Post by Tarn on Oct 28, 2006 15:51:05 GMT -5
Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will. -- Mahatma Gandhi
----
Pistons swallowed the distance of the land angrily, appendages forever churning so that dark ebony flints tore repeatedly with a similarity to knives into the tortured turf. Breath was emitted quickly from exasperated windpipe before lungs could find strength to again snatch oxygen from the atmosphere to replenish the sources of life that drove the steel stallion forward. Neck was bowed in the illusion of pride, chin tucked towards a brawny chest while muscles roved his body restlessly, playing in rhythm to the cadence of his swift movements. Strands of ashen mane that fell haplessly from his crest danced carelessly in the breeze created by his gallop, swaying alluringly in the dark of night. A hoary tail also stretched behind the massive quarters of the brujo, catching occasionally on brambles whose desperate hands sought to snag all that deigned to pass. His silver threads of hair remained in the clutch of those greedy fingers, gleaming like strands of sparkling magic in light of the oppressing darkness. Through the dense maze of trees the stallion stole, an illusive form that was all but invisible to the untrained eye unless the branches above released their clasp on darkness to permit thin moonbeams to alight on the stag's dappled hide. The silence was only interrupted by the jagged chirps of mournful crickets whose laments rose endlessly into the night. The lone hoot of an owl drifted lazily through the muffled silence, stretching thinly through the forest to land on attentive auds. Muted hoofbeats could be heard as the texture of the forest loam changed, soil now saturated with the moisture of mystery and covered in a thick bed of sepia pine needles that had long since been dead. The conjured noise was now not as striking as before when the stallion had first begun his midnight escapade, currently sounding more as if his charred flints were covered by moccasins, the tempo similar to the incessant thudding of an ancient Indian war drum. Dark eyes were unfathomable in their depth as the stag drifted over the lithosphere like a tainted phantom, a spark of moonlight forever caught and secreted behind the outward veil of their appearance. The vegetation edged closer now to his body as he continued to crash forward in the same way that a tidal wave lands roughly upon the rocks. Crimson shone beneath the light of the moon as their eager reaching began to tear at the silver of his coat. The specks of pain where the blood had surfaced was agitated by his movements, causing the drops to trickle like tears from their source to further mar his pelt with color.
The trees of forest began to thin so that the light became more prevalent, moonlight painting his hide with greater ease, slipping silently through the trees to touch his pelt with haunted fingers. The light seemed to play across the silver of his canvas, dappling it in the magic of stars that danced across the caliginous blue sky. He was a dark illumination of the night, a dull ghost who had somehow found his way among the living. Everything about him spoke of mystery he dare not reveal, locked in the sweep of his talons as he flew over the earth and the sway of his forelock that partly veiled his eyes from view. He was the emulation of silence despite the noise he could not help but make. His eyes, so dark in shade, held secrets from the world that hinted of past tribulation that only he would ever know, of pain that only he could ever feel tormenting his soul. He was cloaked in the shadows surrounding him, wrapped in them in the same way a child might be wrapped in a warm blanket. He reveled in the night, enjoyed being entangled in its cold embrace while the constellations made their turns above and the moon, ever waxing and waning, keeping her luminous eye on the children below. He loved when the sun slumbered and relinquished its grasp on light, loved watching the great orange eye of day slip quietly away in a burst of flame to yield to the darkness. There was so much uncertainty hidden in the depths of what he could not see, a sort of thrill in the adventure of a run that led where
he knew not. He was surrendering himself in faith of the unknown, releasing himself to the fickle whims of fate. He felt blissfully free during those hours of darkness between the fire of dawn and dusk, as if he was conceding his control to some other unknown force. His mind was eased of worry. The pain, even though still present in the fierce pounding of flints that turned the earth, was relieved from his mind by the elements of night. He could permit the stars and moon to drift lazily through the heavens as his guardians, unreliable though they may be. He could release his damned secrets into the whispers of night breeze that flitted teasingly through the grasses, tickling the leaves of trees so that they rustled in laughter. Everything about night, he loved.
