[AW]  It’s all so incredibly loud

Juryoku

Frost Daemon of Mt. Naira

11 y/o large Male
Xenon, Female Wood stork
©
Click, click, click. That dreadful sound he hoped not to hear again. A reminder his desires were never satiated as eternal peace stuck its tongue out at him. The beast’s bony form sought the cover of pine straws he rested upon. One crimson eye peeked through heavy lids, viewing a dark figure approaching him. Panic couldn’t root itself upon his foggy mind. A slender, sharp shape drew closer to his face, and it parted after it clattered once more.

Get up.

Then did his vocal cords erupt from their silence. A sound similar to a kettle whistling from the heated water within its belly. This hibernation found its end. The yawn he let out morphed into a grumble while his red eyes met the green ones of his companion. Juryoku assumed she no longer wanted to gamble with fate. His body used all it had stored away, which wasn’t much to begin with. A skeleton now running on empty; he needed to find sustenance soon. Xenon already planned out a bribery before waking the whiskered fellow. She set a single berry down in front of him and quickly did Juryoku’s eyes light up. They were in season.

As he crushed the sweet berry with his tongue, it sparked enough temptation in him to leave his abode. There was one problem, however. He had hidden himself high above and within Mt. Naira. Feeble legs trudged to the ledge that reached outside his cave. Peering over and down, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to make the trek down. He glanced at Xenon, who made it obvious she wouldn’t fetch him anymore food. With a small huff, he bowed and let his forelegs dangle over the edge. After a moment, he threw his tail up to offset the support.

He dropped.

The leviathan tumbled and tumbled. Whatever scales he had left on his body broke off a handful at a time. The coldness of the snow against exposed skin nearly brought his body into shock. And once he neared the foot of this mountain, he flipped to his side and rolled the rest of the way down less quick but more heavy.

Thump. Finally, he reached flat ground. His chest rose and fell as he heaved. A bloody nose and a massive headache scolded him, but at least he made it down; somewhat still breathing. Xenon landed beside him, trying her best to hide away her panic for Juryoku. She sighed and shook her head at the beast. Such an extreme approach she didn’t think he’d go with first.

Trying to get over the dizziness, he staggered up only to stumble back down. He laid there face deep in the snow, attempting to recollect himself.


"Speaking"Xenon
Table @ Centience
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Aulë

of

4 y/o medium Male
© Rare
Sound of Silence

The cold was something he had never experienced before, a mosaic of crystalline shapes caught in eternal slumber thereupon the mountains peak, like hundreds of tiny mirrors glittering and gleaming, white and silver, and every color in between. To see was one truth, yet, to know, was a fully different tale. When first his toes had touched the snow, he had jolted, a full-body shiver playing amongst the tresses of captured stars and transient dust, his purple eyes widened in comic intrigue. Only shortly after to leap forward, dancing amidst the place where water lingered longer than the rest, cold and soft to the heavy and dark. Aulë could say that while rivers and lakes were beautiful, they were not a place he wished to linger, caught in the depths where the lights went dark and the sounds gave way to perfect silence. Far too much like the heavens above, vast distances and loneliness a pain he did not wish to experience again.

This land, held a different sort of silence, the type that treasured its long pauses, holding its breath, making each interruption to his travels all the more fascinating. He'd stop, ears turning in to catch each noise; the fall of snow from the pine trees embrace, the movement of a deer or some other small creature brave enough to venture forth from their burrows. Perhaps to some, the north was dead, sleeping patiently for a time where life was easier, seasons playing their part in creating the patchwork melody from one sunrise to the next. The stars were forever the same, but cycling, moving behind the horizon as the earth spun and spun and spun. Constant motion; some, slower than others. Aulë found he had come to life this place, calm in a way the south was not, relinquishing its stories in a way that made it easier to understand. When first he had been drawn from the darkness of the water, there had been.... too much. Too much noise, too much smells too many heartbeats puttering away in a dizzying collision of vibrations in air and earth. 

A spectator to the world, it had all been too much. He had found peace here, in this world of silence, and came to over its richness in a way the sky never could mirror. There, it was deep and stifling, consuming and... empty. Here, it made each new find something precious, blooming across his senses in the way the world was to a newborn. So when the world crashed and groaned, all clattering rocks and roots torn cruelly from their dormant beds, he at first, shied away. His long tail coiled, pooling against his heels as he peered through the powder, catching sight of a plume of white cut into the rocky face he had been following just ahead. A rockslide? He had discovered early, that it was not just the predators he had to be wary of here, in the harsh snows; sometimes the land itself bared its teeth. But then... blood. Sharp and bitter, it cloyed against his tongue in a way that made his muzzle furrow, even as his feet started to move entirely without his consent. Blood meant pain, suffering, remembering all too clearly the sensations of scraped toes, torn skin.

