the Rift


[OPEN] Time to Up the Medication

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#1
Time to up the medication,
Give me a little more liberation,
Perhaps a little consolation,
Can be found in annihilation.

The smell of bitter copper is nearly overwhelming. Golden limbs, tipped with cloven hooves step into the opening from the trees, then pause to survey the scene. It had only been two days since this was a more, active area. Now it was literally dead. Wolf bodies lie contorted and lifeless across the smooth grounds. A cluster closer to the gates of the valley were burned, stabbed or still singed with other forms of magic. Scavengers had felt the tingle of ill will and left all these bodies alone. Then, more towards the center of the valley two others lay one crushed, and the other feeling a little holey. Snickers slip through those sly lips as he moves towards the two last forms.

There is a hitch in this though. Literally. The usual smooth glide of the golden youth is broken by a lurch at his hip. The problem trails down though trails down to his hind. What had been healing well not only the night before when he ventured to the Steppe was now swollen and painful. The gold had washed away in the lake that morning as he had the day before the gore from it which repulsed him. It was not that he didn't mind a little blood. The wounds on his shoulder and front hock he bared well, but this one was not exactly a proud war wound anymore. It had become more of a suffering annoyance. The golden was still new to the lands, and knew not of any healers in the herd of his, so he kept it to himself, hoping by and by it would ease.

The pain was dulled only by the oncoming thoughts of the task ahead. Stepping up to the two fallen bodies the gold's mouth was wicked with delight. He had promised to have their hides and he would. Moving to the one a little less wholesome than the other the thin nares and earth eyes surveyed the damage done. This one had been the more troublesome of the two. Having grabbed his leg in the rock outcropping he had been kicked off, but racing to the rescue of the other wolf being trampled by those cloven hooves (while, the gold would like to point out, grabbing at his front hock ruthlessly). Rushing to his comrade’s aid the wolf lept up and attempted to grab the gold’ hind again, but this time he wasn’t quick enough. Leaving the near trampled figure the gold had swung around horns blazing. The poor wolf had tried to escape, even leaping further to the flames he feared to escape, singing his maw. It was too late though and he faced down the spears upon the gold’s head and lost. In his struggles his hind claws did leave a slash on the golden’s shoulder, but not very deep. The damn beast had been hard to pull off from his perch atop the gold’s horns, but the satisfaction of the action’s vengeance was satisfying. Now the golden was paying for it as he kept the weight off his hind, so the furred brute would pay again.


It took nearly an hour to get the first hide off. And the blood now at his hooves, and dripping from his horns and maw from were not exactly stylish. Yet it was satisfying. Like a good ruse in bed after being teased he felt powerful, even as he could not walk straight. Thankfully due to the time lapse, there wasn’t enough to make it a true gore fest. Dragging the hide to the other carcass he mused over how to complete it. It would need to be washed, then stretched. He was sure there was a supply of salt in one of these caves, but the work was not exactly thrilling, at least not as much as this step was. Horns cut at the second hide and began to pull it off. In another hour or so the gold was nearly complete. His teeth pulling the last from the wolf, before tossing it on top of the other. Sides heaving with the effort he stood proudly surveying his catch, thinking of future uses. Even his twice bit hind, though still held gingerly and had grown once again ill looking, was not remembered for it too rejoiced in the revenge found. So secure in his thoughts and villainous act that he was oblivious to what went on around him, or rather who went around him.



"Speech"
Tag;;@[Lena]
OOC;; Lena first please, then feel free to join if you'd like.
Notes;; Thranduil has an infection in his right hind leg where he was bitten twice. Not much tendon damage, just painful. Also wounds on shoulder and left front hock but those are shallow and healing well.
He also collects two wolf hides.

