Eeeker squeak! So sorry that took me a bit. I had some written up, and then my computer shut down, and I didn't manage to get it back so I got all bummed out and then distracted by netflix... I can blame the computer for that too! :P
Nemaisare Member
- Last Seen: 5 hrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Nemaisare
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 1069 (0.24 / day)
- VMs: 6
-
Username history
- Nemaisare 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
cottonferret,
Vampiretwilight,
Krasnaya,
ppppppp,
Not a Sayan,
Simply Not Real,
Candy Cane Elf,
DizzyPrism,
JonTheArchivist,
Neziul
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Most Recent Posts
With the light almost vanished, Wilhelm’s sight returned, though he was not immediately aware of it, as he had fallen back into memory dreams while Hap considered him. He was only vaguely aware of his diminutive host’s motions and absence. It was the slow quiet that woke him, the outside world, with its whining wind scurling about the walls was suddenly loud and seemingly violent, but he recognised the haunting sound as the wind’s usual envy and felt no concern within the heavy stone. It could not reach him here. Instead, it was the steady movement, in and out of the room, of the mother dog with her pups that roused him sufficiently to notice all these things.
He was, at the least, glad to be divested of the worry of inadvertently crushing one of the pups, but Krell’s movements did little to ease his worry about her sharp teeth and his current inability to escape them. But just as suddenly as she came, she vanished, and there was no more warmth at his side. No more tiny squirming life. Just darkness. The thin absence of light, his mother. And air rushing in and out of his lungs.
With his belly as full as it wanted to be, a strong swallow of fermented seed lulling his mind and relaxing his body, his exhaustion had finally ceased being exhaustion. Now, although certainly still far more tired than otherwise, and with no greater reserves of energy, he found that without the incentive of too bright light enticing them to close, his eyes had less difficulty remaining open. Wilhelm blinked twice and slid his third eyelids back cautiously, to discover anew the place where he’d been brought. Now, he could see the details. The fine bunches of herbs, with their distinguishing leaf shapes and seeds, the bulbous roots that might have been tubers or bulbs. Some he recognised vaguely, as though they had been pulled from his memories without reference to the actual plant he remembered. Some he could not name at all.
The rafters were thick with them, and after assessing each bundle he could make out, the troll turned his attention to the ceiling itself. To the wooden joins and settings, the supports that held up the structure around him. A strange thing indeed, to see the same handiwork as the humans he knew, but above ground and large enough to fit him, even now he was fully grown. That he could not stand erect within the building was of no account, he should not have even been able to fit through the door, had this been a human house. He had tried it, once or twice. But more astonishing was this notion of light held within stone. Light that did not come from fire, but from the home of light itself. Beneath the ground…
He had understood very little of Hap’s explanations concerning this place. And now he reached out a shaking hand to tap a horny nail against the metal grating keeping the light within. Or maybe it was without… He could not have said. The grate was a concept he’d never encountered before. And his brain was not capable of absorbing the idea just then. In the end, having exhausted his capacity to take in his surroundings for the moment, the troll closed his eyes again, let his head drift sideways, and fell into the dark and his dreams as the wind continued to wail outside.
It swept nimble, cunning fingers along every crevice and sought out any hint of weakness between the stones. It faded in disappointment when finding nothing, before redoubling its efforts until its own surge of motion carried it away, beyond the wall, across the snow and into the night. Past sled tracks slowly filling in and dusting the top of deep divets that had one been a different trail, crossing over the sled runners and going no further. It ruffled the clean white fur of a little fox, digging at one such depression where its nose told it blood had been spilled. It tangled and tore between the dead branches of grasping trees and howled against the vast lift in the earth that forced it to go where it did not want to go. And when it wrapped around the furclad forms of human and dog huddled around twin fires, they knew little of its journey, and only brushed aside its companionable stroking of their hair to resettle the strands in place. Only the dogs whined as they pointed their muzzles into it, uncertain of the world it had passed through.
