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04-13-2016, 09:59 AM
The night breeze was intoxicating. With the moon overhead, and the stars shining like guiding beacons, the night was practically calling its watchers out. So the golden had answered. Up from the maze he had come, leaving the dark stag sleeping in the hedge. The deer had been his night nurse for over a week now and the gold had had enough of the constant attention and concern. He was the golden thief, he did not need the constant watch like some porcelain doll. Alright sure a few deep cuts still scored his hide a bit gruesomely from his spar with the tiger. Still, it did not call for twenty tone of bubble wrap. Coming out from the maze, the slight northwestern breeze whispered in, softly caressing the nape of the golden’s neck, and playing like a tease with his long white locks. Shaking his head out of the intoxicating simplicity, he slipped into the night. ------ How he had ended up going this direction he was not sure. He perhaps could have blamed his inability to find a sense of direction from up here, but the coincidence was a bit much. You see the golden was no longer golden. He had taken to the skies as the bay Pegasus, and was gliding north. How splendid it had been at first. The gold had never really enjoyed the gift of flight, but tonight it was sensuous. Up here in the cold night air, the breeze running through each feather and hair, he was even more intoxicated by it all than upon the ground. That was till he realized where he was headed. Looming in through moonlight, rising like sentries of a stronghold stood the mountains. Perhaps to any other creature it wouldn’t have mattered, and his only requirement had been to escape Haldir’s watch. It wasn’t that he couldn’t go there unnoticed, about his body was wrapped the familiar and ever faithful invisibility cloak, so his flight was neither seen nor heard. Yet, still he could not go north. North….lay rosen shadows, and frozen creatures. No he didn’t want to end up there. Turning off west the golden made to circle back. As he turned the wind blew from behind him. Wings wobbled and strained, trying to keep the flight manageable, yet he had been ages since he had truly tested this ability. A sudden gust ends it all as it throws him into a dive, and the recovery resulted in the sparsely healed wounds of the tiger reopening with a vengeful pain. That’s how he ended up here. ----- World’s Edge. Wrapped in the fog of the coming dawn it practically glowed in the still strong moon. Several moons ago this would have been forbidden, those at his collar would have tightened it beyond measure to see him sneak so boldly in. But now. A wild grin had grown on his lips. Now he could walk where ever he choose (he said to himself). Now nothing held his hands back. It was an addicting adrenaline rush. All around him the scents of others marked the border, and yet he made no move to leave, even changing back into his golden coat. There was only one downside. A deep cut upon his shoulder had reopened, and the thin trail of red could be felt hot upon his leg. Each step was then tainted with a limp, and a small drop of red followed him where he walked. But he was not in a forgiving mood. The pain was easily sidetracked for his vanity and pride. Grounded though his body may now be, his spirit was anything but. Besides how often do you sneak into another’s camp? He had to make the most of the occasion. Limping through the brush (his only surrender to the pain being a few hitched breaths and careful avoidance of anything touching the wound) came to the edge of the land, earth eyes looking over with command. Fog was rising up from the sea, causing the cliff to truly be the World’s Edge. Still a cold winter wind blows in from the north, brushing down his back, and sending a familiar chill down his spine. His harks pin back as he looks towards the offending mountains beyond, just breaking through the mists, and silhouetted by the moon. Bastards they were reminding him, even here, that he had been imprisoned within. Now he would show them. Even now see the red trailing down his leg. See the wounds the snapped metal, and ripped ropes left as he tore that collar off. Teeth reach back and pull from his body the precious cloak, storing it in the satchel at his side. His golden coat glimmers like dust into sight. Here, says he. Here he stands in the face of the mountains, boldly, irrationally, (stupidly?) where they would not have let him. His crowned head held high, and harks pinned back he snorts towards the snowcapped sentries. He was the golden son. He was the crowned thief. See even here the wounds he bore proudly from his escape of the damnable stronghold. See the wild and reckless thief unleashed into the night. It was a strange display, with seemingly little purpose. Yet, perhaps not so strange if you knew that within those mountain walls rested a rosen figurine. The golden might not be separating the two, but the echoes her voice still rang in his head. He was not hers. He was not the mountains’. He stands here within sight of them, or even her, defiant in his rebellion. A pathetic attempt to deny what was clearly there. For had he been truly free of the rose, he would not have ended up north to begin with. A low laughter rolls from his chest towards the mountains, vanishing any of these thoughts. The red stained leg, stomped into the ground (sending pain shooting up, but he weathers it like metal). How much chaos had been contained in those mountains, the world was about to find out. "talk talk talk" OOC:: Open to all! Summary: He lands as an invisible peg with a bleeding wound (so you're welcome to track that), and then goes to the cliffs, shifting into himself and taking off his invisibility cloak. There he stands for any to find, though I know @Alune and @Tembovu had mentioned they might be interested. Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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