Nomad - 28 years
Played by LixyLime

The first light of dawn touches this part of the world, a golden halo cast over the jagged, distant peaks towering proudly over all but the heavens. For some, the sunrise might bring a soft smile to their lips as they watch the earliest hours of a new day greet their wistful eyes. They would sigh softly as they reveled in the bright chorus of birdsong that would begin to fill the trees rooted so deeply to the soils beneath their obsidians. A new day, to many, was a chance to chase their dreams once again. Or, perhaps, it would be seen as a chance to make right something that they've done in their past which has lingered upon their subconscious for an unknown number of hours, days, or even years. It could be considered a symbol of hope, the sun finally ascending from its hidden bed and putting an end to the darkest hours of the night. There was a literal sense just as there was a metaphorical sense to such a thought. The sun would chase away the darkness and the shadows, give sight to those who walked this mortal realm so that everything was perfectly clear. It quieted the fear embedded in the hearts of children who worried about the  existence of monsters from ghost stories they were told by their friends as the sun had set the evening before. Even those, worn and weathered by time, sought sanctuary and peace in the sunrise, the looming silhouettes of their demons that flickered just out of the corner of their eyes gone for at least a little while until the sun would set in the west as was the inevitable laws of time.

But, for others, there was no sanctuary in the sight of that burning star rising above the eastern horizon to bring a new day. There was no hope to be seen as those first rays of warmth would reach down upon the earth and cast its radiant light. Instead, there was only a nagging reminder that another day has come and gone... and nothing has changed. There was no relief from the nightmares which haunted them, no salvation from the demons that stalked them even in daylight. Not even the warmth of the sun against their skin was enough to chase away the bitter cold left there within their broken and jaded souls. The voices were always there, no matter what time of day or night would come. Those indomitable and hushed whispers left these tattered and weary beings restless and wandering as they tried, perhaps even with desperation a thousand times worse than the thirst of a man having walked across miles upon miles of desert in search for a single drop of water, to silence them for even just a few brief moments. They were driven to travel aimlessly towards the furthest corners of the map, until they ran out of map and became utterly lost. It was somewhere between purgatory and hell, this existence those unfortunate souls were trapped within. And yet, among the the voices of these lost and longing hearts crying out for some small sliver of a silver lining that would let them know this feeling wouldn't last forever, that they would be saved by some turn of fate, there were those who remained silent.

Fynnic was one of those silent, lost souls who did not chase the illusion of salvation.

And so, as he watches the sun rise from upon a ridge within the trees, eerily and subtly glowing silver eyes, there is no smile to replace the blank expression upon his chiseled features. His breath buffers against the chilled morning air in puffs of steam as he lingers there for a moment longer, hardly welcoming the new day. He turns his back to the rising sun then, ambling through the woods, the familiar clinking of metal links lost to the chimera beast as he steps effortlessly over ruts and tree roots in the overgrown path left behind by the wildlife which lived here.Twin harks swivel atop his poll, thick and long locks of sable brushing against the skin of his muscular nape, his senses keen on the world around him, though there is no contentment he finds in the morning melodies in the treetops. The feathered musicians would not gain an audience from him, his only intentions being to ensure that he could not hear distant voices or murmurs of his own kind. He went out of his way each day to avoid others, stubbornly persistent in keeping his solitude as it was - silent and empty. Nostrils quiver as they drink in the aromas of aspen and soil, bramble and the faint fragrance of wildflowers blooming underfoot, satisfied in finding no scent of equine as he moves deeper into the woods. Two-toned whipcords flick against his thickly muscled hindquarters simply for the fact that he can, hardly bothered by the large, thick sacks crafted from fiercely sturdy cotton, sea-grass, and hemp draped over his back he had traded a plant-bender for.

He does not count the time that it takes for him to travel along this path until the ground beneath his heavy steps begins to slope upwards. He presses on, the trees and vegetation beginning to thin around him as he does. One might wonder what it is that the alchemist is searching for, what force seems to pull him up the base of the mountain where these woodlands grow, but there is no one to ask this question, and so there is no answer that comes. Not in the form of words, anyway. Only when pupil-less eyes settle upon an entrance into the belly of this mountain does a possible answer come. The doorway is made of stone, clearly shaped by earth elementals, and it descends, the tunnel illuminated by candles that seem to be lit by some sort of eternal flame... While the man had expected to find some sort of mine or cavern, he hadn't thought he would find a catacomb here. Then again, considering he has made his temporary residence within the depths of the ruins, perhaps he should not have been surprised. It is here, though, that his sense of minerals washes heavily over him. He can feel it, this place very nearly over-abundant in limestone, shale, and various ores He lingers there at the entrance for only another moment before descending down the hall of stone walls. Candlelight flickers against his skin, the alchemist pausing in his slow steps only to retrieve loose rock and rubble laden in that which he sought, placing them into one of the sacks before moving further down, glowing silver eyes scanning the rigged surfaces around him.

