CYSARO
His wanderings have brought him to this place of surprising beauty. He had spotted it from above, a scrawny scarred crow riding the hot wind. Attracted by the red stones, he has landed.
And now he realizes that he has arrived in the territory of a herd - a fairly large and well established one, from the smell of it. He stands stock still, muscles tense, flaring his nostrils to draw in the scent of the strangers. "Bugger." he mutters. He had hoped to be alone. Always alone. He is done with others. Though sometimes, he does dream of finding new brothers...soldiers, like him. He is most comfortable around others of his disposition: no nonsense, brave, full of grit and buried pain. The sight of mares reminds him of his lost love, foals of his murdered son. If he sees either of those, he will probably just take to the wing and fly away, another unknown soldier.
A sheen of sweat glistens like molten gold in the rise of the dawn. Brazen and glorious it ignites his flesh, drowning out the mournful blues customary to his coat.
With a start he awakens from restless slumber. A short cry pips from his gaping maw as his head thrusts first high in wariness and nerves, then low as fore hooves scrabble for balance on teetering joints. His wings flare out behind him, cupping the wind for support, but she feels absent lately. The raging sun has burned even the breeze into hiding.
Dark stains begin to pool around the feet of the gelding as he stands heaving, eyelids trying to blink away the remainders of the cruel dream. His sweat courses down his hide in streams, dripping like strange rain upon a thirsty land. The soil almost crawls closer to him in its hunger, oblivious to the salt and the sourness of this sky water.
Jaydan blows a harsh snort and pushes off the ground in an abrupt upheaval of his wings. A gentle breeze caused by his own momentum tries to chill his damp body. His nape prickles at the sensation. Against his horn the pendant swings, catching the light just right sometimes. Jaydan flies on, hasty to retreat from the spot where such dark thoughts dwell.
The arrival of the crow-feathered stranger is a blessing to the troubled jay. Though he flew as fast as he could, Jaydan could never outfly his mind and it had begun to spiral back down to her face. Roughly he shoved the memories away, eyes narrowing as he watched the ebon figure land. Work, work will keep him busy. He can hope at least.
Wings tuck faintly to his sides and Jaydan tilts down in a mild dive, sweeping safely above the stranger before angling back on a dipped wing and touching down to the red dirt with hind feet first. His wings gather his balance as fore hooves meet the land once more, feathers rustling as he folds them against his backside in a loose and disorderly manner. He's in store for a good grooming, having let his personal hygiene go with his constant state of anxiety or crushing grief.
Dull, blue eyes rise to meet the stranger's gaze. Despite everything, Jaydan manages to keep his head high, though it is a tiring ordeal. A stride or two brings him a comfortable distance to the crow, and he regards the other for a moment before dipping his head acutely in measured greeting. He is not familiar with this pegasus and though he has yet to meet everyone of the herd, this territory looks just as unfamiliar to the stranger. Jaydan takes a moment to gather his tongue, not being fluent yet in the language spoken here. He's not prone to being much the talkative type anyway, but this meeting would likely go south if he didn't say something, and soon.
"Warrior, day good." Jaydan begins, smiling in the hopes to reassure whatever he might say incorrectly. "Jayden of Fire Mouth." He introduces himself, wings spreading slightly as he dips his head low. "Are hurt?" Jaydan asks with concern on his voice, muzzle extending out by method of pointing at all the scars that line the other's body. In many ways Jaydan is excited for them. Warriors he tended to understand better, having been raised with them. He knows too Kri needs them badly for the herd. Yet it it makes him equally as wary, unsure if this is a rogue marauder come to slaughter the herd. Though he's provided kindness, Jaydan has not relaxed and his eyes weigh with scrutiny.
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CYSARO
From beyond the horizon appears a brightly colored stallion, with a pendant dangling from his horn and wings like a jay. Cysaro narrows his eyes and scrutinizes the stranger - he can't help but be disdainful of his bright color -though of course this is not his fault - and the glittering jewel. The Crow is not one for decoration on a warrior (and this is surely what the stranger is, he is well muscled and has the proud stance of a fighter) preferring muted colors and practicality to ornaments. If this stallion was smart, he would take off his jewel and keep his feathers coated with enough dirt to dull the blue though not enough to hinder flight.