Movements at last slowed from their resolute speed as vegetation thinned and a large lake loomed in the distance, insubstantial mists creeping stealthily over the surface. Here, the fog that had twisted itself through the legs of trees lay thickly over the earth, like an ethereal blanket. They surrounded him, laying vapors upon his back and leaving silver beads of residue in the tendrils of mane and tail. The moon peered down upon him with impassive focus, dressing him in light as he paced closer to those mysterious waters. Here, a melody of night sounds rose to the sky, echoing about the clearing until they rammed into the wall of trees that bordered the area. A nocturnal bird's voice softly played with slight tenacity, singing a lullaby for the surrounding world. The hoarse croak of toads resonated clearly above the other noises, demanding attention first and overpowering the gentle song of the bird. Also, the crickets here, enlivened by company, played their erratic tune, each composer conflicting with the next so that the entire effect was grating upon the ears. The stallion spotted an owl who was observing him with wizened caution, eyes closing separately only to open once more so that sight could again rest upon this wearied world. His curved beak parted to release a question that fell unanswered into the air. Onward it stretched, drawn out in resolute desperation. Still, no response came. Unsatisfied, the great bird spread his massive wings and floated off into the night with a burst of white feathers accompanied by a swishing sound. Like a phantom that one questions seeing after it has left, so the owl had left the scene, never to return. A splash was heard, emitted from lake directly in front of Tarn, drawing his attention. Movements stilled completely as gaze came to rest on the slow ripple of the swarthy waters, auds pricked forward in vigilance. With no further sign of whatever had caused the sudden movement, Tarn allowed his rigid muscles to ease, permitting the song of night to lull him into quiescence. He now observed what lay around him, noticed the colors that were dulled with the presence of darkness. The lake stood before him as the primary focus, a deep bowl of water that had captured the silver of the moon. Small ripples created by creatures who remained awake disrupted the calm, setting designs spinning out across surface that eventually died vainly before they could reach very far. White lilies dotted the lake - little bursts of purity atop the unknown void of the waters. Sedge bordered the orphic mere, reeds rising up like defiant spears in the murky shallows. Beyond the water was solid ground, carpeted with a light dusting of tall grass that appeared to be dying as time passed, the plants slowly releasing their grasp on life before the pain of winter could reach them. Trees loomed all around him, their trunks standing like the bars of a penetrable cage. They were so stolid in their stances, unmoved by the passing of time even as some shed their clothes with the changing of seasons. Still, they stood, naked or not, their roots firmly pressed into the soil, remaining as such unless some strange, unfortunate event should befall them. Cold optics wandered upwards to the sky, neck extended so that his plush was pointed directly towards the heavens. The moonlight shone full in his eyes, smiling upon his features and filling his head with celestial light. The stars winked at him deceptively from their distance, their designs etched forever into the atmosphere.
The stag stood there like a warrior caught in the drift of peace, lines of strong muscles apparent beneath the ashen coat. The crimson of blood drawn previously by the reaching branches had begun to dry on his fur, leaving trails of scarlet that clashed dully with the gleam of silver. He was oblivious to the wounds, never suffering so much as a flinch when the pain had been inflicted. He was so empty at present, so lost in the tides of fate that he did not deign to care where next he passed. He was hard as stone, that feeling magnified by the dispassion emanating from his presence and the cold look that was locked in clouded optics. He appeared restless even in his state of calm, tense even in his ease. Unknown thoughts lurked behind the veil of his facade, passing quickly through his calculating mind. Weight shifted to alternate sides, muscles rippling with the movement before settling again, mimicking the movements of the lake. Breath that had been easy slowly quickened again as he prepared to do something, mind now set in resolution for some event that was soon to take place, soon to be scrawled upon the tablets of history to remain there forever in memory. The adamance was present in his eyes that had before been shifty with shadows. Now they were still, focused on some invisible goal that Tarn had set his sights upon. The once sluggish movements of his heart began to quicken and his temperature rose in response, warming his hide that had begun to cool in response to the elements. The corners of his lips rose slowly to frame a smug half-smile, that action permitting the slightest glimpse of weakness to graze his eyes before it was again replaced by a distant strength. He felt a riffle of immense power surge through him briefly and his half-smile broadened so that a bitter amusement danced in those frigid optics. He was Tarn, and he would rule. Deep, raspy lyrics were unleashed upon the world, floating steadily from the tongue of the silver stag into the night that grew silent at his words. "I, Tarn, hereby claim this terra as my own. In my name I shall defend it. Woe to the beast who might dare to challenge me." Satisfied, eyes glittering mysteriously in the moonlight, he turned away to slip from the clearing and into the grasp of the forest. Patrill was now his to rule.