He wonders fleetingly if his presence here would stir something... strange, but still he continues on.

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- Immortal
Played by Elle

Amidst the mists and coldest frosts,
with stoutest wrists and loudest boasts,
he thrusts his fists against the posts
and still insists he sees the ghosts.

The catacombs provide something she has yet to achieve in her existence. A sensation of peacefulness wraps it's cool embrace around her throat and heart as she dwells in the depths of the hollow earth. There weren't any visitors int he catacombs these days. The world is a sleeping and so it brings a level of gentle quiet that creeps between whispers and thoughts.

Within her own cavern, the dryad has built her gardens. Lush blooms hang like reaching hands from the solid walls, magenta, orange, blazing reds are decorated and tucked between cracks and crevasses. Niko speaks to them lovingly, wills their life despite the darkness that engulfs them every evening. The catacombs are structured well, thick walls of sedimentary rock, except for the few places that sunlight blossomed through like little windows to the heavens. The earth bound nymph enjoys the moments the light is golden and warm where she may place the pretty blooms of flowers in the eye sockets and mouths of the skulls that lay partially exposed in some of the graves.

She summons mist for her garden when the sky is barren and does not provide, a thin veil of droplets clinging lovingly to the emerald leave of the small fruit tress and to the smooth skin of the dappled mare. Often a small tune can be hummed on her dark lips if one were aware to listen for it.

On this day, a small song fills her throat as she presses her lips to the delicate petals of a calla lily to press her kiss and whisper her words of love when something disturbs her. A hushed whisper from the roots gather their words to press their alarm that another was not far off. The wooden limbs draw her up nearly soundlessly as Niko feels a small twinge of panic. Often others do understand her hybrid nature, often they come with wide and question eyes, their mouths outreached to stroke or taste her skin.

(a goddess, an abomination)

The mare is moving as she weaves the turns and corners with only the soft sound of her wooden points striking the stone ground.

She picks her way carefully, methodically as the scent is foreign among the dust of the sleepy ruins but it is masculine and it is strong. The sound of tick-ticking vibrates against her skin and the walls as she draws closer. One point in front of the other with expert care pulls the slender woman from the belly of the catacombs till she finds the other.

He is larger, far larger than she, as he goes about his business digging into the curious. Wet, dark eyes are watching as her skin glows faintly against the stone. He glows and it's is hard to look away so she ventures unconsciously closer, her eyes gazing upon the vegetation that is tucked into his packs. Niko gazes silently for a few moments more as her nearly soundless steps draws her further near. "Hello." The soft tone of her voice is shattering against the catacomb silence but it has already escaped and she can not take it back. There was but two options now...flee to the safe confines of the catacombs or stand and wait to see if he would notice her meek greeting.

Speech, @tagged


Nomad - 28 years
Played by LixyLime

In truth, the man has nearly forgotten what it was like to feel at peace for more than a breath or two. For him, such moments were rarer than gold, silver, and precious stones. There was so little that could quiet the voices that whispered incessantly in the shadows of his past which always follow him like the one that trails after him as he descends further into the catacombs. But, there was one thing that hushed them as well as the outside world, and this was when the alchemist was working on his craft. His exile from Brannis had done well to rob him of almost everything he'd once cared for, stripping him of his newly gained position amongst the high council, sentencing him to an eternity outside the borders of the only world that he'd ever loved, devoted himself to wholly, and casting him aside with only rage and disdain. Even his own parents had said nothing in the defense of their eldest son, the chimera's own father seeming just as blind as the rest of the council to what had happened. No one would top and listen to Fynnic as he attempted - futilely - to protect his honor. Kerrim's undoing had been due to his own carelessness and impatience. Disowned by his family and his kingdom, forced to remember what he was accused of being by the marred emblem upon his left shoulder, one would have thought the chimera would have been left to wander aimlessly across unfamiliar realms, left with nothing in every sense of the word.

