[mature] this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: OOC (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=24) +--- Forum: Archive (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=81) +---- Forum: Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=98) +----- Forum: Nerine (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=91) +----- Thread: [mature] this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize (/showthread.php?tid=16319) Pages:
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this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Offspring - 09-09-2017 ** warning: sexuality and mention of rape (not by Offspring) ahead You're looking at an absolute zero; Dawn and dusk had come and gone, too many times for him to count –I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero. The dark sky had opened up in the wake of her absence, bringing with it gale force wind and a powerful tempest that had left the volcanic isle dreary and damp for many days after. The air was thick with sulfur and ash, while the dense humidity sat still beneath the plume of smoke that had risen from the rumbling mountain – and he had long since grown used to it (in part because of the blistering inferno that burned within him; it made him indifferent to the stifling heat). Yet, there is an unease of restlessness that seethes beneath the surface of his marred flesh and within the darkest recesses of his mind, stirring him from his own complacency. The pale moonlight and celestial starlight lures him away from the island, with his curiosity left unsated – leaving him yearning to know more. His powerful legs carry him many miles to the northwest, wading through the salty seawater, trudging through the dark and dreary woodland, and along the raucous and unruly riverside. The sun eventually does rise, and fall again, and at last, he has found himself once again enveloped by the salty ocean breeze – weaving its way through his long and tangled tresses. His dark and heavy scarlet gaze peers out onto the ocean – it is a crystalline cerulean, whereas his own sea was wild and reckless in its darkness. It is a sharp contrast that does not go unnoticed. An array of auburn and crimson from the vivid sunset lay across the tide as a thick seafoam caresses the shoreline below, luring him closer – but he is still, his senses warning him of the nearby border (he does not dare cross into Nerine; he is not so foolish to do so without invitation – and he has not come for diplomacy; he has come for her). He does not call for her – he can sense that she is near, perhaps tucked away within the tropical foliage, or maybe even gliding overhead with her broad, finely preened wings outstretched from north to south. She would find him long before he would find her, of this he is certain. He has come to see her, with the certainty of his promise to do so still at the forefront of his mind. OFFSPRING another zealot with the weight of the fucking world RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Tantalize - 09-10-2017 tantalize RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Offspring - 09-10-2017 You're looking at an absolute zero; ”How could I forget?”I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero. His own voice emerges from the depth of his throat, rough from disuse and jagged along the edges – it is barely more than a growl, though there is a flicker of light hidden away within the darkness of his gaze. There is a faint shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he is drawn away from the cliffside and closer to her; she is a flickering flame herself – he dare not touch her, though the thought of it is alluring and tantalizing both (her name is more than befitting). She is as beautiful as he remembered, and as full of sharp wit – there is a chuckle rumbling from the hearth of his chest, not unlike the volcano that stirred restlessly amid the islands he had come to know so well. Tucked neatly to each side lay her finely preened feathers, glittering in the dwindling sunlight – sable and rust against the pale sea, as the sun fades slowly beyond the horizon, leaving a starlit sky and a rising moon in its wake. He wondered, for a moment, what she might be thinking – he can see the tension in her jawline, and the heavy crease of her brow, despite her wayward forelock draping over her golden eyes. His own humor is lost, then – leaving behind a thin, straight line across the dark shadow of his mouth. Her mind is elsewhere – preoccupied with a much more urgent matter. He understood all too well how difficult it could be to put the worries of a kingdom aside. ”Are you thinking of Taiga?” he murmurs then, his voice low as a sweeping gust of wind glides over the precipice, caressing the puckered scarring of his skin and weaving its way through her tightly knit feathers. ”I felt much the same way after Pangea fell – wary, unsure,” and he pauses then, his scarlet gaze peering out into the sea – the very same unsettled sea that had swallowed all the rest. ”but I have noticed that each time a land has been taken, it has been because of greed – and because of power.” He thinks then of Hyaline – of Nayl – perhaps he had been too hasty in his judgement of her – would he not be as angry as she had been, if the roles had been reversed? He is looking beyond her, then, into the tropical terrain that was not unlike the wild, overgrown rainforest of yesteryear – with the soft whisper of a powerful and unyielding sea, lapping along the shoreline below. The fire had held onto him tightly then, and he had been angry himself, frustrated by his own failure and driven by a force out of his own control. He had been defensive, wary – he had every right to