The wind, in turn, brought a wash of cool air into a world that was not expecting frost for another month, at the least. The humid air quickly stifled the wind’s moan and kept the creeping crystals at bay, marking out a strange half circle covered in fog through which a troll and his, as yet unknown, hunters had wandered.
He was, at the least, glad to be divested of the worry of inadvertently crushing one of the pups, but Krell’s movements did little to ease his worry about her sharp teeth and his current inability to escape them. But just as suddenly as she came, she vanished, and there was no more warmth at his side. No more tiny squirming life. Just darkness. The thin absence of light, his mother. And air rushing in and out of his lungs.
With his belly as full as it wanted to be, a strong swallow of fermented seed lulling his mind and relaxing his body, his exhaustion had finally ceased being exhaustion. Now, although certainly still far more tired than otherwise, and with no greater reserves of energy, he found that without the incentive of too bright light enticing them to close, his eyes had less difficulty remaining open. Wilhelm blinked twice and slid his third eyelids back cautiously, to discover anew the place where he’d been brought. Now, he could see the details. The fine bunches of herbs, with their distinguishing leaf shapes and seeds, the bulbous roots that might have been tubers or bulbs. Some he recognised vaguely, as though they had been pulled from his memories without reference to the actual plant he remembered. Some he could not name at all.
The rafters were thick with them, and after assessing each bundle he could make out, the troll turned his attention to the ceiling itself. To the wooden joins and settings, the supports that held up the structure around him. A strange thing indeed, to see the same handiwork as the humans he knew, but above ground and large enough to fit him, even now he was fully grown. That he could not stand erect within the building was of no account, he should not have even been able to fit through the door, had this been a human house. He had tried it, once or twice. But more astonishing was this notion of light held within stone. Light that did not come from fire, but from the home of light itself. Beneath the ground…
He had understood very little of Hap’s explanations concerning this place. And now he reached out a shaking hand to tap a horny nail against the metal grating keeping the light within. Or maybe it was without… He could not have said. The grate was a concept he’d never encountered before. And his brain was not capable of absorbing the idea just then. In the end, having exhausted his capacity to take in his surroundings for the moment, the troll closed his eyes again, let his head drift sideways, and fell into the dark and his dreams as the wind continued to wail outside.
It swept nimble, cunning fingers along every crevice and sought out any hint of weakness between the stones. It faded in disappointment when finding nothing, before redoubling its efforts until its own surge of motion carried it away, beyond the wall, across the snow and into the night. Past sled tracks slowly filling in and dusting the top of deep divets that had one been a different trail, crossing over the sled runners and going no further. It ruffled the clean white fur of a little fox, digging at one such depression where its nose told it blood had been spilled. It tangled and tore between the dead branches of grasping trees and howled against the vast lift in the earth that forced it to go where it did not want to go. And when it wrapped around the furclad forms of human and dog huddled around twin fires, they knew little of its journey, and only brushed aside its companionable stroking of their hair to resettle the strands in place. Only the dogs whined as they pointed their muzzles into it, uncertain of the world it had passed through.
The wind, in turn, brought a wash of cool air into a world that was not expecting frost for another month, at the least. The humid air quickly stifled the wind’s moan and kept the creeping crystals at bay, marking out a strange half circle covered in fog through which a troll and his, as yet unknown, hunters had wandered.
Oh geez, I'm sorry to hear that, more sorry for your loss, that's rough. You take all the time you need. Do not worry about this, at all, it'll wait.
*hugs*
*hugs*
There was a moment of disconnect as Miria began shouting. His vision blurred and shifted and she seemed suddenly shorter. His feelings hardened and fell away even as he stepped back in shock at the vehemence of her words. The dizzying shift of being, for that moment, the source, centre and target of all her anger left him dazed and confused. He didn’t know what was happening, he didn’t know if she wanted him to grovel on his knees and beg forgiveness or shout back. He wasn’t even certain what she was blaming him for. He had never met her, known her, loved her or trusted her before yesterday. For that matter, she had never done any of those with him either.
