10-04-2018, 12:52 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Vollkorn" rel="stylesheet"><center><div style="width:450px; background:#eef2f3; padding:40px;border:3px;"><font face="Vollkorn" color="black" size="2px"><i>
Hardship will teach you soon,
While the day becomes night,
That the people love, lose, cry and mourn.
</i><br/>- - - -
Magic.
It crackles in the air like electricity set loose, looking for a place to land. Clouds gather and thicken, shrouding the world so completely that not a single star is left in sight. Robbed of her companions, the ocean rages, sending foam-tipped fingers crashing wildly on shore. Each time she comes up empty-handed, save for a few sun-bleached bones, and each time she comes back harder, and stronger, until even North feels a sliver of trepidation.
She reminds herself that sirens do not fear the sea, and tonight she is a siren.
North continues to hum the tune she started. She does not really understand what is going on, but when she hears the pumpkin's voice drifting across the moonlit sea-mist- "<i>Set your traps and gather your b-bait, lure me out and make it great,</i>" she takes a deep breath and she begins. This has all been very carefully thought out as she put her outfit together-- and yet she feels like the idea was always there inside of her, waiting to be heard. The tune she was humming gains its wings, its words:
"<b><i>Sofdu lengi, sofdu rótt, </i></b>"
North has never sang for an audience before, not even the sea, and when she begins her eyes are closed and her voice quiet. She can barely hear herself over the ocean's rage. The tune is delicate and haunting and, to her, heartbreakingly personal.
(this is the song of scraped knees and sleepless nights, this is the song of her mother and her mother's mother. This is the backbone of her youth and, respectfully, her adulthood. This is the beginning, and likely the end, and possibly the mystery that ties the two together. This is the only song she knows, and she doesn't understand a word of it--
but songs aren't about words anyway.)
The magic starts in the ground and weaves its way throughout the beach. It buzz, buzz, buzzes in every cell, every atom, and the dead are the first to react. They respond differently according to their state of decay. The furthest along, no more than a scattering of bones, rattle against each other-- at first first quietly; a snap of half-broken teeth to her right, two femurs knocking together somewhere to her left. And then louder and louder-- partially decayed corpses, the ones that are still mostly flesh (but no eyes, never eyes- the carrion take those first) begin to kick their hooves where they lay, as though running from something. Or <i>to</i>.
In the shockwave of magic the beach is a sudden symphony of sound- the sea churning angrily, the clatter of bones, the spray of sand by hooves that run, run run, going nowhere. Her hair stands on end (even beneath the heavy layers of seaweed) and she feels that <i>cold</i> chill of fear as she realizes that maybe she did not realize what she was getting into.
But, you see, the magic reaches her, too, and it settles her resolve.
Her voice grows stronger and clearer for it. Her song becomes more haunting and the moonlight, what little of it manages to its way through the thick clouds, plays tricks on her face. It becomes, somehow, beautiful. North is many things, but she has never been beautiful-- Pretty, yes, but never <i>beautiful</i>. There is a fine difference. The pearls realign in her mane into something neater but not perfect- it is a sort of chaotic beauty. A dried sea star about to fall relocates itself neatly behind her ear. These things are all honestly annoying but not particularly distracting-- her song carries on, only growing louder.
"<b><i>seint mun best ad vakna.</i></b>"
Her voice remains strong even as the clatter of bones grows louder and louder. She realizes they're trying to stand when a half-decomposed body struggles to its knees then, slowly, its feet. Another joins it, and another. She swallows, focuses on the magic in her (it is clear and warm and reminds her of <i>home</i>, wherever that is anymore, and also the feeling of hunger) and she continues her song.
"<b><i>Maedan kenna mun thér fljótt,
medan hallar degi skjótt.</i></b>"
The corpses slowly turn to face her. She is keenly aware of her heart racing now and it tints her song with a sort of desperation. She thinks- though she cannot be sure- that her song is luring them to her. This was the intended effect (she <i>is</i> a siren, after all, at least for tonight) but certainly not the intended audience. She's after that idiotic pumpkin, not Beqanna's bone collection. She takes another breath.
"<b><i>Ad mennirnir elska,</i></b>"
Her teeth slowly begin to grow sharp- it is a horrible feeling, even numbed by magic- and it begins to feel a little difficult to breathe. But she focuses on her song, and her quest, and the unpleasant side effects sort of just crumble into the background noise of sea and bone. The corpses stand clacking their teeth where they are, spellbound, and she begins to walk among them slowly once more in search of the pumpkin. As she moves, they turn to follow her with eyeless faces.
"<b><i>missa,</i></b>"
Her voice wavers when she finds him! She leaps to the round orange shape (it is dark, so dark) and noses at it roughly. There is no response. "<b>I found you,</b>" she mutters quietly to the lifeless pumpkin, keenly aware of the many eyeless faces pointed at you. "<b>Hey, enough with the walking dead, okay? I <i>found</i> you.</b>" There is no response-- and that is when she realizes there is no fire behind those triangle eyes. <i>Damn games</i>, she thinks with a snort. <i>I'm too fucking old for this</i>. But she's dressed in seaweed and donned in pearls and she still feels the magic in her veins, and hears it in her voice, and she knows she's come too far to stop now.
So she continues to sing her haunting, heartbreaking song,
"<b><i>gráta og sakna--</i></b>"
and the skulls continue to watch her, and she continues to search.
