07-07-2015, 11:42 PM
what is dead may never die;
She comes to the field like a stormcloud, like darkness washing over the land. Now that spring has sprung in all its riots of leaves and colors and everything, Aletheia's little…gift? has made itself known. Wherever she walks, the plants seem to wither and start to fade. Wherever she stands, if she stands there long enough, they'll enter a strange sort of withered dormancy. And if she stands there for long enough, they seem to enter a sleep so deep that they find it hard to come back. Not impossible, but hard.
This state of affairs does not bother her. She doesn't mind bringing a touch of morbidity with her as she crosses the field, the blades of grass seeming to cry out and shrink beneath her unremarkable hooves. She does not allow this strange condition to bother her, and she certainly will not allow it to stop her from doing her duty to the Valley.
She pauses on the fringes of the land, the foliage around her turning sadder and more sickly the longer she lingers. But she does not pay attention to it; she is focused on the press of horses around the field. She glances across many of them, seeing nothing promising, before finally landing on a stallion, already standing beside one horse, with another quickly approaching.
She is still new at this recruiting business, and does not know that some might consider it rude to butt into a recruiting conversation as advanced as this one is. Not knowing better, she sets off across the ground, soaked with springtime rains. It does not look like rain today; the sky is bright, the sun just starting to crest over the clouds and illuminate the world. Magic hour, the hour when everyone looks their best. A good hour to present oneself in the field.
She arrives just in time to hear the stallion remark about shadows and give his name. She likes him instantly: he seems to share her pensive nature, to be given more toward dark and serious thoughts than to childish expressions of excitement and exuberance. She wonders, briefly, how old he is. Older than she can easily guess, but not so old that the guess becomes an obvious one.
"And not just that," she adds to the discussion of shadows. "They help others obscure their purpose. What is hidden in the shadows will not be caught, and cannot be seen coming." her voice is at once flat and monotone and pleasant, like a voice that reads an audiobook. Her gaze is steady, almost unnervingly so, almost chillingly so. As she stands, the plants at her feet begin to wither.
"Michaelis, I'm Aletheia, from the Valley." She looks at him with clear, icy eyes, her face neutral. A hint of a smile plays with her lips. "And unlike the pesky shadows, my purpose is easy to realize." her voice is light, dryly playful.
But in the next moment, the hint of dry humor has passed, and she is as serious as ice once more. "I offer you a home in the Valley. In short, I offer you purpose – the chance to make yourself great working for something that's worth working for."
This state of affairs does not bother her. She doesn't mind bringing a touch of morbidity with her as she crosses the field, the blades of grass seeming to cry out and shrink beneath her unremarkable hooves. She does not allow this strange condition to bother her, and she certainly will not allow it to stop her from doing her duty to the Valley.
She pauses on the fringes of the land, the foliage around her turning sadder and more sickly the longer she lingers. But she does not pay attention to it; she is focused on the press of horses around the field. She glances across many of them, seeing nothing promising, before finally landing on a stallion, already standing beside one horse, with another quickly approaching.
She is still new at this recruiting business, and does not know that some might consider it rude to butt into a recruiting conversation as advanced as this one is. Not knowing better, she sets off across the ground, soaked with springtime rains. It does not look like rain today; the sky is bright, the sun just starting to crest over the clouds and illuminate the world. Magic hour, the hour when everyone looks their best. A good hour to present oneself in the field.
She arrives just in time to hear the stallion remark about shadows and give his name. She likes him instantly: he seems to share her pensive nature, to be given more toward dark and serious thoughts than to childish expressions of excitement and exuberance. She wonders, briefly, how old he is. Older than she can easily guess, but not so old that the guess becomes an obvious one.
"And not just that," she adds to the discussion of shadows. "They help others obscure their purpose. What is hidden in the shadows will not be caught, and cannot be seen coming." her voice is at once flat and monotone and pleasant, like a voice that reads an audiobook. Her gaze is steady, almost unnervingly so, almost chillingly so. As she stands, the plants at her feet begin to wither.
"Michaelis, I'm Aletheia, from the Valley." She looks at him with clear, icy eyes, her face neutral. A hint of a smile plays with her lips. "And unlike the pesky shadows, my purpose is easy to realize." her voice is light, dryly playful.
But in the next moment, the hint of dry humor has passed, and she is as serious as ice once more. "I offer you a home in the Valley. In short, I offer you purpose – the chance to make yourself great working for something that's worth working for."
but rises again
Aletheia
harder and stronger