It was only when she paused, and saw him again that he understood the problem. Rising from his position halfway to kneeling (that he did not recall starting), Curdle frowned and ran his fingers over his beard, concerned by the revelation. He was an interloper who could see and hear and feel everything in her dreams. But they were still hers. He had no control even over who he was now. This might well mean he had no control over how he would leave, or what he might be when he did. But he was spared from worrying about that by the need to address the woman’s concerns. If she acted against him here, he did not think he’d be able to stop her.
The trouble, really, was he didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything to say. He’d seen her love a jinni and run from the same. He’d seen her lose a family and gain the one that stole them from her. He’d heard a jinni’s suffering at her father’s hand. There was nothing that could answer that and his fingers curled into fists at his sides as she stumbled and shrank to the ground. What could he do? He knew all this and yet remained ignorant of her name. Messi… Perhaps she was more deserving of that spoken courtesy than anyone he’d ever applied it to, but he’d long since learned that it did not offer much by way of comfort.
He wanted to though, oh, it held him so close that longing to give her something… better… on which to dream. But he could not move. The only sign of his own emotional turmoil was the shifting of his left thumb over his nails, as though that might ease anything.
She broke him from his paralysis with her mention of the urn though. It grabbed his attention and dragged him forward one, then two steps as she spoke of being rid of it. Not when he had only just found it again! Please! “No, messi, please do- not… Dead? No, I…” His expression shifted from worried to confused to unsure. “I do not think...”
How could he tell? He might be. He felt real, but this was her dreaming, her creation. Bringing his hands up, he frowned at them as he opened and closed his fingers, realising belatedly that there was no old ache of worn out joints as he did. Not so real then. But his body, his real body, was in a small hut in the middle of Renna. Was it dreaming too? Was he the only one dreaming? Flying and seeing everything the way he saw magic… Falling into her breath… That was the stuff of dreams. But a human and jinni falling in love, that was fantasy. Never would he have dreamed anything like it. So, it could not only be him dreaming her. But was she dreaming him? Was he alive now only because he existed in her head?
No, no… No! He fought the surge of panic that bubbled up in his chest and made it hard to breathe (did he need to now?), closing his eyes and blotting out as much as he could of his situation now. He couldn’t afford to panic. He couldn’t afford to lose himself. It didn’t matter if she was dreaming or if he was dead or if none of this was real. If it was all he could do, than he needed to make the most of it. He had to keep his head and tell her what she needed to know. The struggle to keep himself together thinned his lips behind his beard and whitened his knuckles, but somewhere, distant, a drum was beating a slow, echoing rhythm, lub-dub lub-dub. And his breast expanded and contracted. Somewhere, his body was resting, lying prone on the floor of a stucco hut and awaiting his return. The certainty settled his nerves.
He did not dare wonder how he might manage that return.
When he opened his eyes again, they were a little harder, a little clearer. More focused on his own goals than keeping her history from engulfing him. “I am not dead, messi. It may be I cannot say the same tomorrow, but tonight…” How did one describe what he had seen and done that evening? He certainly did not think he could. “I am alive.”
“If… Messi, if you have carried the urn so far already, please do not throw it away now. I would relieve you of its burden, yet I do not know how to escape this place or the binds that keep me in Renna. Will you bring me with you when you wake?” He could not have disguised the tremble in his voice at the last question. If she wanted him to beg, he believed he would. And he was not even sure if her will and memory alone would accomplish anything. He did not know how dream travel worked. But this was his last and only chance. He had given up once already, too easily by far. He would not make the same mistake twice.
It was only when she paused, and saw him again that he understood the problem. Rising from his position halfway to kneeling (that he did not recall starting), Curdle frowned and ran his fingers over his beard, concerned by the revelation. He was an interloper who could see and hear and feel everything in her dreams. But they were still hers. He had no control even over who he was now. This might well mean he had no control over how he would leave, or what he might be when he did. But he was spared from worrying about that by the need to address the woman’s concerns. If she acted against him here, he did not think he’d be able to stop her.
