Nomad - 28 years
Played by LixyLime

The dull sound of heavy and feathered steps are accompanied by the ever-familiar clinking of metal links colliding against one another as the beast walks through the night to nowhere in just another futile attempt to run from the shadows that followed relentlessly.

........."Fynn! Look what I made for you!", the young voice of a juvenile calls out as eager strides carry the growing lad through the cavern and into the chambers of the chimera male studying those books and scrolls as he has always done since the elders of the council allowed for him to begin his studies in alchemy magic so that he might one day prove his worth to the family and take a proud and respected place among the council themselves. Strange, nearly glowing eyes of pale silver turn from their ancient words to meet the radiant hazels of Kerrim. There is a warm smile upon pale lips as he appraises the growing youth slowly moving from the lankiness of colthood, muscle becoming thick and defined as his younger brother was molded by the hands of time to one day share the same robust and powerful stature as their father. Those same proud eyes then fall upon the chain Kerrim is carrying."You've been practicing, I see", the deepening tones of a younger Fynnic say then as he turned to face the black splash, a soft affection finding his features as his younger brother holds his work with a strong sense of pride those of the Sloan clan were renowned for.

It wasn't too long ago before this morning that Kerrim had been given his apprenticeship by the elders of the council, and it had been no sooner than the ending of the young lad's ceremony that he'd set to work with all the eagerness that Fynnic himself had started his studies at the black splash's age. The chimera was unsure who was prouder in that moment - Kerrim, their parents, or Fynnic."I have! And I want you to have the first thing I made", Kerrim says then, bobbing his head. A chuckle finds the young stallion of mismatched color. and he lowers his head for his younger brother, hardly missing the beckoning gesture. For the first time, the cold and heavy chain slips over his neck and settles around his withers. Lifting his neck, silvered eyes study the gift as it dangles there over his chest."This is very well-made, Kerrim. Are you sure you don't you want to keep it as a memento?", he asks his younger brother then, but the black splash simply grins widely as he shakes his head."I made it for you. After all, I'm only this good already because of what you've showed me", Kerrim replies before butting his head against Fynnic's shoulder in brotherly affection."I love you, brother"

That had been the last time Fynnic had smiled, had felt so much love in his heart for his younger brother. The man shakes his thick neck suddenly, sabled tendrils flying wildly into the salty air around him as he chases the memory away from his mind. It is with this sudden movement at the chain clinks louder, the cold metal brushing against his skin as if to say 'you can't escape it'. He'd be damned if he didn't try. The alchemist couldn't count how many times he'd taken off the chain and left it on a rock or fallen long somewhere, determined to leave it behind like the past he tried so fiercely to forget. And yet, even after a small distance, the beast finds his obsidians heavier and heavier still, until he cannot take another step. The next thing he knows, the stallion is retracing his steps only to find that chain where he'd laid it down. No matter how much Fynnic wanted to forget everything... he just... couldn't. Whenever he would look at his reflection in the water and see the jagged scars over the mark of those he'd once loved left by the ones he'd once called family... whenever he felt the metal forged out of brotherly love over his shoulders... he was reminded of everything.

Before, it would make his heart twist and tighten in his powerful chest with such intensity that it would almost take away his breath. Before, the grief of his past would have him desperately wishing that it had been him who had died in the accident and not his brother.

Now, there is only bitterness and anger - or so he has managed to convince himself. Exhaling sharply through flared nostrils, twin harks pressing against his skull and, the alchemist pushes himself into a powerful trot, perhaps bringing each obsidian down a little harder against the earth than was needed as thick and chiseled muscle work in unison to carry the beast up the sand-and-stone covered hill rising up before him. Strange and nearly glowing silvered eyes look between the shadowed bodies of the trees that flank the trail he climbs, the crashing waves like thunder growing louder with every strong stride. He'd traveled along seemingly endless stretch of beach since sunrise, avoiding the foreign realm drenched in the scent of his own kind, until the landscape had changed into trees and tasteless vegetation toughened by the often unforgiving land upon which they grew. Now, the trees reveal a cove, the sun-bleached shore cradled by worn and wet stone walls - not too unlike those that he'd built within himself. Beyond the walls, he can hear the waves crowned in frothing foam rolling and crashing, tossing and wild. Yet, within the cove, the waves are small and gentle as they lap at the sand under-hoof. Most of all, it was quiet.

Fynnic is unable to see any others, and this is something that brings him a hollowed sense of peace. Only now does he look up at the heavens, a clear blue-black sky littered with countless glittering, silent stars stretching endlessly into the horizon. They are not alone tonight however, a full moon pouring sterling silver light upon this foreign kingdom, her ethereal light dancing upon the unsettled water, gleaming off the branches of the evergreens and down upon a world cast into the dead of night. He is still there upon the sands now, having moved to the shore and just out of the ocean's reach. For a small moment, he allows himself to feel nothing but the salty sea breeze as brushes against his flesh, tousling thick tendrils however it so desires while he merely exists amidst the quiet. He does not wonder where he was as many would. In the end, it didn't really matter. So long as it was even further from Brannis than the last place he'd been, he couldn't care less where it was his feathered and strong limbs dared to carry him. For years he has wandered aimlessly, secretly stumbling like a blind man as he led the purposeless life of a vagabond, belonging no where and having no where to call the harbor to his fiercely guarded soul.