- - - - -
<font size="5px">N O R T H</font>
</font></div>
</center>
ooc: North is singing <a href="https://youtu.be/1Nfmf7PtWiI">this</a> creepy icelandic folk song
Hardship will teach you soon,
While the day becomes night,
That the people love, lose, cry and mourn.
</i><br/>- - - -
Magic.
It crackles in the air like electricity set loose, looking for a place to land. Clouds gather and thicken, shrouding the world so completely that not a single star is left in sight. Robbed of her companions, the ocean rages, sending foam-tipped fingers crashing wildly on shore. Each time she comes up empty-handed, save for a few sun-bleached bones, and each time she comes back harder, and stronger, until even North feels a sliver of trepidation.
She reminds herself that sirens do not fear the sea, and tonight she is a siren.
North continues to hum the tune she started. She does not really understand what is going on, but when she hears the pumpkin's voice drifting across the moonlit sea-mist- "<i>Set your traps and gather your b-bait, lure me out and make it great,</i>" she takes a deep breath and she begins. This has all been very carefully thought out as she put her outfit together-- and yet she feels like the idea was always there inside of her, waiting to be heard. The tune she was humming gains its wings, its words:
"<b><i>Sofdu lengi, sofdu rótt, </i></b>"
North has never sang for an audience before, not even the sea, and when she begins her eyes are closed and her voice quiet. She can barely hear herself over the ocean's rage. The tune is delicate and haunting and, to her, heartbreakingly personal.
(this is the song of scraped knees and sleepless nights, this is the song of her mother and her mother's mother. This is the backbone of her youth and, respectfully, her adulthood. This is the beginning, and likely the end, and possibly the mystery that ties the two together. This is the only song she knows, and she doesn't understand a word of it--
but songs aren't about words anyway.)
The magic starts in the ground and weaves its way throughout the beach. It buzz, buzz, buzzes in every cell, every atom, and the dead are the first to react. They respond differently according to their state of decay. The furthest along, no more than a scattering of bones, rattle against each other-- at first first quietly; a snap of half-broken teeth to her right, two femurs knocking together somewhere to her left. And then louder and louder-- partially decayed corpses, the ones that are still mostly flesh (but no eyes, never eyes- the carrion take those first) begin to kick their hooves where they lay, as though running from something. Or <i>to</i>.
In the shockwave of magic the beach is a sudden symphony of sound- the sea churning angrily, the clatter of bones, the spray of sand by hooves that run, run run, going nowhere. Her hair stands on end (even beneath the heavy layers of seaweed) and she feels that <i>cold</i> chill of fear as she realizes that maybe she did not realize what she was getting into.
But, you see, the magic reaches her, too, and it settles her resolve.
Her voice grows stronger and clearer for it. Her song becomes more haunting and the moonlight, what little of it manages to its way through the thick clouds, plays tricks on her face. It becomes, somehow, beautiful. North is many things, but she has never been beautiful-- Pretty, yes, but never <i>beautiful</i>. There is a fine difference. The pearls realign in her mane into something neater but not perfect- it is a sort of chaotic beauty. A dried sea star about to fall relocates itself neatly behind her ear. These things are all honestly annoying but not particularly distracting-- her song carries on, only growing louder.
"<b><i>seint mun best ad vakna.</i></b>"
Her voice remains strong even as the clatter of bones grows louder and louder. She realizes they're trying to stand when a half-decomposed body struggles to its knees then, slowly, its feet. Another joins it, and another. She swallows, focuses on the magic in her (it is clear and warm and reminds her of <i>home</i>, wherever that is anymore, and also the feeling of hunger) and she continues her song.
"<b><i>Maedan kenna mun thér fljótt,
medan hallar degi skjótt.</i></b>"
The corpses slowly turn to face her. She is keenly aware of her heart racing now and it tints her song with a sort of desperation. She thinks- though she cannot be sure- that her song is luring them to her. This was the intended effect (she <i>is</i> a siren, after all, at least for tonight) but certainly not the intended audience. She's after that idiotic pumpkin, not Beqanna's bone collection. She takes another breath.
"<b><i>Ad mennirnir elska,</i></b>"
Her teeth slowly begin to grow sharp- it is a horrible feeling, even numbed by magic- and it begins to feel a little difficult to breathe. But she focuses on her song, and her quest, and the unpleasant side effects sort of just crumble into the background noise of sea and bone. The corpses stand clacking their teeth where they are, spellbound, and she begins to walk among them slowly once more in search of the pumpkin. As she moves, they turn to follow her with eyeless faces.
"<b><i>missa,</i></b>"
Her voice wavers when she finds him! She leaps to the round orange shape (it is dark, so dark) and noses at it roughly. There is no response. "<b>I found you,</b>" she mutters quietly to the lifeless pumpkin, keenly aware of the many eyeless faces pointed at you. "<b>Hey, enough with the walking dead, okay? I <i>found</i> you.</b>" There is no response-- and that is when she realizes there is no fire behind those triangle eyes. <i>Damn games</i>, she thinks with a snort. <i>I'm too fucking old for this</i>. But she's dressed in seaweed and donned in pearls and she still feels the magic in her veins, and hears it in her voice, and she knows she's come too far to stop now.
So she continues to sing her haunting, heartbreaking song,
"<b><i>gráta og sakna--</i></b>"
and the skulls continue to watch her, and she continues to search.
- - - - -
<font size="5px">N O R T H</font>
</font></div>
</center>
ooc: North is singing <a href="https://youtu.be/1Nfmf7PtWiI">this</a> creepy icelandic folk song