticed the small gold coat peeking through cracks in the dry mud.
It was indeed, the golden son. Though his coat usually so vibrate and full of pride has literally been dragged through the mud. He walks, if you can call that pained step that, from the Threshold, past events he wishes to forget. Perhaps that’s why he continues on, even though danger has passed long ago. Perhaps he wishes to pass out completely. Truly let darkness slip in. Make him forget. He had been so sure, so proud. So secure that his toned body and fighting skill were returned. The gold had been wrong. It ruined him. His hip was not just strange, it was pained, cuts deep and crossing mangled his flesh and was becoming flustered under the dried mud and sweat. These were nothing serious though. Nothing life threatening to cause this beast to wander the swamp lost. Mind could always overcome matter. That was always a solid thought, but his mind had broken too. Memories and words were indeed cruel weapons to wield. Their wounds cut so much deeper, and stung so much longer. Unlike flesh they never healed.
Ground rose to a small land bridge in the swamp, but those earth eyes remained closed. So when cloven hooves, struggling as it was to carry their burden on the uneven floor, crashed into the bank they failed him. Body, for the fifth time that day came crashing down, and this time it did not rise. Stillness returned to the swamp with a low groan bringing back in the silence.
Swamp waters ate away at the mud, revealing more of the golden coat, but even with his returning features, the golden was near unrecognizable. Eyes remained closed, mind reflected the darkness of the swamp, and he did not move. It was as he wished it. The golden son could not return to the north in this state, he should be in the Throat by now. So he’d traveled south. That prideful man was tamed, but it could not rid him of it completely. He would suffer whatever hell demanded to avoid being caught in this state. Even deadbeats have standards. Near dead he was. Dead to the world. Dead to his body. Dead in his mind. He only knew he lived through his continued pain, and even that was slipping away in fevered, and long desired sleep.
OOC :: He's just sleeping. =]
"speech"
If I die young,
Buried in mud,
Nevermore golden sun,
Setting into the red blood.
Buried in mud,
Nevermore golden sun,
Setting into the red blood.
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