Right now, nothing mattered. Right now, he just wanted to forget.

×|. F  Y  N  N  I  C .|×

- 29
Played by Hermes
Many say, there is a face on the moon and it is a man. Tonight, as Kadir walks under the light of the silver goddess, his head tilted back to gaze up at the silent sentinel, he sees something different. Oh, there is a face; but it is a woman. More precisely, the face is his mother’s. Her loving eyes look down at him and he finds himself talking to her as he walks. Voice soft, choked with long suppressed emotions, “Hello mother. It has been a long time since we talked.” Years, if he is being honest.

Too long his heart says, too long his mind tells him. It has been years since he had left his homeland, the fertile fields and rolling hills. Years since he had turned his back and walked away and with that, Kadir had left his family. While there are many things in his life the antlered man will regret, he does not feel guilt for having to leave; but he will always miss her.

She, the woman who, with tender, loving care, raised him and showed him a world beyond the battlefield. The woman who would twine flowers into his mane and tail as she would sing songs of better days. Young Kadir would listen, committing those songs to memory for the few short years he was allowed to be a child. However there came the day when his father’s shadow fell over him and childhood drifted away.

He remembers the fights, the way his mother would try to keep him from the war that was on their doorstep, holding her young child close and scolding the man who wanted to take Kadir away. His father would chide her, drag the young boy away from her to drill the colt until he was bloody and bruised. The day belonged to his father and the drills he harshly taught his only son. He was made to summon light and fight and, if he refused, he be hit again and again until he fought back.

Yes, the day belonged to his father. However, the night? Well that belonged to his mother. He remembers laying in their small house, exhausted body weak and yearning to rest. Then, he would hear it, a soft voice, calling him. She beckoned him to awaken for there was so much to learn. He would drag himself from his bed and the two would steal away into the night, mother and son. There, under the watchful eyes of the silver goddess herself, his mother would, in his father’s words, ‘fill his head with useless dribble’.

Oh, but it wasn’t. Not one thing that Kadir learned under the shadow of the moon was useless. He learned how to be kind, loving, how to pick flowers and herbs. But most of all, he learned of peace. Peace. A time when there would be no more battles, no more children taught to fight, no more bloodshed. Under the pale moonlight he would listen to her stories and he would learn. There was always pain the next day but he didn’t care; for he was going to make the world a better place.

Head still tilted back, legs carrying him slowly forward, Kadir says, “I miss you mom. I wonder. Are you proud of me? Have I become the man you thought I would be? Maybe better?”

The folly of youth is that he believed that he could make the world better by doing what his father had taught him. So, he plied his trade and he was good at it. Death was his business and he dealt it with a heavy hand. The peace he yearned for seemed so far away and still he fought for it. Then, one day, on some distant battlefield he stared out at the field. Once green grass, now a yawning ocean of red, threating to swallow every fiber of his soul up and he remembers thinking how disappointed she would be.

His mother’s face swam in front of his eyes and that is when he started to doubt the cause. So many had laid down their lives, so many had fallen upon countless fields and still he fought. Perhaps, this was not the way to find peace. Slowly he became disillusioned with his soldier’s life. The finally straw came when he found out that everything he had been fighting for was a lie. That is when he had left and had never looked back.

Yet tonight, with the quiet guardian watching his steps, Kadir finds his mind turning back to times long past. With a soft sigh, the blue furred man speaks to the face on the moon, “I am sorry mother, I did not mean to leave you so quickly. I hope to see you again, one day.” The gentle breeze tosses his mane and kisses away the tears that have fallen. A half smile ticks the corner of his mouth up and his head lowers and he sees he is not alone.

So lost, he had been, that his legs have carried him into the company of another. Stopping a respectable distance away, his eyes search the other man. His fur gives off a soft blue glow and lights his surrounds slightly. Eyes clouded with memories, chest heavy with emotions, Kadir says softly, “Hello. I am sorry, I do not mean to disturb you. I was just…” he trails off and looks away sheepishly before finishing with, “talking to the moon.”

