Fimbulvetr

Nevermore

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OTS 1
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Arête & Tywin

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Open the darkness that lurks

#1

lalaurie
give me your hand in flesh, give me your hand in death

It is not that she dislikes her people - her new House - that drove LaLaurie from the South. No... But there was a strange desire to hide, to covertly slip into the shadows and be forgotten. She did not miss the wandering eyes that found her. Some may have strayed simply to admire but they all ultimately displayed the same haunting, maddening thing upon her discovery: pity.

She loathed pity.

There was nothing worse than pity. And LaLaurie had had enough of it. After another mediocre night's sleep (for what was sleep anymore than restless, fitful hours of nightmares?) the amber doe pushed herself from the thicket, from the spider webs she could have sworn attempted to weigh her down into the worn bed she'd made, and surged northward. Of course, by the time the mid-day's sun rose above the sharp canopy of littered leaves and bare naked branches, her stomach ached for meal and her lips cracked anew with parch. When had she ate last? Drank? Obviously she had been doing so as her body hadn't crumpled, unwilling, just yet. As the moist sod squelched beneath her hooves she cast her vision to the ferns whose long leaves curled with death and figured... why not?

Affording a pause, away from the prying eyes of the pitying Vromme people, LaLaurie filled her belly on the last bits of undergrowth that hadn't failed to the oncoming winter's cold. The monotonous repetition of chewing, clamping, ripping, and digesting lulled her into false security. At the present moment she was nothing but a living organism doing just as nature intended; surviving. Perhaps she'd consume enough fern to chase away her raking ribs and brighten a coat that once gleamed with golden sheen. Perhaps.

Idly she lifts her head, green tendrils with yellowed tips slowly slipping twixt her lips as she chews her last mouthful. What was she looking for? Anything? Anyone? He was never there. No one was ever there.

So what was the point?



TAGGED: Storyteller
WC: 565
MUSE: 3/5
OOC: ...


coding © soupi
manip © aliyaahgrl @ dA


Name: LaLaurie
Link to Profile: Here
Item(s): Arcana Endowment
Requirements: 5/5 Posts

Tag: @[LaLaurie]

#2

be swift!


Something is happening! The forest falls silent, the residents of the marshes so quiet that passerbys begin to wonder if the woods ever had a voice, or if they only imagined it. All eyes within the thicket turn and watch the maneless woman from their hidden perches. The animals feel a change in the atmosphere and it is as if the world itself is holding its breath. An eerie hum of energy tickles the ears of those who observe before it curls its way toward the underfed, unspeakably sad mare. Across the clearing, a ghostly figure stands, the hairs at the base of LaLaurie’s neck rise but her sight remains blind to the man watching her. The creatures who sit and observe now shuffle in obvious discomfort, their fallen family and friends begin to rise; the dead long to discover if this bald woman will able to see them.

Unease dances down the woman’s spine, some of these spirits are not like the peaceful one who stands in a patch of blackened motes waiting for her to find him. They hover on the edges of an invisible radius, all twisted grins and mocking smiles. These are the dead who have been lurking, biding their time until one such as her arrived; they died in a god’s unjust war, pawns until their bitter ends. They surge forward in an onyx wave and push the man back further, a hiss on undead lips; the only sound that breaks the silence of the thicket. The swirling motes block out the figure of a knobby-kneed man, intent on keeping his presence out of her sight.

Will LaLaurie be able to find the soul lost to the roots of the Bifrost? Better hurry, the dead are not playful here.

Tag: @[Storyteller]

#3

lalaurie
give me your hand in flesh, give me your hand in death

She had suspected no one. In the short time she'd spent without her beloved Jakob besides her, LaLaurie had slowly - ever so slowly- begun to suspect she very well may never see him again. But someone was there.

The breath in her lungs caught, her jaw hanging slack so that the last blades of grass she'd ripped tumbled from her lips like feathers from a slain bird. Her ears, so hot she had not realized them in the numbness of her own heart, prickled and danced with phantom sensations, phantom caresses.

The tawny coat along her bald nape stands on end, not simply from a cold breeze but from the thought she may have experienced that ethereal gauze of a touch looming across her dorsal, betraying the presence of the late.

But... wait... had she just not seen? Had he not just been there? "Jakob?" her voice, meek and lacking in resolution, grasps into the silence of the wetland wood. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, save for the moss hanging from the high, dead timbers that erected themselves like tombstones in the shallow wades of this forsaken place. She excepted her knees to buckle, she expected disappointment and grief to impale her chest with the same magnitude it had been since being separated from him. But the pain did not come... No... Her thick ebony-streaked-with-ivory tail flicked, and her hazel eyes narrowed. "Jakob?" she questioned again but this time - oh this time - there was the first glimpse of daring, a primitive sliver of hope. She hadn't been seeing things... not in the crazy sense. She wasn't crazy. Benezia had at least certified her brief remainder of sanity.

The silence was deafening. And when had it become so silent? The trim, albeit malnourished, mare tosses her sharpened gaze to the trees where umber birds pivot nervously in the branches. But their voices never release themselves in song, like all birds do. LaLaurie's breath catches again, this time smothered, kept quiet, as if this oncoming silence was some precursor to an event her mortal mind had no chance at perceiving. At her crown her audits flick, swiveling like radars attempting to locate a fallen vessel's distress cry, but come short with just the pounding nothingness of the realm. Once she whirls around, her massive collection of ebony threads at her hinds a cloak of ichor as it almost weightlessly (save the dirtied ends) follows her. Nothing to her back. Again she whirls, ears and eyes sharp.

Silence brought nothing, it only ushered harbingers and tragedy.

Then she heard it, a hiss, and LaLaurie's stomach plummeted. For a moment her fragile mind thought perhaps some invisible predator had sliced her wide open along the ventral and her organs really had collapsed from her body, and that hiss had simply been the tear of her flesh. But she knew better. She may have been a fraction of the women she'd been in Riftmarch, but LaLaurie refused to be made a fool. "Jak-! she cried, her own throat clenching tightly around her husband's name and not bidding it release. "Listen! Where did it come from? Where?!"

In her chest her heart pounded like oncoming war drums that Riftmarch's end had lacked. Audits trained forward, and her goldenrod eyes scanned through the mire and decrepit trees... somewhere there.... yes, she was certain. She could never mistake his voice, and never miss where he may lurk. And while a hope rose in her, one that brought about a dawn she hadn't thought would rise again, she found her first step forward hesitant with trepidation. Silence ushers harbingers. Swallowing hard, the woman surged forward, following the hiss, following her heart, listening to the heat and prickle of her heart, but most importantly grasping with her soul.



TAGGED: Storyteller
WC: 629
MUSE: 4/5
OOC: oshit


coding © soupi
manip © aliyaahgrl @ dA

Tag: @[LaLaurie]

#4

be swift!


The spirits that wished to drown out the soul were determined to keep her from reaching who she desired the most. They were wicked, awful things, swirling and shoving, attempting to drag the stallion down where he would never be found again. If they could keep the mare from her lover forever they were determined to do it. To their ire, however, they were not able to escape her. The mare proved to be far too determined to retrieve the soul that they wished to keep from her and soon they began to give up one by one. They slithered away from the stallion, hisses of displeasure being left in their wake as they left the area.

The stallion was soon left alone - left to stand without having to struggle against a wave of souls that wished to drag him down beneath the surface. He smiled at the mare, deep baritones falling from his lips as he gazed at her with a fond gaze. "I've missed you."

Something is happening!Congratulations! LaLaurie was able to keep up with the torrent of spirits and found the one that she had been seeking out!

Tag: @[Storyteller]