Each step brought new information, he was careful to disturb as little of the track he walked, elven in nature as though floating, until he came to break in the trees. Leaning against the rough-hewn bark, Aulë squinted into the open space, nocturnal eyes struggling to glean just what had incurred the anger of the land, only to still at the strangest of sights. Kissed by the seas, glittering with scales in the way only fish seemed to do, a large form laid crumpled at the bottom of the cliffs. Yet... looking up, he spotted jewels of faded blue, scattered in the dirty snow, leading up and up and up... into the highlands rather than from the shores. Tilting crown, puzzled, lilac eyes turned once more to the creature, stars dimming, purple and blue. 'You are a far way from the sea,' whispered in the gentlest of light-tones, he crept slowly from the treeline, even as a frown marred his expression, seeing jutting bone beneath the matted, smoky fur.


@Juryoku
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Juryoku

Frost Daemon of Mt. Naira

11 y/o large Male
Xenon, Female Wood stork
©
Melted snow and blood mixed against his lips. The taste of his own blood prompted his core to shrivel into the fellow’s back. Louder, a heart overshot from adrenaline pushed into his ears. Each throb within his head intertwined with the intensifying ring that dominated the previous beating over his hearing. Forelegs sought to prop him up somewhat as red liquid dripped down into a hole; a pocket in the snow his face created, filled with slush and blood. The world seemed to flicker between many colors. No longer had the warming colors of dawn lighten his view. Heavy tints of blues, yellows, purples coated his eyes.

Juryoku fluttered his eyes and shook his head to rid of the blotches of hues overlaying his view. Instead, pain shot through his skull again, nearly bringing the male back onto the ground. He tucked his hind legs beneath him in support, now sitting with his head drooped. Whiskers wiggled around, catching each drip of blood to fall. Xenon forced herself into his line of sight as she called out to him in hopes he’d say something. A shadowy mess she appeared to the scaled wolf. Raspy breaths sputtered out small clouds. As the worse part of all this trickled away, a soft voice cut past the ringing.

An ear swiveled in the direction where it supposedly heard the words. Something within him burned, but the matches his thoughts tried to light wouldn’t take flame. “You’re mistaken,” he muttered. “My features do not dictate who I belong to.” Tired. Every mention of his appearance tying him to the sea welcomed disgust onto him. Atlahua left his mark on him, but no longer did Juryoku believe in the water god. A gentle, caring deity; heavy in deception, that title stood. His eyes broke away from the blood puddle by his paws and searched for where this stranger was. The man’s gaze narrowed, his tongue cleaning away the blood from his nose.

“However, you don’t seem to belong here either.”

A frown tugged at him. Going by looks alone, they both were beings from opposite worlds. With his head no longer on the verge of exploding, Juryoku carefully rose onto all four legs. He teetered closer to the bounds of Trystle Pine, where the smaller wolf stood out from. Although hurting and spent, the beast of this mountain held himself well in face of what hardship gripped him. “Why are you here?” Heavy smoke followed his words this time. He stopped before intruding on the other’s personal space. Xenon, in silence, followed her companion. She questioned his irritated display, however, nipping at his rump a few times.


"Speaking"Xenon
Table @ Centience


@Aulë
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Aulë

of

4 y/o medium Male
© Rare
Sound of Silence

The closer he dared to venture, the more unknown gave way to simple truths. Gleaming scale, long, tendril whiskers, kissing the earth, searching searching. A great, leviathans tail, powerful and yet, made so feeble by neglect. Aulë had seen such creatures beneath the waters, silver and flashing, dancing between the light and darkness, utterly content; graceful. Something this man was notably not. Each motion was sluggish, rigid, red and richer iron, the starlight flickering muted, pale hues. Distant, solemn, the light of a star so far away it had lost all sense of the brilliant tone all its own, visible only when offered the chance to come closer. How beautiful life was, vibrant in the way only the most fleeting of things were; burning brighter, blinding, remaining dazzling upon the eyes even long after it snuffed out; a lingering memory. Yet, it was also messy, painful, confusing. In the heavens, the children need not know pain or fear. They existed, witnessing strife from afar, knowing none for themselves. It had been one of the things that had drawn his gaze, had made the choice all the clearer, and yet, seeing up close... was alarming.