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#2


The borders were a hushed aftermath, and like bare, thin, glimpses beyond the veneer, the world portrayed the sullied void; the pristine grandeur of the peaks, of the valleys, threatened and endangered, then the warning, the omen, the reckoning, destroyed and decomposing. Like painted runes, the kingdom told a brief, epic story, collisions of ice and protection, of brutality and preservation, of all the savageness immersed deep into their souls, how far, how quickly, they were doomed and destined to repeat it. She too had been among the gathered, vivid, bright, brilliant strength condensed into barbaric wrath and wily, artful machinations – for a time, like so many others before her, desecrating iniquity while invoking and kindling the flames of her own debauchery. Still, quiet, listless, her heart beat as a monolith, as a stone, as a shard of rubble, languid in the distant anarchy, stare seizing the scene, posturing it along her mind as another poignant image for the future, rotting denizens and keen carnivores, searching and agonizing, lusting and yearning, and how she’d taken a part in their annihilation – whether or not she should be proud of the latter. Imogen sat beside her hooves, a triumphant statue, a glazed form of the beauty, the tranquility, the allure of danger and its potency, fire and brimstone, rigor and malice, the coaxing fuel and whims to Lena’s inner quandaries, and the maiden gestured to her companion with a wan, dim, faint, weak smile, before glancing towards the fallen canines, soon to be buried beneath the weight of winter and the forgotten opus of treachery. They’d be lost souls, tragic and bleak, trapped in only idle memories, when tempers rose, flared, when guardians united, when sentinels lumbered, when even her lustrous grins were sullied and turned to dust. Not as crisp, not as worn, not as tethered and shackled as the invasions or wars, but enough of a glint, enough of a rasp, to scrape against her ribs and bones, reminding her of the licentious lacquer and layers strewn amongst her thorny soul. Spilled secrets, noxious passions, specious, capricious moments scattered and thrown, tossed into the inferno, gathered for speculation and contortion; she drove her features into grim, stoic composure, like the calm, unflappable wind, and struggled to regain the inner serenity, the bubbling boldness, the clever audacity, and the brazen compassion she’d forgotten in the chilling air.

Another maneuvered along the carcasses, sleek and golden, putting the corpses to use instead of silent, unsung burials. She didn’t recognize the stag, couldn’t put a name to a face, but examined him all the same from her rime hill, soft and distorted along her little icy knoll. Curiosity, inquiry and regard, reared its careful head, and the more she studied, the more she fixated, the more she analyzed and surveyed, she noted the wounds, the limp, the faltering in his stride. Perhaps he’d been amongst the din, the throng, battling the earth, the travesty, for a touch of power, for a caress of menace, putting down the malicious intentions of another predator, then became caught in the ripping, snapping jaws of their opponents. Maybe he’d been a recent player in a spar, chasing down dreams of glory and massacre, one day leading the charge for their worthy brethren, felled and pierced by an ally. The Mender’s inaudible assessment ceased, and her silken footsteps pattered amongst the Orangemoon follies, courting laurel petals and the last, dim rays of autumn sunshine, carefully tracing over the fine filaments of finesse and dulcet grandeur; tenderly wrapping her alms in a speechless gesture. His wounds, as she gained closer access, festered and brewed toxic indulgences, brooding only the feral indignation of a lasting infection if not treated immediately – it required strength beyond her aria intimacy, her singsong virtues, her bird beneficence. The sylph harkened into the chambers of her powers, possessed and seized the arches of time, the sweeping hands of fate, closed her eyes and gave into the puissant blend of hours, moments, junctures, seconds, and days, coveted the past and relished the future, swept the intangible, incorporeal, threads of a Gods’ influence. They swam, they floated, they caressed over the deep lacerations, the moldering brambles, the toxic ministrations, until what was once rotten and menacing became smooth and opulent, radiant and gilded, as if naught had ever pierced through the heart, through the sinew, through the flesh of his limber figure. Her gaze, opened and alive once more, glanced towards the pockets of previously torn measures, and only regained the open gesture of a smile when she’d witnessed closure and invisible sutures. Imogen, cascading in ivory dances and wry waltzes, pranced at her side, tilting her head towards the stag. Eventually, amongst the mystery and labyrinth, the songbird parted her lips and sang a mellifluous harmony. “Are you well, sir?”


Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#3
My salvation?
Or agitation?


venous grin, looks at his finished haul. It fills his need, and the void in his smooth lines caused by his pains and wounds. A temporary patch to be sure, but the thrill of this, admitted, twisted form of justice is just the distraction he had been looking for. It did well at its job, in fact, too well. It was not till time was indeed almost mended when he stepped his hind hoof down and felt not the anticipated sharping ache. Senses were wakened, and a tightening, solid feeling was returning to his muscles and flesh. Harks flirted back and to the side. Brought from his trance the golden quickly noted the oncoming bay. Her eyes opened and looked with smile towards his hind. Twisting his neck back in a confusion and warning anger, the golden found his hind, sound, solid, and a little less holey. Twin horns swing back up, earth eyes taking the mare in with more weight, but less hostility.

It was the first time the gold had felt this land’s healing touch, and it was strange, leaving him with an unsettled suspicion. Relief though also flooded his veins, and a tension that had acted like a dam, was released. Looking on the smooth, sweet bay the golden was, in a word, perplexed. A mixture of unease, and yet, relief. His awkwardness must be excused, as he looks rather sharply at the one who had just a moment ago healed him. For, the golden son was not used to being offered kindnesses. It was a hard world, with teeth nastier than the wolves who lay on the permafrost ground in all their gore. Now this sweet thing had simply waltzed up and done him a favor without even having to make him ask. It was a strange thing indeed to be on the end of such kindness, and he hadn’t even had to trick her to get it.

The sweet thing was not exactly new to him. Nor did all those meetings match the current view of her. He had seen her in the herd meeting to be sure, and new her to be a Time Mendor, but to him, that meant little. If had meant more then he would have searched for her instead of his hides. However, he had also seen her fighting these very wolves. Well, not just her. Earth eyes glance down to a white fur ball. Everyone in this crazy land seemed to have a pet or two. This one though was a curious one. He knew the thing must be some firecracker, as the wolf attack suggested, but for now, his attention was caught by the creatures multitude of tails. Who all did it have to steal those from?

Oh, but remember your manners. The sweet one addressed you as sir. Finally a unicorn in this place who wasn’t sarcastic, or bitchy. This sweet thing was a curious creature. Still, she had done him a favor, however uneasy her generosity made him. So the golden body faces her and nods gently. “Now thanks to you sweet lady.” The willing kindness without a known motive was strange. Even though he let this all slip out with ease and grace, it was making him rather uncomfortable inside. Hopefully that would end soon. Time to get this game rolling before he became even more in debt to the girl. “Thranduil, at your service.” It was a common reply, but this time the golden actually felt indebted to the sweet thing, and it added more meaning. That was not something the gold was entirely ‘well feeling’ about.



"Speech"
Tag;;@[Lena]
OOC;;
Notes;;

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#4


Bloodshed and war was always the quickest to unfurl and took the longest to forget; the patterns, the traces, the sketches of benediction, of compassion, she always hoped to inspire, longed to weave, forever unraveled at the slightest fabrication of disaster. The boughs of time curled back in on themselves, an effervescent, inaudible flow and rapture, reeling back into her frame on a withered sigh and a honeyed breath, collected for future use, buried and intertwined amidst the pinnacles of stalwart veins and the rancorous contortion of anomalies. Her artful eyes speculated, studied the beast standing before the set of nymphs, as the remnants of hours and moments chased away the bitter entrails of wounds and lacerations, examining all over again; he seemed ill at ease, executing sharp movements and motions, either by startled by beneficence or the barren mantle of the unknown, casting hollowed shades of uncertainty. Along the bridge of his burgeoning, brimming, brewing hostility, she was a laureled figure, a paragon of silence, standing amongst the fallen with ethereal airs and vital spirits; undaunted by the masks and plays of truculent, vitriolic passions, too aware of the barbs barbarians threw, always clad in valorous armor, awaiting some feral strike. Instead of kindling prior machinations, instead of bending to the will of friction and recoil, she pieced together the glory, the glow, the hallowed exterior of her smile, dreamed and prayed relief and soothing measures would follow him through the darkening treads and vile distortions, not the bestial, barbaric venue of the shackled, tethered snares – the treachery, the danger, blooming and looming with wanton wiles. But there’s an alteration in his demeanor, a gentling, either he extinguished the needles and quills for her, or left it fleeting and stored within his frame, for mere instances later his generosity flowed amongst the chilling air, and she couldn’t find the venom, the vitriol, potentially laced within its touch. A thanks, a name, fluttered and flew about the rime and glaciers, and she, perhaps too immersed in the gratitude, in the plunge of certainty that she’d restored instead of ripped apart (a continuing bounty of forgiveness and betrayal, blood thicker than water, thicker than castles, thicker than peaks and valleys at the most unforgiving of moments), drew her grin into a brighter splendor and extended a bow to the golden stag.