"I speak" I think


Nomad - 28 years
Played by LixyLime

He tries not to remember them. Once upon a time all too long ago, there had been love for the two beings whom were the very reason for his existence, the ones who had instilled in him the pride that resided within his chest for the magic which ran so deeply within his veins… Now, there was such a bitterness clutching so fiercely at the man’s heart which overwrote every single memory he begrudgingly wielded of them. Thinking back to their faces, he can only feel the unwarranted shame they and the council had sentenced him to carry for the remainder of his days walking this mortal realm, and it is as clear as scowl almost permanently painted upon his features that he has forgotten any love he may have had towards them. It was because of them that he was here in some strange world countless miles from the place he’d never imagined he would leave. Never in his entire life would he have forsaken his birthlands or the ones that he had strived tirelessly to prove that himself to, so that he might stand among the ranks of the council or perhaps simply make a niche for himself as a renowned crafter of the finest armors throughout Brannis. From colthood, that had been all Fynnic wanted. He’d wanted to see his father bragging to the council about his eldest son and how successful the young stallion was. He’d wanted to see his mother smile with all the pride and love she’d always told him she would have as he grew bigger, stronger, wiser. He’d wanted his younger brother to shine as Fynnic would show him that there was nothing in this world that could not be done if one worked passionately for it. Never had Fynnic wanted anything more.

But that was so long ago. Now, he only wants is to escape from all of it.

And yet, the chimera stallion alchemist knows that there is no running from his past. It is in the ache of his left shoulder on those sleepless nights when the jagged scars upon his left shoulder seem to ache and burn as badly as they did the day that they’d been forced upon him. It is in the mark lying there beneath those old wounds, the mark of his family and the kingdom he once called his home. It is hardly recognizable to the man these days whenever he might happen to glace at his reflection in still water. Strange silver eyes burn with loathing whenever they set themselves upon that eternal reminder, and if he were prone to acts of self-mutilation, there is little doubt within the beast that he would have ripped his own flesh there so that he could not see it in the slightest. Although, as days bleed into weeks, weeks into moths, and months into years, the demons within the darkest parts of his mind tempt him with such desires. Perhaps he might find a way to burn the flesh there, warp it beyond any hopes of ever showing what had been there before. He would be no better than those who had dared to accuse him of a crime that he did not commit if he claimed that he hadn’t felt a nearly consuming lust to let loose his own blood if it meant never having to wear that mark another day of his life. If they would so easily turn their backs to him when the only thing he’d been guilty of was not having been there sooner to save Kerrim, then he would turn his back to them for their failure to see the truth. Even if, somewhere far beneath the anger that was burning viciously from this injustice the gods had dealt him, there was a deeply buried part of the alchemist that was broken beyond words because of it.

The chimera does not turn his strange silvered eyes from the churning ocean before him despite the distant sounds of another approaching. It seemed that not even the moon cared to let Fynnic soak in the seaside symphony in just another attempt to exist without the flashing of images in the back of his mind. He hopes that they will fade off into the night, but they only grow louder, the dull thudding of obsidians against loose soil before finding sand. There is a voice that accompanies them, those foreign tenor tones nearly lost in the thundering of crashing waves. He cannot make out the words, and yet he hardly tries to, and they fall silent just as the stirrings of this stranger having found their way here to this cove as well do the same. He can feel another’s eyes upon him, and if it hadn’t been for the unusual and faint blue glow detected by his peripherals, he would not have turned to face the other stallion. As he slowly turns his head, one ear perked as the other hangs loosely to the side with disinterest, Fynnic finds himself among even more unusual company. He has never seen another like this stranger, his head adorned by both antlers and horns, a tail far from that of an equine, the thicker parts of his pelt glowing an aqua blue. Fynnic does not move from where he stands just out of reach of foam-crested waves reaching across soaked grains only to fall back into the ocean. The other man speaks softly then, looking away in an unfamiliar expression of embarrassment.”It’s fine”, husky tenor tones answer coarsely from lack of use as Fynnic looks back over the untamed saltwater.

What he does not say is that he often curses the celestial being for all that has happened to him.

Instead, like so many other things that do not fall past his lips, the stallion allows for silence to slip between them. He had never been good at small talk or socializing with others, though perhaps he had his studies to thank for this underdeveloped skill. He’d never seen any need for it, and especially now, the man hardly cared to try and pry into this stranger and what it was that brought him to this place in the middle of the night. He does not intend for there to be awkwardness, and yet he can hardly help the ever so slight shifting of his muscled frame to betray his own discomfort and uncertainty to this unexpected encounter. It went without saying that he did his best to avoid others of his kind that might wish to greet him, almost always giving commonlands a wide berth even if it meant trekking through unnecessarily difficult terrain. He would rather tire himself into a frothing sweat before welcoming bright smiles and curious eyes that might seek to try and get to know him. Kerrim had always been fluent in making acquaintances… The black sabino had been born with a gift to make even the gruffest or coldest of beings come to share a casual conversation for at least a few brief moments on a lazy afternoon. There was no denying that he had been their mother’s son in those moments… He knows that he should say something to the man whose own aura suggested that he was alone in this world much like Fynnic was, though he would never admit it to himself, let alone a stranger.”What is the name of this place?”, he asks finally, the only thing he can think to say to the other stallion. While he would argue that he didn’t truly care, it was better to know than not know.

And it was infinitely better than assuring the stranger that he, too, was aching from within.

×|. F  Y  N  N  I  C .|×