The stallion scrutinizes him in turn, not unkindly. In broken speech he introduces himself and inquires after Cysaro's health. The sinewy black pony glances dully back at his scarred hide. "These? Old wounds. Not a cause for concern." He nods stiffly, civil but hardly warm. "I am Cysaro. I am often called Crow...by both friend and enemy." He decides to cut to the chase: "Which are you, sir? Friend or enemy? I am aware that I am standing on claimed lands, though not with any ill intention."
[forgive me if his speech changes around. I'm still trying to get a hold on this character and how much speech I want to provide him :P]
The stranger regards him with a cool gaze that provides little information. Jaydan doesn't expect anything less. He does sense a certain, disregard from the dark one however, and suspects it's of his odor and grimy appearance. He feels mildly embarrassed, and reminds himself he really must bathe soon. Water is hard to come by this season though, his inner, pitiful subconscious whines.
The pendant, a gift from his now dead rider, would never be removed. It is precious to him, and keeps him connected to her even now in her after life period. All warriors in his land, even non-warriors, had such personal homages. They were all brightly colored too. The elves liked the variety of their coats. Such notions of these things he bears being seen as unsightly on a warrior do not, nor have they ever, crossed his mind.
Of course, his entire home is burned and gone now. Perhaps shiny jewels and bright coats are to blame? Just the wickedness of the trolls is to blame his mind hisses.
Such thoughts are turned away by talk, which is a good thing because he would have begun to go down far too dark of pathways. Luin's death is crippling enough, he cannot handle thinking of everyone else lying burned and broken too.
Jaydan nods as Cysaro dismisses the injuries. He'd suspected as much, but wanted to offer hospitality all the same. As Cysaro continues, explaining his name and his nickname, Jaydan cannot help but tilt his head, mildly puzzled. If both friends and enemies call him Crow, how would he really know the difference? "What matter? Crow to both." Jaydan states simply, wings rising and falling like a shrug. "Time is fast to know. Stay some suns, then we see, Cysaro." Jaydan smiled, supplementing his true name since he said only friends and enemies called him Crow, not strangers. It was far too soon to place this stallion in any category however, but Jaydan would not be quick to place him in the latter group.
"Kri king here. Pegasus flock most. Many other flocks around - Helovia." Wings lift to sweep largely across the horizon, in the direction beyond the herd land, to emphasize the entire area is Helovia. "Some flocks friends, some enemies." Again Jaydan shrugs. This is the natural order of things, although he supposed Kri's hardy nature made her more prone to making enemies. "You fight?" Jaydan asks then, his tone a bit more serious and committed now. They were in desperate need of good fighters.
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ooc: I actually ADORE how he talks, so no worries. :)
cysaro</style>
ERASE MY SCARS</style>
Cysaro can't help but chuckle when Jaydan says "What matter? Crow to both." He's never really thought about it that way, in truth. Of course, this stallion is clearly a foreigner and perhaps does not yet understand matters of inflection and context. There is certainly a difference between being called "the wise and valiant Crow" and "The ugly vermin Crow".
Cysaro nods respectfully when Jay says that they would wait 'some suns' before deciding whether they would be comrades or foes. He appreciates this caution - there is nothing worse than a horse who tries to be all nicey-nice and falsely friendly right off the bat.
Then comes the question that makes the Crow's ears perk up and pushes him to break his silence: "You fight?"
Cysaro opens his wings and stands tall with his hooves aligned in a square, the stance of a soldier. "Sir, fighting is what I was made for, so long as the cause is just. I have fought in many battles, most with terrible odds. Some I've won, and some..." He trails off, remembering the failed rebellion and all it cost him. "Well, some were pure folly on my part - I don't deny that. But I fight with my heart, sir. I presume you are a warrior as well? Tell me of your battles." He is finished with talking, and ready to take the focus off of himself.