Imogen didn’t do the same, considering the corpses around her, pleased to find scorch marks lanced across their pelts. The Mender, the songbird, the sylph and fairy, granted her namesake amongst the christened tides, provided avenues and rivulets of curiosity and scrutiny fixated in his stare. “A pleasure, Thranduil. I’m Lena, one of the Time Menders. This,” she paused, gaze lowering to find the ivory vixen’s frame curled and tucked against her foreleg, as if she were not musing on burned, charred bits of dust and power, “is my companion, Imogen.” The aforementioned beloved narrowed her eyes and raised her cranium towards Thranduil, tilting her head in what would be an amusing display, had her fixation not appeared so sagacious and crafty, an uncanny glimpse into the protective embrace between fostered spirits. Lena, seemingly none the wiser, riveted her mellifluous tones, her harmonic embraces, her aria, nightingale treaties, and soothing chords into ensuring the wounded had been fully tended. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”


Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#5
Its all black and white,
As different and separate
As day and night,
This kindness desperate.


The sweet girl seems to take no note of his unease. The golden, though always ready to credit his skills, cannot attribute this to some craftily made mask. That simple bay, remains solid in her kindnesses and it flows like a natural spring, easy and pure. Even his unhidden unease can no dam that sweet stream which grins within the mountain passes. The girl seems to take even more pleasure in his half put together, and seriously unsettled introductions. The weight it had carried had caused his speech to smooth out, and he was working on the rest of his features to curb them. But a bow? Front limb steps back as she dips her sweet grace to his twin horns. Hope that her previous kindness was a fluke was quickly disappearing.

At least her pet seemed in tune with reality. As the sweet thing made her introduction as Lena, and the gold dips his head in return, she also mentions her pet. It certainly if given the chance to change places with its bonded would not have done the same. At least not immediately. That was clear in those eyes. Sure, it was sort of a cute thing, small white, and fluffy. Those eyes though. Hard and sharp, did not hold the same timeless grace and ease of the one at whose feet it sat. Hark leans back but the sweet thing seems to take no notice of her own pet’s more realistic outlook on this stallion skinning wolves. Those sweet words, which match the angelic like frame questions him the more on any other task, and it puts the golden in even more of a bind.

Golden son almost thankful nothing else was wrong with his fit frame. Any more acts of selfless kindnesses might disturb his own inner peace. True there were a few more cuts, one on his shoulder and front limb, but the golden would not be even more in debt to another. Once was enough. So finally, he seems to manage a smile on his lips, though nothing compared to her pure one, “Thankfully not.” Besides the others were half healed on their own and bore not outside bacterial invasions. There had to be some reason though this sweet mare was being so helpful. The gold had met kindnesses before but she did so without hope of return. She asked no favors, no trade, and certainly brought no blackmail to bare. Her face held no mask, for lies could not claim that pure grace coming from her soul. Well, no lies except for his. Unlike her though, he was not one to freely give out kindnesses, even if they were deserved. Her purity tore down any quick evil schemes or plots that were usually his securities, leaving the golden little to say. Mind was jolty and slow to turn as his suspicion had been, so it was a moment before he spoke. “Your companion is a curious one…” Hoping the sweet thing would take it as a starting point until he could completely wake up and warm up his mind. It was getting there though, for instance he began to wonder what a sweet thing as she was doing in the dark holes of the Basin. Saints may be the saviors of the damned, but they usually did not live among them.