The trouble, really, was he didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything to say. He’d seen her love a jinni and run from the same. He’d seen her lose a family and gain the one that stole them from her. He’d heard a jinni’s suffering at her father’s hand. There was nothing that could answer that and his fingers curled into fists at his sides as she stumbled and shrank to the ground. What could he do? He knew all this and yet remained ignorant of her name. Messi… Perhaps she was more deserving of that spoken courtesy than anyone he’d ever applied it to, but he’d long since learned that it did not offer much by way of comfort.
He wanted to though, oh, it held him so close that longing to give her something… better… on which to dream. But he could not move. The only sign of his own emotional turmoil was the shifting of his left thumb over his nails, as though that might ease anything.
She broke him from his paralysis with her mention of the urn though. It grabbed his attention and dragged him forward one, then two steps as she spoke of being rid of it. Not when he had only just found it again! Please! “No, messi, please do- not… Dead? No, I…” His expression shifted from worried to confused to unsure. “I do not think...”
How could he tell? He might be. He felt real, but this was her dreaming, her creation. Bringing his hands up, he frowned at them as he opened and closed his fingers, realising belatedly that there was no old ache of worn out joints as he did. Not so real then. But his body, his real body, was in a small hut in the middle of Renna. Was it dreaming too? Was he the only one dreaming? Flying and seeing everything the way he saw magic… Falling into her breath… That was the stuff of dreams. But a human and jinni falling in love, that was fantasy. Never would he have dreamed anything like it. So, it could not only be him dreaming her. But was she dreaming him? Was he alive now only because he existed in her head?
No, no… No! He fought the surge of panic that bubbled up in his chest and made it hard to breathe (did he need to now?), closing his eyes and blotting out as much as he could of his situation now. He couldn’t afford to panic. He couldn’t afford to lose himself. It didn’t matter if she was dreaming or if he was dead or if none of this was real. If it was all he could do, than he needed to make the most of it. He had to keep his head and tell her what she needed to know. The struggle to keep himself together thinned his lips behind his beard and whitened his knuckles, but somewhere, distant, a drum was beating a slow, echoing rhythm, lub-dub lub-dub. And his breast expanded and contracted. Somewhere, his body was resting, lying prone on the floor of a stucco hut and awaiting his return. The certainty settled his nerves.
He did not dare wonder how he might manage that return.
When he opened his eyes again, they were a little harder, a little clearer. More focused on his own goals than keeping her history from engulfing him. “I am not dead, messi. It may be I cannot say the same tomorrow, but tonight…” How did one describe what he had seen and done that evening? He certainly did not think he could. “I am alive.”
“If… Messi, if you have carried the urn so far already, please do not throw it away now. I would relieve you of its burden, yet I do not know how to escape this place or the binds that keep me in Renna. Will you bring me with you when you wake?” He could not have disguised the tremble in his voice at the last question. If she wanted him to beg, he believed he would. And he was not even sure if her will and memory alone would accomplish anything. He did not know how dream travel worked. But this was his last and only chance. He had given up once already, too easily by far. He would not make the same mistake twice.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Heehee, no rush. I like my Taco posts. They're worth the wait.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
And then it'll turn into a "Damn it, where'd I pack the measuring cups? I need a coffee mug but I can't find those either." sort of feast thing.... I'm sure that's a thing that could happen. Hypothetically. Yes. :P
I will! I'll go to all of the library sales and get my sister to go with me to used book stores and we'll tear them apart! No we won't, that would be bad for the books... :( But we will go looking. And if nothing else, I think I still have some book money for chapters...
I will! I'll go to all of the library sales and get my sister to go with me to used book stores and we'll tear them apart! No we won't, that would be bad for the books... :( But we will go looking. And if nothing else, I think I still have some book money for chapters...
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
There is. Poor Samaire. Still wonderful though. Heeee!
All of the hard feelings, Taco. All of them. They are there. :P
Do iiiit! Yes! And then take pictures and tell me how it went. I shall remind you of this important act of cookery. And then pester you, yes, yes I shall. Mwahahahahaha! I did actually try to make something from Redwall, I can't remember what, but I think it had to do with honeyed apples. Not the crystallised ones, though man I'd love me some of them.