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Cysaro seems amiable enough and to this Jaydan nods, appreciative of a sensible head. There are a lot of youngsters in this herd, most still fresh to whatever their skill set be, warrior or not, and many of them had greater mouths than sense. He supposed not many lived to an experienced age in these late times though. War seemed on the horizon no matter where he looked.
The stallion responds in an expected way and it touches a brief smile on Jaydan's maw to see it. Of course warriors always have an ounce of pride to them... fighting was often about that arrogance and intimidation as often as not. Again Jaydan nods, having guessed the answer already from the scars on the other's hide, although there are many ways to attain scars aside from battle.
"True for all, me think," he murmured in reply to the very open and honest comment Cysaro gave on making some battles from a foolish place. Jaydan had never had a leadership position in that sense, but he'd certainly been grim about some fights, knowing or feeling they were made poorly. He appreciated the stranger's willingness to talk. It makes it easy to believe there is little to be hidden then.
Cysaro urges him to share as well and Jaydan glances away meekly for a while. Luin's pale and ashen face flashes behind his eyes for a moment, torturing him with her death and the oppressive grief that still clings to him because of it. His village burns time and time again in his sleep and the screams of his comrades are on every sigh of the wind. Any sane stallion would have picked up a different career option after all of that, but Jaydan laughs weakly inside himself, he is but a gelding so perhaps he is too damn honor-bound to make the switch. That and he knows nothing else. Fighting gives him a sense of purpose, even if part of him recoils from it now.
"Far from here," he begins. Surely Cysaro can tell Jaydan is not much one to hold lengthy conversation. Perhaps if they both had fluent tongues he would be more willing to chat like a mare, but even then he supposed his memories would cut him short. There were other battles of course. Battles that ended in victory and Luin being alive, battles that were easy or light-hearted, but all he saw these days was that one battle, and that was enough. "I flew with girl," he smiled, thinking of her as she was, as they had been, "and many more wings. We kept the forest, we kept it well." He grinned, his own warrior's pride showing through despite himself. "Was young then, still," he reasoned, although a fair suns older than many of the wings here, "but was strong, fast like wind, willing like summer ripe mare. She and me, we flew many suns - the forest we kept yes, but trolls and bats come always. We fight well, the trees want us win." He shuddered to think what the monsters had done to the lovely forest. They did not respect it like his kind and the elves did.
"One moon," here his voice softened, all the pride gone of it like water run off your back. His eyes became dull with a distant pain as though he did not see Cysaro, but images of what he spoke of beyond him. Jaydan nearly moaned with the memories of that dreadful night. "They come. So many, more than we think. We fight and win, but only one side of an ugly face. Happy, we fly back to sing tale, to find flame and black wind that chokes mouth. Still we fight then, but all lost, all gone." Jaydan turned his head away, spinning on a dangerous edge of rage and sorrow. The trolls had managed an alliance, and they had struck in a clever way that was unlike them. Yet Jaydan knew too, that they had been foolish to underestimate them. So many small battles had been won, they had begun to think themselves superior to the stupid, sloppy trolls. It had been a trick all along...
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cysaro</style>
ERASE MY SCARS</style>
Jaydan's tale is vague and somewhat hard to follow; his broken speech leaving unanswered questions. But as Cysaro listens solemnly, the pain this brightly colored stallion is feeling is strong and clear. He seems almost to shrink as he speaks of his lost battle, his burned home, as if the memories are sucking the blood from his veins and leaving him dry and withered. It must have been some terrible force he had fought, to have caused such fiery destruction to his home. Cysaro tries to picture Jaydan's distant home and those who inhabit it, but he cannot. Wherever this country is, it is so distant and unknowable it might as well be on the moon.
The power of Jaydan's emotion is admittedly making this little black soldier uncomfortable; dealing with his own emotions - well, shoving them away, really - is hard enough, but when a pain so similar to his own is right in front of him, bringing back his own memories...it makes Cysaro feel like running away.
But for some reason he doesn't. He stands stock still, his face stiff and blank, and says, "I am - I'm sorry for your pain. I know a hurt like it. But we must bear up, correct? We must keep moving, keep fighting, or we will wither like...like that flower." He gestures to a nearby desert plant that is slowly dying in the harsh rays of the sun.