"Speech"
Tag;;@[Lena]
OOC;; He'll get more interesting conversation in a minute, he's still recovering from shock of her. XD
Notes;;

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#6


A hushed feeling of unease sprinkled and speckled its way through her spine: at first, a slender drop scattered along her bones, nourished perhaps by Imogen’s inward thoughts and the slinking aloofness of the stag, but as more pieces fell and came together, as silence strung through the boughs of fallen carcasses and wayward paths, the coiled fronds of foreboding prickled in her chest, through her veins, out in the curling plumes of her mellifluous breath. She didn’t ask why he skinned the flesh off of the deceased (for armor, for frigid evenings?), how he acquired his wounds (perhaps the same as all of them, brandishing their swords into the fray at a threat to the herd?), or why the nettling notion settled so precariously along her frame – even Imogen found it difficult to explain. But the Mender, the songbird, the sylph, had fostered and nourished apprehension before, dealt with it through the plaguing harpsichords of their livelihoods, and usually conquered it through two avenues: either amidst determination, a scalding precipice flanked by courage and might, or by avoiding it altogether, prospering herself in another time, another place, where the outreaches of villainy, plotting, ruses, and schemes were left to the darker folds and reaches of their potent landscape. Though she wasn’t certain, fluttered with a perceived consternation with no way to conceive why or how, the latter choice became the most beneficial. She wouldn’t intrude, she wouldn’t know, and both could go about their business relatively unscathed, hidden, specious, either never certain about the others’ iron clad secrets. Whether or not he could snatch and snare her sudden trepidation was another matter; her smile remained encompassed in wholesome, candid livelihood, but now didn’t quite reach her eyes. In fact, she nearly turned to leave altogether after the golden one, so unlike, so furtive, than her steadfast Roland, informed her he had no more wounds for her to soothe, had he not mentioned Imogen.

Lena, a purveyor of information and wisdom she happened to grasp along her journeys, always cherished the notion of storytelling, whittling away spells, crafting musings of the details and knowledge she’d acquired throughout her crusades. To leave another who’d inquired, who’d mentioned, who seemed genuinely curious about the world around them left her vexed and disheartened, and even as he conjured a strange, peculiar atmosphere, she dared not tread away from a willing compatriot. Her gaze fluttered down to the mentioned kitsune, and their stares met, the solidified bond between angels and blackguards posturing a difficult query; but both remained so brilliantly stalwart that neither flickered away from Thranduil’s trailing statement. The nymph’s fixation flourished back to the mysterious, enigmatic stallion, inclining her head in her own inquisitive motion, leaving the wily, cunning threads creeping along the back of her mind, spreading, blossoming, in petal soft streaks and strands. “How so?” Maybe he’d never seen a companion up close and drifting beside their chosen; though the sentiment seemed far-fetched and implausible with so many amongst the Basin constituent. The ivory fox, with her unbidden spirit, uttered one vague chirp towards his incantation, perhaps informing him he was of the same curious void.


Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#7



It had been a season or so since his decision to stake a place in this world, and throughout it there was one aspect of its strange customs that had irritated him since his arrival. Pets. Most seemed to have the most curious, suspicious, probing pets. They always eyed and questioned, hissed, and cried out. Always disliking the golden son. Granted for good reason, but still. This pet however, or rather companion, was not that much different. It stood between its bond’s legs, wavering those multitude of tails, with eyes seeking to find harsher motives than the sweet thing. So to say that he was actually what the golden desired to know more about was, an utterly deep lie in itself. True the thing was pretty, but they always had their suspicions. Perhaps to trick someone’s pet is the most rigorous of trials. Perhaps we’ll even try it now.

So the golden shifts his weight slightly. Blood was drying about him like some mangled gore. Not the best conditions. A little blood never hurt any figure, but as the golden became aware, this was particularly, unsetting. So he grins slightly to her, finishing the touches on softening his figure to her. “Dragons, griffons, and snakes hold more unnerving glares.” Then the gold turned away, and teeth grabbed at a skin on the ground. It was a mangled mess, but it could be washed, just as well as he. Taking it and ensuring to keep the mess from hitting her the gold swings it up and onto that stripped back. Just as smoothly he grabs the other and toss it on up. The roughly cut off hides are not a pretty site, but they had potential. Perhaps one day, a cape would be in order.