On a side note, your little status thing keeps making me want to read John Dies At The End... Some day! Some day I will find it. And it will be on my shelf. And the reading will happen.
All of the hard feelings, Taco. All of them. They are there. :P
Do iiiit! Yes! And then take pictures and tell me how it went. I shall remind you of this important act of cookery. And then pester you, yes, yes I shall. Mwahahahahaha! I did actually try to make something from Redwall, I can't remember what, but I think it had to do with honeyed apples. Not the crystallised ones, though man I'd love me some of them.
On a side note, your little status thing keeps making me want to read John Dies At The End... Some day! Some day I will find it. And it will be on my shelf. And the reading will happen.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Dreams are the best thing ever to play with, cuz they don't care what all makes sense in reality. Talking muffins? Go for it! Just don't eat them, you'll traumatise your character for life.... :P And playing around with symbols and scenery and what the dreamer can accept as real and what gives them a wtf moment. So fun!
Awww, you don't trust him? Matt's crushed. Not. Snrk. He wouldn't trust himself either. Samaire really does have good reasons. But Matiir would still like it if she ignored them and let him go. He would, he would.
Redwall is pretty rad. It's so easy to follow, though I inevitably forget names. And the food. Damnit, Taco, the food! I want that cook book. I really do.
Awww, you don't trust him? Matt's crushed. Not. Snrk. He wouldn't trust himself either. Samaire really does have good reasons. But Matiir would still like it if she ignored them and let him go. He would, he would.
Redwall is pretty rad. It's so easy to follow, though I inevitably forget names. And the food. Damnit, Taco, the food! I want that cook book. I really do.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
I've got no way to reply ICly to the dream part of your post just yet, but I may think of something(more concretely than the random squiggles floating round about in my head) yet. But I just wanted to say that I rather liked it. Yerp.
Also, ha! Matiir's actually not being a butt in this post. He might wind up being a really big butt in the next post, but oh well, you take what you can get, eh wot? :P
Oh man, I was reading too much Redwall this weekend.
Also, ha! Matiir's actually not being a butt in this post. He might wind up being a really big butt in the next post, but oh well, you take what you can get, eh wot? :P
Oh man, I was reading too much Redwall this weekend.
In
blackbird claw, raven wing [ closed for El Taco Taco && Nemaisare ]
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
He watched her as she stood, not surprised that she was awake now. Not even considering the possibility that anything could have slept through that. Matiir only knew that every hair on his body was erect and every muscle trembled. Had he not been chained to the tree, he would have been long gone instead of hiding in its branches. As it was the only option he had (fighting back having been utterly forgotten), he’d treed himself and was now, perhaps understandably, feeling cornered. But when Samaire did not run, roll over or add to the threat, he could only stare, unblinking, as she approached the danger.
If she’d come within reach and he’d known of her intentions, he might have tried to stop her. Chased her away from what, to him, could only mean bad consequences. But she didn’t, and he hadn’t, and so, he was left to tremble in his tree as she pushed back her own fear and investigated.
There was nothing to find that they both did not already know. Here wasn’t safe. Away was a good idea.
She took her time returning, though he could see her the whole time, and likely took only three breaths, he was impatient with the risk she took. He could feel, despite the hairs standing all down his arms and on his neck, that the sensation was lingering only. It had ceased building. It was finished its hunt, whatever it was, now the deer was dead. She was prodding a hungry beast on its kill, for all he could see nothing else there. And even as she came rushing back, Matiir found himself balancing precariously on the branch, grip tight, but muscles bunching to defend himself from an attack that never came.
And he only continued to stare as she began to pack up the camp. Having nothing of his own, the delay would prove no hindrance, but it did take him a short moment to process that the human had decided first to walk towards the danger before wanting to leave it. Had she not felt the danger there?
He finally began to move when it became clear she wasn’t playing tricks, leaning off the branch and down the trunk towards the ground. Without fear adding wings to his heels and adrenaline staving off the aches and pains he’d acquired that evening, he was far more hesitant about coming down than he’d been about going up. In the end, the trouble solved itself when he overbalanced and tumbled headlong to the ground with a yowled complaint that was quickly cut off by a sudden lack of air in his lungs.