But, even through the blame set so heavily upon his shoulders and blackening his heart with bitterness and loathing for the world, they hadn't destroyed the chimera stallion. Not entirely. Still, his pride was in tact, untouched by those hellbent on believing him to be negligent and unworthy. Still, the alchemist knew that his crafts, worked and molded tirelessly by years and years of knowledge and skill until they were perfected and to his satisfaction, were of the highest quality. That alone was enough to reassure the beast of who he was. While he was not the Fynnic borne to bear the Sloan family name, he so defiantly refused them the pleasure and achievement of defiling his own name. There would be no stealing the pride he took in his creations. Although he no longer knows what his purpose in this world was, if any, or what other cruel blows the gods would see fit to deal him, the alchemist is far from surrendering himself to anyone or anything, otherworldly or not. He would decide his own fate now. Gone was the man who once sought the approving gaze of his superiors and his family, and in his place, there stands a beast who will not subject himself to the opinions of another and have it bend him. And yet, no degree of resilient pride and defiance could ever deliver him to that which he sought and was often denied - lasting peace.

It is what has him wandering further down the path illuminated by candlelight, gathering ores and loose vessels of mineral that he can find. He seeks to craft without diminishing the ancient ruins he has made into his temporary harbor, and to do that, he needed to find other overladen places within this realm he has wandered for several days now. Luck - if such a thing truly existed - would have it that this strange place would be the first he has discovered. Moving slowly along, he imagines that he is alone here. The scents surrounding him are largely of limestone, dust, and shale. All of which was welcomed. But, as he ventures further, it becomes clear that some force has heard his terribly fleeting pondering and felt it necessary to show him that he was not as alone as he would have wanted. As he is retrieving a gold ore from the loose earth beside the marked path winding and weaving ever deeper into the catacombs, there is a sound that is not his slow breaths or obsidians shifting beneath him. Only now has he traveled far enough to where chambers were beginning to appear, and that is when a scent reaches his keen senses. Tucking the ore safely into one of the sacks slung over his back, he believes that he can smell flowers. And, there, beneath those sweet fragrances, is the essence of equine.

Furrowing his brow, he wonders why he cannot hear the soft thud of hooves against earth. There is something else in its place, and it almost sounded like.... rustling. Like branches brushing against another surface in a way that did not seem natural... Twin harks swivel amidst onyx locks as softly glowing pupil-less eyes of sterling silver search the path ahead for what he isn't entirely sure to find. Then, she appears. A maiden painted in softly dappled silver. But, she is unlike anything that the alchemist has seen before. Where slender legs should be, there is bark. Erupting from her tresses, cherry blossom branches in full bloom. He has heard of beings who live in the deepest forests as guardians of the trees and flora that grow, but he has never believed them to be real. And now, watching him from a distance with dark eyes, the chimera beast knows that such creatures do in fact exist, live and breathe. Why she was here, though, seemed perhaps strange. But he was finished thinking of strange things for the day, far from wanting to welcome anything else those foresaken immortals might see fit to bring him this morning. The alchemist is still now, his own gaze watching her in turn, albeit they do not reflect the same curiosity as the maiden's. They are cool and cautious, fixated upon her as he becomes still.

She moves down the path now, beginning to close the distance between them, and Fynnic sees with perfect clarify how much smaller and more refined the maiden of moonlight and flowers was, the beast nearly dwarfing her in every sense - physically. Magic has a talent for making even the most delicate souls a fearsome force never to be underestimated, and so he simply watches her, the way her hips sway with her movements and how the warm glow of candlelight dances upon her curves. She is very nearly upon him when her soft voice vanquishes the quiet of the stone hall surrounding them in all directions. It is like a whispering breeze in spring, gentle and even delicate like the petals that veil her."Hello", deep baritones echo, husky from lack of use for the fact that he has always made each and every attempt to avoid unexpected encounters with his own kind. Such as this very moment. Despite his pride and skill in magic, he falls rather short when it comes to social talents, and it is deafeningly apparent as he simply stands there before her. If Fynnic was in her path, he would move aside for her. But, for now, the beast makes no move towards her, or away. He only lingers in silence, his stance lacking any evidence or undertones of aggression, subtly glowing sterling eyes watching wordlessly.

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