Looking now back at her, those earth eyes soften ever more to the sweet thing. “Your companion is so different from them, but yet I’ve seen its power when these hides were a little more threatening.” Shifting the golden son looks to the lake not far then back to the bay mare. “I’m a terrible bloody mess I’m afraid, would you care to continue this by the lake, and you could tell me a little more of your friend?” Stepping out with the hides upon his back he looks to her with a friendly face. It would be a sweet site were it not so ironically gory. The water would wash that way though. What it would not wash away was that beautiful mask he’d crafted. True the sweet thing had unsettled it as she did him an honest good, but time was easing that strange encounter with a pure soul. The objective? What makes you think there’s an objective? He only seeks friendship this time I swear it. Friendship with the healer was never a bad thing was it? With a wider grin he begins moving towards the lakeside. No, it’s never a bad thing to know all the right people.



"Speech"
Tag;;@[Lena]
OOC;;
Notes;;

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#8


Trepidation floated and sparked all the more, deep in the fathoms of her illustrious heart, a disquieting, coated, waxy interlude neither prompting her to flee or instigating her actions; a mere reminder of the shifting signs, of the softening paradigms across his face, of the thrown carcasses across his spine. Even a small part of her was disappointed in her sentiments (hadn’t she had a part in making those pelts into the fallen, who was she to judge?), but so torn, so uncertain, so undecided, she strayed and stayed in the same pinnacles, effervescent flesh in the aurora skies. She followed in the slide of silence, petal soft steps, motions and minuets of a dancer’s silken movement, the whittled chords of lakes, of washing away blood (poignant and familiar), listened to the throngs and speech Thranduil conjured, and tried not to feel like the Pied Piper’s babes, led down mountain paths and across ravines, never to be seen again. In either contortion, she seemed all the more the fool: a moth stoked into the flame, or a suspicious, blackguard mind; both made her feel ashamed and rueful. But the conversation continued and lingered upon Imogen, and though the ivory vixen tried her best not to be offended (for certainly she could be intimidating and unnerving – it was all in her foxy eyes!), Lena’s smile coaxed a matching one out of her, and the brush of feather-light music, a mellifluous rhapsody plucked from the Mender’s lips, washed over her in a beneficent candor. “Perhaps a kitsune’s talent lies in their deception…” Wasn’t it all the same glamour, the same decadence, the same specious gallows they trod upon now, in the present, wavering over some unnamed tidings, some foreboding measures, some augured opulence pressing along her brow and into her chest? Didn’t they all play those singular tunes of deviousness and pretense? Thranduil, who seemed to be something else altogether, giving over shades and shadows and masques she couldn’t pick apart or unfurl, Lena, who sometimes wove the most tender of vibrations to save a life, and then broke the next, sword stuck in an intruder’s sinew, and Imogen, who chirped and chirruped, then composed burning infernos. They wore so many layers, and subsequently tore them apart at any given moment.

He continued, asking, probing, querying, and Lena wanted to oblige, wanted to accommodate, and in another instant, keep everything to herself, not give everything over to the mysterious, ambiguous creature who fed on secrets and tales. Her eyes glided along the unfreezing lake, with its cold, clear waters, with its gripping hold, and changed again, flickering and blazing in the chilling embrace of the frozen sphere, spiraling into tunes and melodies. “If they revealed every aspect of their natures, they'd have no upper hand.” Here, her flowery stare altered and morphed into a visible, keen line, stoked upon Thranduil for one singular moment, and faltering in another second, swooping back to the innocent candor, as if she’d never been a serpent in the grass. Imogen, twirling by the long plumes of faltering cattails, snickered. The songbird’s drumming arrived again in sweet arias and inquisitive diatribes, incapable of being the sole creature scrutinized. “What do you do for the Basin?”


Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#9



Slowly the gold led the girl to the water’s edge. A cloven hoof steps tenderly into the water. Shivers sent racing up his spine, but with the pain at last gone from his hind it felt like little more than a pin prick, and the gold easily accepted the cool temperature of the water. The season may be summer but this was the Basin. Slowly the golden slips into the water. The pure crystalline around him begins to dark and run redder as it washes away the blood of others. The sweet thing speaks and the gold looks back at the shore, nodding for her to continue. The gold was barely listening. Of course they fox tail stealer was sly, it had enough tails to be nine foxes, so nine times the slyness. But the topic kept the silence at bay for the sweet thing seemed to enjoy it.

Wading up to his chest the gold then dips the fine Spanish head into the cold water. Shaking he brings it out and a splash of water, then repeats. He is, as said, rather careful of his look, and now that the sweet girl had restored his health, there might have been some inner pull to match her handiwork. At last the gold reaches ‘round and pulls the pelts from his back, and the lake surely runs red now as he drags each through the water, then dips his back in the cold to wash it. Finally done with this mundane task the gold begins to rise from the water, the pelts replaced onto his back. Any looks she has spent his way were not caught, or cared for. The gold was assured he had figured out this girl and her damn pet, so no need to watch his every step. Besides, a bath was too enjoyable. Shaking, he reaches back once more and pulls the water logged hides down and rests them on the ground, at last look back up to the sweet thing for her question.

A warm smile now rises on the clean maw, the mask better crafted with this small interlude. It brings forth a low nicker of humor before he speaks. “For that it seems your companion and I have something in common.” Those earth eyes glance down to the pet of the girl. Damn he hated those creatures, but at times he wish he had their intuition. Looking back up to the sweet bay the gold seems to settle. “I am a Phantom here.” Head dips in a nod. The gold was much more at ease now that her personal images and flashing gold coat were returned. Now he once again was the golden son. If only he could worm out of the sweet thing’s debt which never asked to be in, then the day might not have been a complete let down. You see it was not that the gold didn’t mind leaving others with less than they came with, but the sweet girl’s selfless kindness was putting the gold in an odd spot. One he did not like to remain in for long.



"Speech"
Tag;;@[Lena]
OOC;;
Notes;;

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
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Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#10


An impasse, a puncturing examination: they were not spiraling, magnificent revelations – Lena could have surmised by the sway of his brow, the hint of his swagger, the domineering plight of catastrophe drenched from the edges of his smile, his occupation bent towards sleuths and phantoms, wraiths and shadows, secrets and clandestine affairs. In the confession, she heightened her guard precipitously; wove keen walls and mounting peaks, locked away in the inner sanctum of her shield and galvanized the warm entity of her grin. She only wholly trusted one Thief, and even if they were both gilded and serene, only this one set her teeth on edge and her spine rankling in apprehension. The nymph, instead of regaling the golden brigand further into her serene display of knowledge upon her companion, drew back into silence, into the burrowing atmosphere she’d employed and developed as a child, a molded construct, a defensive maneuver, to ensure naught was revealed, everything kept at bay. Her sienna armor fastened securely along her cranium, amongst the warrens and mazes, the mythos and tales, never completely expressed through the tenderness of her gaze or the weary juncture of her quieted jaw. If the sylph was intended to tangle with a serpent, she’d give him no edge, no leeway, no summit to throw her over. She became an observer, a witness, to the washing of pelts and the steady stream of red running through the lake, a dance of ichor, a rivulet of ruin. Some amount of the Mender’s sentiments wished she’d simply fled, hurried and tarried off into the wilderness once she’d healed the barbed, open lacerations, and another portion of her felt she grew stronger by the strangers she’d faced, that she’d battled amongst the mind and spirit. The latter won out of further curiosity and cordiality; she wouldn’t rudely disembark without good reason (despite every sense begging for her to leave, and every foolhardy, valorous nuance courting, spellbinding, her to stay and confront). Her masque carefully refined, intricately poised, carefully manipulated, bound into the curled brim of her lips, a fond smile, a generous tone, an affable, effervescent bliss never quite reaching her stare, prospered across the horizon, dewy and dulcet. “Duplicity is one way to make a living.” She paused, stared across the ruffian expanse, with its mighty wings and gallant glaciers, wondering how intense her purpose, her motives, her inclinations ran through the halls of their icy threshold, or if she pressed on too many all at once (sometimes a generous babe pressing sacrificial alms against the gall, sometimes a flailing mutineer, and other times dragging her heart through the muck and the mire). Her gaze fluttered back to him, delicate, taffeta strings dipped in honeysuckle pretense, a whimsical edge taut over the mellifluous strands. “Do you enjoy your profession?”


Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#11


Washed clean by the lake the gold did shiver slightly even in the summer breeze, but looked with a sharper inner eye towards the sweet thing. She is polite but not as much as before. A gold hark flickers to life as he catches hint of her resistance. While when she had first walked up to the gold with a happy countenance her tone was now more guarded, paused more, and all together seemed distanced. The gold was used to be one to set people on guard, but for this girl it was not the desired effect. As he was still unwilling in debt to the girl, to frighten her, though it is well what she should feel, was not what he wanted her to feel. Hinds shifted, nodding as she spoke. The twin horns nod in proper conversation making, even letting a light smile flirt across his lips in attempts to make her feel more at ease. For goodness sake could she not see his bark was worse than his bite? Of course his bark could hurt too, but that was beside the point at the moment.

She’s still trying though, so there’s hope to win the sweet thing over. Smile grows wider at her question though. His profession. It sounded so business like. Suits never did fit the golden well. Why where a suit of gold when you were born with a coat of it? The golden son was born with such skills, honed as they were over the years, all became a second nature. A profession? More like his whole being. Still, he’s trying to win her over, so the golden smiles and nods those twin horns, still dripping with cool water. “It is where my skills find purpose.” Don’t reveal too much though, the girl was already wary. So instead the gold easily shifts tracks, hopefully unsuspiciously. “Though it is new to me…” Then with more curiosity he looks straight towards her. “Do you know others in my rank?” Perhaps she could reveal some insider information of those he ‘worked with’, as abhorring a phrase as it was. He did need to know their names when he walked all over them to get to the top for his lady.



"Speech"
Tag;;@[Lena]
OOC;;
Notes;;

Credits: Whit's tables were an inspiration | Coding by Schwartze | Image

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#12


His smile widened and the unnerved pinnacles rankled across her hide; unsure, uncertain, if it became emboldened in malicious credentials or mere amiability, she coasted and ghosted through the lacquer of heightened armor, a guard to her heart, a shield to her soul. He dug deeper, queried and questioned, and the mighty, resolute portion of her essence nearly refused to give him the names, the callings, the heralds of those within his standing out of fear, out of apprehension. Would he hurt them? Would he hunt them down? Would he stalk them from the shadows, a bestial, unrelenting foe, bound and tied down the chains of his sneaky, furtive deception, chasing, following, and beckoning the domination of all, of many? Or was she being completely foolish, imprudent and selfish, preserving naught, being a hindrance to his wake, to his necessary information? Didn’t he deserve the right to know of his constituents? The burning twist of either direction caused a brewing in her throat, in her lungs, because he set her on sinister alarms and heartless corridors, and the compassionate bundle of her existence rarely rested in those passages. She yearned to protect the members of her herd – but from one of their own? Was she being inept and cruel, misguided and torn, led astray by a wily indifference and a strange, ruffling demeanor? Quietly, regally, she lowered her eyes and acquiesced, and all of it felt like a betrayal, a knife in her side, a blade through her chest, as if she were passing her friends, her companions, her cherished, beloved companions, a note of their execution. With a soft grace, with a hint of melancholy, a brandishing of brindled safeguard (if he touched them, if he scorched them, if he harmed them, would he be sorry?), encased with those of whom she knew in the same pulse, the same direction, as he, gilded Thranduil of the unknown. “Several – there is Nao, Arah, and Roland, to name a few.” The Songbird smiled then, ruffled it along her lips to signal nothing was the matter, when every inch of her frame was taut, rigid, pulled into another world, desperate to give chase to the stars, to the moon, to the skies, but too courteous to do so. Imogen, crafty and cunning, watched from Lena’s sienna forest of legs, narrowing her eyes in speculation, in examination, in devout mistrust.


Lena</style>
where there is love, there is life.</style>

image by safetylast @ flickr.com


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