be, he knew, having gone into Hyaline with no knowledge of what he might find – but perhaps he had been too much so. Too guarded. Too guarded. It summarized him well. OFFSPRING another zealot with the weight of the fucking world RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Tantalize - 09-10-2017 tantalize RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Offspring - 09-10-2017 You're looking at an absolute zero; ”The red eyes,” he murmurs softly, as his heavy lashes blink slowly over his own. She had mentioned her father before, and his scarlet-tinted gaze – Gryffen had a pair of his own (how could he forget a striking gaze so similar to his?), and the connection is made at last. The wraith-like creature had ventured onto the shoreline, feigning a concern that had been far too disingenuous for him to take seriously – with his own pale lashes fluttering over the crimson flicker of his gaze and a soft, demure tone adapted to a voice too rough and too ragged to ever be as saccharine as he pretended. I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero. Offspring had known then that he should rebuke him; he should turn him away and keep him away from the heart of the volcanic isle, where what he so vehemently sought hid away within a distant seacave. He can sense by the coiling tension beneath her russet skin that Gryffen is all and more of what his instinct had warned him he could be – and it is enough to unnerve him; to leave his own nerve-endings frayed. She is guarded, steeling herself away as ire is melded with the white-hot blood pooling within her veins – he can see the frustration boiling beneath the surface, and when her own gaze bores into his at last, he can see the hardened resolve within. She is wary, worried of what he might think – but behind the furrowed brow and terse jaw, there is a flicker of concern – not for himself, for Tephra, but for her. There is so much more than meets the eye, and she is as restless and as changing as the churning, open sea (and he is drawn in by it, by the fierce tempest brewing within her). He does not say anything for a long moment, instead closing the space that lay between them as an empty void, the warmth of his breath brushing across her cheek, as a gentle nudge is placed where her jawline is connected to her slender, dappled neck – a simper tugging at the corner of his mouth, his gaze coy, for a fleeting moment. ”I never would have known, had you not told me - there is not much of a resemblance.” He muses softly, his own gaze cast out toward the sea. ”He came to Tephra, once – seeking someone that found refuge in our land beneath Magnus’ reign before mine,” he pauses, his voice rough as the tone lowers, quieted between them as the humor fades away with the fallen sun. ”I did not trust him then, and turned him away. Apparently there is good reason.” His eyes bore into her own again, tracing the flecks of gold that line her pupil, as the moonlight illuminates the darkened shadow of her wary face. It will not be his last, her words echo in his mind, and his mouth is contorted into a deepening frown while the scarlet of his gaze searches hers for an answer. ”His last? Do you think he is the cause for Taiga's collapse?” OFFSPRING another zealot with the weight of the fucking world RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Tantalize - 09-10-2017 tantalize RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Offspring - 09-11-2017 You're looking at an absolute zero; His mind is elsewhere, drawing out a memory from the deepest and darkest recesses of his tired and weary mind – he had been wary of the stranger, sheathed in ivory, where lies are birthed from the hollow of his gullet quicker than carbon dioxide escapes his lungs. Yet, he had not seen him since, nor heard any mention of him – he was striking in his appearance (much smaller than he, but with a commanding presence and a wickedness about him that had not been lost on him); unmistakable. He is quiet for a moment, mentally recalling the insidious way in which his forcibly saccharine tone had betrayed the truth of his intentions, before falling away into scathing malice, with venom seeping from his tone. I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero. He is pulled from his brief reverie by the gentle sea breeze, filling the space that had once been closed by the proximity of his lips to her jawline – he did not know what had stirred him to move closer to her, nor what had driven him to press the plane of his broad face beneath the crook of her neck. She had not spurned him, but she had withdrawn, wary and uncertain of his intention, perhaps – and there is a soft knot of uncertainty welling up within his stomach. He did not even know what his intention had been; he had simply moved closer, uncaring what the consequence may be. He felt a kindred spirit within her. Carved of iron and steel, independent, unbending. It made him reckless. He is suddenly all too aware of his own foreboding presence, of the shadow his behemoth form lay before him on the ground, outlined in the pale moonlight shining from above. He becomes withdrawn himself, his gaze peering out into the wide-open ocean as the void that lay between them increases as his self-awareness rouses to the forefront of his mind. He does not say anything to her, just as she said nothing to him – each burned by their own experience, wary in the delicate dance that the heavy scarring (emotionally and physically) left in its wake. Her words, careful and deliberate (her mind is elsewhere as well, with worry knit heavily across her brow), interrupt him from his thoughts, and quietly his gaze is pulled away from the tranquility of the ocean and into the gilded depth of her watchful