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The stranger seems almost overwhelmed by Jaydan's tale. It is much to take in and Jaydan is afraid he has spoken too much. He does not regret the move, but perhaps would have reconsidered the company. He blames his grief for making him so foolish lately.
A wane smile responds in turn to the stallion's apology of sorts. Sorry? Yes Jaydan is very sorry to, yet that changes nothing. Change will not come, not in the way he hopes for it. It's as Cysaro says, they must grit and bear it. Gods know Jaydan is trying, but he feels too much like that half-dead plant as of late.
"How?" he asks weakly, feeling sudden despair. "When do hurt leave?" Take up duties and stay busy - it helps to an extend, but there are times of rest and then it's all upon him again. Everyone tells him time, time, but how much time must he give until he feels whole? How many sleepless nights and forgotten days must he spend until he is normal again?
In his heart Jaydan already knows the answer.
never
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cysaro</style>
ERASE MY SCARS</style>
Despair seems to overcome Jaydan, and his voice becomes weak. Cysaro despises weakness, but not the weak. He has been weak himself before - still is, deep down - but he refuses to let it overcome him. He buries it beneath layers of muscle and courage and honor. He feels he must encourage Jaydan to do the same. The question the foreign stallion poses is a difficult one - the answer is not a kind one, but Cysaro refuses to resort to a white lie. Warriors must face the truth unflinchingly.
"The pain may never go away, Jaydan." Cysaro says almost gently but still with the rough, steady tones of a soldier. "Mine has not left me. The trick is what one chooses to do with it. Do not let it make you weak. Weakness is the death of a soldier. Turn your pain into righteous anger, and the anger into strength. Carry the pain with you, but use it as a weapon, not a hindrance. This sounds difficult, I know, but it becomes second nature eventually. You just keep fighting."
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Cysaro is as comforting as stone.
It makes Jaydan smile. It reminds him of his general, and that brings familiarity and warmth into his cold, shattered heart.
He supposes he'd feel extremely awkward too if a stranger started blubbering as he is. Suddenly feeling immensely uncomfortable Jaydan turns his gaze away, head lifting to show some measure of strength, hollow as it was, and wings reshuffling on his backside. He hopes that by looking better than he feels, the strange air will pass between them.
His voice is tight, his eyes prickling. He must not cry he chants to himself. "Yes." Jaydan manages to croak. To what he agrees is uncertain. The first of it, the end of it, all of it?
Turn your sadness to anger.
Jaydan has never been one prone to a temper. Perhaps a loss of testicles does that to a horse, although he supposes plenty of mares are equally angry. Still, could he manage that? Is that what it would take? He glances back at the warrior so gruffly standing by his side. He thinks there is much unspoken about this one, but there is a companionship here that he feels. A connection with this stoic, wounded thing of a fighter.
Keep fighting. Yes, he can do that. It's what he's always done. It's what Luin more or less told him to do when he was falling through the sky.
It doesn't make it any easier though.
He sighs, his heart constricting or so it feels. A quick shake tosses his mane around his nape and then he brushes away all these cobwebs on his mind. "Come, fly," he motions to the stranger, wings spreading. The air is one place where Jaydan almost feels like he can go fast enough and escape himself. Maybe tonight, he'll succeed.
[kinda figured we could wrap it up here? ^^]
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cysaro</style>
ERASE MY SCARS</style>
Dammit, I'm really no good at offering comfort Cysaro thinks, glowering at the ground. It would seem that his little speech had done little to bolster Jaydan; indeed, this blue-feathered warrior now seemed not only to be sad, but uncomfortable. I should stick to fighting, not talking.
Before he knows it, Jaydan is spreading his brightly colored wings and inviting him to fly. Never one to turn down a chance to take to the air, Cysaro spreads his own black crow wings, takes a few running strides, and lifts off, pushing with his muscled little haunches and launching into the air with his fellow soldier.
[ooc: sounds good! I want Cysaro to meet Kri and decide to stay and be a warrior...do you want Jaydan to be part of that? We could start a new topic. ^^]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 16.2 hh :: 6 years |
| Blu |
yeah sure ^^
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
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