He picked himself up roughly, dishevelled head shaking vigourously as though to say he was perfectly fine and had meant to do that and he’d appreciate it if the bee buzzing in his ear left it. For the moment, there was little fight left in him. He was hungry, tired, cold and hurting and all he wanted to do was leave as quickly as his stiff limbs would allow. If that meant not fighting with the human now, he would very nearly be happy to cooperate. And in the most human gesture he’d acted out since he’d been caught and chained, Matiir sank onto his butt, mud-caked knees brushing his chin, feet flat on the ground, and let his arms dangle over them for all the world like any other wild young man who’s tired himself out and feels like taking a break. He might well have been about to pick up a few sticks and begin doodling in the mud.
He didn’t though. He held out his hands towards Samaire and shook his wrists instead, knowing enough about humans to realise the gesture had meaning and might win him what he wanted. The loose jangling of the shackles and his scarlet eyes, watching for her reaction, were each a good reminder that it was all no more than imitation as he chirped at her, trying to offer no threat. He wanted free of the chain enough to let her close. The dead deer was a strong enough incentive to leave him willing to prove that he was not worth her worries. Of course, once freed, there was no guarantee he’d feel the same way, but there was no reason to let her think otherwise.
If she’d come within reach and he’d known of her intentions, he might have tried to stop her. Chased her away from what, to him, could only mean bad consequences. But she didn’t, and he hadn’t, and so, he was left to tremble in his tree as she pushed back her own fear and investigated.
There was nothing to find that they both did not already know. Here wasn’t safe. Away was a good idea.
She took her time returning, though he could see her the whole time, and likely took only three breaths, he was impatient with the risk she took. He could feel, despite the hairs standing all down his arms and on his neck, that the sensation was lingering only. It had ceased building. It was finished its hunt, whatever it was, now the deer was dead. She was prodding a hungry beast on its kill, for all he could see nothing else there. And even as she came rushing back, Matiir found himself balancing precariously on the branch, grip tight, but muscles bunching to defend himself from an attack that never came.
And he only continued to stare as she began to pack up the camp. Having nothing of his own, the delay would prove no hindrance, but it did take him a short moment to process that the human had decided first to walk towards the danger before wanting to leave it. Had she not felt the danger there?
He finally began to move when it became clear she wasn’t playing tricks, leaning off the branch and down the trunk towards the ground. Without fear adding wings to his heels and adrenaline staving off the aches and pains he’d acquired that evening, he was far more hesitant about coming down than he’d been about going up. In the end, the trouble solved itself when he overbalanced and tumbled headlong to the ground with a yowled complaint that was quickly cut off by a sudden lack of air in his lungs.
He picked himself up roughly, dishevelled head shaking vigourously as though to say he was perfectly fine and had meant to do that and he’d appreciate it if the bee buzzing in his ear left it. For the moment, there was little fight left in him. He was hungry, tired, cold and hurting and all he wanted to do was leave as quickly as his stiff limbs would allow. If that meant not fighting with the human now, he would very nearly be happy to cooperate. And in the most human gesture he’d acted out since he’d been caught and chained, Matiir sank onto his butt, mud-caked knees brushing his chin, feet flat on the ground, and let his arms dangle over them for all the world like any other wild young man who’s tired himself out and feels like taking a break. He might well have been about to pick up a few sticks and begin doodling in the mud.
He didn’t though. He held out his hands towards Samaire and shook his wrists instead, knowing enough about humans to realise the gesture had meaning and might win him what he wanted. The loose jangling of the shackles and his scarlet eyes, watching for her reaction, were each a good reminder that it was all no more than imitation as he chirped at her, trying to offer no threat. He wanted free of the chain enough to let her close. The dead deer was a strong enough incentive to leave him willing to prove that he was not worth her worries. Of course, once freed, there was no guarantee he’d feel the same way, but there was no reason to let her think otherwise.
© 2007-2026