eyes. ”Amorette,” he murmurs then, his voice barely rising above the sweeping gust of wind rising up from the canyon below. ”I know little of her but she is close to Magnus – an adopted daughter, perhaps, if I recall.” He pauses then, the edge of his mouth drawn up with faint amusement, reaching the core of his blistering, fiery eye, flickering to her own with a rumbling chuckle. ”I forget that you have been absent for some time. Magnus and I – I would consider him an ally; a friend. After the Reckoning swallowed the entirety of what we had all known, we had to venture to a distant mountain, to plead with the fae for their grace and understanding.” He says, his voice a whiskey-rich rumbling baritone, reverberating in the thickening air. ”Magnus and I came together to seek refuge, and were given the volcanic islands to call our own. Thus, Tephra was born. I only sought to establish it, and left it to Magnus, though I never truly left the island itself – the volcano is all that I have.” He is quiet then, his mind drifting to another time, another place – as it so often did. ”Magnus left some time ago; I have not seen him since – and as for Gryffen, well. He is not the first to cause trouble, and he will not be the last. I have not known you for long, but I can already tell that you are a force to be reckoned with – and if I had to place a bet on either one of you, my answer would be you every time.” OFFSPRING another zealot with the weight of the fucking world RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Tantalize - 09-11-2017 tantalize RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Offspring - 09-11-2017 You're looking at an absolute zero; The regret looming within the shadow of her gaze does not go unnoticed – she is elsewhere for a moment, with the weight of a long-buried memory settled heavily on her shoulders. He knew the feeling all too well. He had spent so much of his youth tucking away the wretched memories that had taken his heart and crushed it, burying each one as deeply into the dark crevices of his mind – if he stopped to contemplate the endless sea and its roiling current, he can still remember the way it felt to drown, for his lungs to fill up with the salty seawater while his body collided over and over with the jagged cliffside, leaving thick and gaping wounds across the darkness of his skin. I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero. His immortality had kept him tethered to a life he had, once upon a time, so desperately tried to escape. Though he had inevitably fallen unconscious, he awoke hours later, sputtering the salty brine of the unforgiving ocean, while his grievous wounds oozed, leaving heavy scarring along his neck, his chest, his barrel. The only war he had ever truly lost was the war within himself, and it had left him disfigured, marred and marked by his failure, his heartbreak, and his feeble attempt to take his own life. Some memories were best kept hidden away, locked away and left unspoken. He is drawn away from his own reverie by the heat of her gaze steadied upon him, and when the glimmering fire of his meet the gilded gleam of her own, he is captivated – quietly, he glances from one eye, to the other, tracing the deep amber hidden within the core of her iris, highlighted by the fleck of goldenrod that is not unlike the warm glow of the rising sun. She is committing him to memory – the broad plane of his face, the scarring beneath his right eye (Lagertha had left her hefty mark in the throes of battle; the pointed diamond of her armor left a thick and puckered scar beneath his eye), the darkness of his tangled tresses hanging long and low across his neck. He, in turn, is tracing the shadow of wariness above her cheek, where her graceful jawline lay, leading to the slender curve of her neck and the soft dappling of jaguar spots – ferocity defined, and the silence shared is deafening. There is mention once again of Magnus, but he does not dwell on it – a lover, perhaps? He did not care to pry – should she desire to delve to him her history, she would, and his weary heart had learned patience. A surge of confidence and certainty seeps into his veins then, stirring his heart into a thrumming frenzy against the fiery inferno of the flame burning brightly within his chest. There was a fleeting moment in which he wondered if he had been imagining the chemistry, brewing like a powerful tempest. As the warmth of her proximity far outweighs the temperature of his own fire, he can feel it longing to burst forth onto the surface of his skin (he does not allow it; he does not want to burn her – he suppresses it, forcing it down, swallowing it whole). You barely know me, she says so softly, but he is so near to her, he can hear her more clearly than the tide lapping across the shore, more distinctly than his own heartbeat, pounding within his chest. How can you have so much faith in me? ”I can see what you cannot,” he muses softly, his lips tantalizingly close to her cheek, his gaze never leaving hers. ”when you have lived as long as I have, you learn to look beyond, to see between the lines.” He pauses then, studying her as the sweetness of her breath entangles with his own, and his whiskered mouth is so near to her, he may as well be murmuring against her skin, and not simply to her. ”We are not the demons we have faced – and we are not the experiences we have had,” (a sigh emerges, low and quiet – he is convincing himself of this truth, too) ”and I already see so much more than whatever secrets are keeping you. If only you could see what I see.” OFFSPRING another zealot with the weight of the fucking world RE: this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize - Tantalize - 09-11-2017 tantalize |