----
Pistons swallowed the distance of the land angrily, appendages forever churning so that dark ebony flints tore repeatedly with a similarity to knives into the tortured turf. Breath was emitted quickly from exasperated windpipe before lungs could find strength to again snatch oxygen from the atmosphere to replenish the sources of life that drove the steel stallion forward. Neck was bowed in the illusion of pride, chin tucked towards a brawny chest while muscles roved his body restlessly, playing in rhythm to the cadence of his swift movements. Strands of ashen mane that fell haplessly from his crest danced carelessly in the breeze created by his gallop, swaying alluringly in the dark of night. A hoary tail also stretched behind the massive quarters of the brujo, catching occasionally on brambles whose desperate hands sought to snag all that deigned to pass. His silver threads of hair remained in the clutch of those greedy fingers, gleaming like strands of sparkling magic in light of the oppressing darkness. Through the dense maze of trees the stallion stole, an illusive form that was all but invisible to the untrained eye unless the branches above released their clasp on darkness to permit thin moonbeams to alight on the stag's dappled hide. The silence was only interrupted by the jagged chirps of mournful crickets whose laments rose endlessly into the night. The lone hoot of an owl drifted lazily through the muffled silence, stretching thinly through the forest to land on attentive auds. Muted hoofbeats could be heard as the texture of the forest loam changed, soil now saturated with the moisture of mystery and covered in a thick bed of sepia pine needles that had long since been dead. The conjured noise was now not as striking as before when the stallion had first begun his midnight escapade, currently sounding more as if his charred flints were covered by moccasins, the tempo similar to the incessant thudding of an ancient Indian war drum. Dark eyes were unfathomable in their depth as the stag drifted over the lithosphere like a tainted phantom, a spark of moonlight forever caught and secreted behind the outward veil of their appearance. The vegetation edged closer now to his body as he continued to crash forward in the same way that a tidal wave lands roughly upon the rocks. Crimson shone beneath the light of the moon as their eager reaching began to tear at the silver of his coat. The specks of pain where the blood had surfaced was agitated by his movements, causing the drops to trickle like tears from their source to further mar his pelt with color.
The trees of forest began to thin so that the light became more prevalent, moonlight painting his hide with greater ease, slipping silently through the trees to touch his pelt with haunted fingers. The light seemed to play across the silver of his canvas, dappling it in the magic of stars that danced across the caliginous blue sky. He was a dark illumination of the night, a dull ghost who had somehow found his way among the living. Everything about him spoke of mystery he dare not reveal, locked in the sweep of his talons as he flew over the earth and the sway of his forelock that partly veiled his eyes from view. He was the emulation of silence despite the noise he could not help but make. His eyes, so dark in shade, held secrets from the world that hinted of past tribulation that only he would ever know, of pain that only he could ever feel tormenting his soul. He was cloaked in the shadows surrounding him, wrapped in them in the same way a child might be wrapped in a warm blanket. He reveled in the night, enjoyed being entangled in its cold embrace while the constellations made their turns above and the moon, ever waxing and waning, keeping her luminous eye on the children below. He loved when the sun slumbered and relinquished its grasp on light, loved watching the great orange eye of day slip quietly away in a burst of flame to yield to the darkness. There was so much uncertainty hidden in the depths of what he could not see, a sort of thrill in the adventure of a run that led where
he knew not. He was surrendering himself in faith of the unknown, releasing himself to the fickle whims of fate. He felt blissfully free during those hours of darkness between the fire of dawn and dusk, as if he was conceding his control to some other unknown force. His mind was eased of worry. The pain, even though still present in the fierce pounding of flints that turned the earth, was relieved from his mind by the elements of night. He could permit the stars and moon to drift lazily through the heavens as his guardians, unreliable though they may be. He could release his damned secrets into the whispers of night breeze that flitted teasingly through the grasses, tickling the leaves of trees so that they rustled in laughter. Everything about night, he loved.
