Walking by the madmans tune

Tolkien

5 y/o medium Female
Hugin & Munin, Male Crows

It was easy to fade into the background, vanishing amongst the shadows and cold places where so few were willing to venture. This land she had discovered was vast, the wind carrying upon its back the many hewn scents, wrestled and torn from their bed into far flinging distances. Who, what, and why; they were questions that came freely and without restraint, and yet, without the context of those who bore their truths; it meant little to her. If it would have meant anything at all regardless. Had she been anyone else, perhaps the raven would have been content to live her life on the fringes, coming to know the strangers companionship in the birds who croaked and crooned their ballad in tune to her wanderings. Perhaps she would have found their existence, spun to life from amongst dreams and mist and mirrors a charming fantasy, one better to appreciate then doubt; yet, magic, was something that should never be approached with disregard, should never be seen as anything more then a tool shaped by the hand of those who weilded it. If she had found its sudden presence within the hauntings of her life, so too would other's. 

A thought, that stole away many options. Tolkien found solance in her hollow followers, the ravens seeming more alike then what was completely natural. They never spoke to each other, and yet, always, did they speak in tandem. Satellites, forever circling each other, incomplete. They hounded her steps like the birds of her past, led by the purpose that fueled her path. It had taken time to reach the belly of the vast cliffs, longer still to treck the land that snared the great floating islands. Even now, if she were to look to south, they would remain, a constant in their refusal to remain forgotten. 

"Do you know anything about this land?" she had demanded, not too long into their travels.

'We know only what we have seen.'

'We know only what you know.'

'For we are but one week old.'

Completely useless.

That too, had become a fast, and far too irritating habit of theirs, speaking in circles; refusing to offer any sort of solid answer. Mocking her in her ignorance, yet making not attempt to cast light upon the darkness. 

Standing now, upon the jutting, ragged shore, she glimpsed the black cliffs where her wandering had begun. Here, where the chill was ever constant, familiar in its clarity. Tolkien was no winterborn, raised amongst the tangled ruin of a marsh long forgotten as trivial. A place where the outcast were barred, to rot away in stagnant waters. Looking behind her, for there wasn't much really to see ahead, a rattling shiver darted along the albinos frame, black, stark feathers her only true comfort to the northern draw. They had faced generations. A little cold would not be their undoing; nor hers.

OC: open
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Satchel

7 y/o large Male


He hadn't meant to come here.


Not at first at least. After his run in with Maui he was reluctant to linger to far north, for despite the chill of the lands he could still taste the fire that the god had cast upon him. Curious indeed to think he could anger a god so. But what was he then, if not a heretic? He moved stiffly upon the frozen waste, breathing deep everything he could never have. A slow calculation, reluctant still to claim the birthright that was his as a Mundane.

He stumbled upon falls entirely by accident, halting swift as he inhaled the harsh cold air. Watching in admiration as the mighty water thundered before him, and it was a wonder that anything could ever humble him so. Taking a few steps closer to the edge, he cast a gaze down at his murky reflection. An odd sort of shiver as he took in it's distortion, finding it slightly ironic that it mirrored his insides so perfect. Only his molten gaze showed true, the eyes of a ghost peeking up from depths unknown.

He might not of noticed her if not for the birds. Noticing a flutter of a shadow he wretched his attention away from the water and watched curiously as the ravens settled. Then he thought it was another god, for she was a pale as him with a glorious splash of her own feathers. However something felt different here. Shifting his position so he now faced her general direction, he decided to call out. Because not much else could be lost at this point anyway. “ I see I'm not the only thing haunting this place, dear phantom. “ a general neutrality to his tone, despite the curiosity that plagued him. Not bothering to hold his breath, reclining slightly as the situation began to unfold.

“ It is best not to be so angry friend, “

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