Movements at last slowed from their resolute speed as vegetation thinned and a large lake loomed in the distance, insubstantial mists creeping stealthily over the surface. Here, the fog that had twisted itself through the legs of trees lay thickly over the earth, like an ethereal blanket. They surrounded him, laying vapors upon his back and leaving silver beads of residue in the tendrils of mane and tail. The moon peered down upon him with impassive focus, dressing him in light as he paced closer to those mysterious waters. Here, a melody of night sounds rose to the sky, echoing about the clearing until they rammed into the wall of trees that bordered the area. A nocturnal bird's voice softly played with slight tenacity, singing a lullaby for the surrounding world. The hoarse croak of toads resonated clearly above the other noises, demanding attention first and overpowering the gentle song of the bird. Also, the crickets here, enlivened by company, played their erratic tune, each composer conflicting with the next so that the entire effect was grating upon the ears. The stallion spotted an owl who was observing him with wizened caution, eyes closing separately only to open once more so that sight could again rest upon this wearied world. His curved beak parted to release a question that fell unanswered into the air. Onward it stretched, drawn out in resolute desperation. Still, no response came. Unsatisfied, the great bird spread his massive wings and floated off into the night with a burst of white feathers accompanied by a swishing sound. Like a phantom that one questions seeing after it has left, so the owl had left the scene, never to return. A splash was heard, emitted from lake directly in front of Tarn, drawing his attention. Movements stilled completely as gaze came to rest on the slow ripple of the swarthy waters, auds pricked forward in vigilance. With no further sign of whatever had caused the sudden movement, Tarn allowed his rigid muscles to ease, permitting the song of night to lull him into quiescence. He now observed what lay around him, noticed the colors that were dulled with the presence of darkness. The lake stood before him as the primary focus, a deep bowl of water that had captured the silver of the moon. Small ripples created by creatures who remained awake disrupted the calm, setting designs spinning out across surface that eventually died vainly before they could reach very far. White lilies dotted the lake - little bursts of purity atop the unknown void of the waters. Sedge bordered the orphic mere, reeds rising up like defiant spears in the murky shallows. Beyond the water was solid ground, carpeted with a light dusting of tall grass that appeared to be dying as time passed, the plants slowly releasing their grasp on life before the pain of winter could reach them. Trees loomed all around him, their trunks standing like the bars of a penetrable cage. They were so stolid in their stances, unmoved by the passing of time even as some shed their clothes with the changing of seasons. Still, they stood, naked or not, their roots firmly pressed into the soil, remaining as such unless some strange, unfortunate event should befall them. Cold optics wandered upwards to the sky, neck extended so that his plush was pointed directly towards the heavens. The moonlight shone full in his eyes, smiling upon his features and filling his head with celestial light. The stars winked at him deceptively from their distance, their designs etched forever into the atmosphere.
The stag stood there like a warrior caught in the drift of peace, lines of strong muscles apparent beneath the ashen coat. The crimson of blood drawn previously by the reaching branches had begun to dry on his fur, leaving trails of scarlet that clashed dully with the gleam of silver. He was oblivious to the wounds, never suffering so much as a flinch when the pain had been inflicted. He was so empty at present, so lost in the tides of fate that he did not deign to care where next he passed. He was hard as stone, that feeling magnified by the dispassion emanating from his presence and the cold look that was locked in clouded optics. He appeared restless even in his state of calm, tense even in his ease. Unknown thoughts lurked behind the veil of his facade, passing quickly through his calculating mind. Weight shifted to alternate sides, muscles rippling with the movement before settling again, mimicking the movements of the lake. Breath that had been easy slowly quickened again as he prepared to do something, mind now set in resolution for some event that was soon to take place, soon to be scrawled upon the tablets of history to remain there forever in memory. The adamance was present in his eyes that had before been shifty with shadows. Now they were still, focused on some invisible goal that Tarn had set his sights upon. The once sluggish movements of his heart began to quicken and his temperature rose in response, warming his hide that had begun to cool in response to the elements. The corners of his lips rose slowly to frame a smug half-smile, that action permitting the slightest glimpse of weakness to graze his eyes before it was again replaced by a distant strength. He felt a riffle of immense power surge through him briefly and his half-smile broadened so that a bitter amusement danced in those frigid optics. He was Tarn, and he would rule. Deep, raspy lyrics were unleashed upon the world, floating steadily from the tongue of the silver stag into the night that grew silent at his words. "I, Tarn, hereby claim this terra as my own. In my name I shall defend it. Woe to the beast who might dare to challenge me." Satisfied, eyes glittering mysteriously in the moonlight, he turned away to slip from the clearing and into the grasp of the forest. Patrill was now his to rule.