The conversation unfurled, and he found himself all the more confused. Tilting his head again, the other way, lilac upon the shadow of feather and beak; a bird. An unusual companion. 'Belong?' It held such heavy realities, a promise, a vow, to hold the name of another above oneself. Perhaps to the stars, it came easy, singing their melodies of gilded light, praising that which had brought from the darkness all that was. There was no name for it, no need, merely a knowing of a greater force, yet, did they truly belong? He had witnessed the terrible in his watching; just as he had seen the wonderful. A shiver in the mans hidden light spoke of something cold, an open sore that bled far deeper than that which dripped from his flesh, painted in words and immortalized in crimson eyes; anger and pain. Sharp and aching. 

'I did not know scales were a sign of ownership? It seems a very tiresome means of laying claim.'

Growing quiet, he pondering, gleaning some clue from his own thoughts, and that of the reply. The sea... 'Unless you are afraid of the water?' It seemed a strange concept, born of contraindications. To appear so adept to its depths, a tail fit for power; a glance down, and webbed toes like that of a frog. If anything it seemed cumbersome here amidst the snow, crashing into the surface, looking for give but only seeming to drown in its own movement. Yet... could he be one to decide such paths; after all, was he not the star that had chosen to fall? 'Don't answer that.'

Ears flicking back, thoughts tricked across the planes of his face; uncertainty, yearning, resolve. 'It seems more then one seeks a belonging outside what is expected.' Did not belong. Perhaps it was true, but than, had there ever been another to try? Shadows between the light, dark places that had no name or answers, not evil, but, not understood. So many things he didn't understand. Pausing, touching the halo of moonlight, he stepped closer to the woeful, eyes tracking the river of blood against his jaw. 'As for why I am here... I am appreciating the sound of silence.' Before once more looking up to meet the eyes that matched his scars, close enough to see the subtle shifts in color. 'You are terribly loud.' 

Then he reached up, his toes touching for a briefest of moments to draw the others face to the side, equal parts intrigued and concerned by the condition he was in.  


@Juryoku
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Juryoku

Frost Daemon of Mt. Naira

11 y/o large Male
Xenon, Female Wood stork
©
In and out, in and out. His body fought with a mind skipping between dreams and the actual world. A battle of emotions in which shoved and cried at who’s presence held the most importance. Claws gripped at what frozen earth hid beneath the snow. This constant buffer went on as he internally patted around to find his footing. The mask he wore, a show that saw the curtains close in quickness. An overcast of clouds rolling back over a brittle dreamscape. Realizing they wandered into the vast distance, his deep red orbs flitted back to the stranger. One eye had to struggle to pry open shutting lids. Worry not for his ears had yet to become out of it; their stance was firm, mulling over what more left the other wolf’s mouth.

“Do not play me a fool,” he breathed. Dull fins twitched, and his gills flexed. The frail scales upon him were only part of the problem. To say he stood far from the sea, this stranger observed more than just that. Though as he still nitpicked at that statement, his more open eye stared at the starry wolf once they spoke the next claim. Juryoku’s upper lip quivered. Canines pleaded to see beyond their barriers, but the energy died before he simmered over it.

Afraid of water? A bold question it was; a broad one, more so. Smaller bodies of water, freshwaters always had his trust. They provided for him since he was a wee pup, before he became reliant on them. The liquid keeps his core cool and produces the mist that exits his maw in its last farewell. Words were thick on his tongue, ready to lay it all out. However, the stranger retracted, telling the beast not to respond to the loaded question. He abided, letting the quietness continue to wrap around him.

A snort sounded from him. He tried to remember any weird looks he may have gotten for saying the mountains spoke for him rather than the sea. At those times, he had no reason to care. The leviathan had no resentment for the ocean, rather an expected curiosity. That day he should have known better. Jumping into an enraged sea with blind trust, it violated him as quick as it spat him out. The sensation of drowning—never did he think it crept as a possibility for him. These gills slapped on behind his cheeks; he feared their intended purpose only meant suffocation against the heavy salt and merciless waves. He wondered... if there- if there was... there has to be. The peaks spoke. But never- but never did he respond... or ask them anything. Would. Would... would it be too- too much to ask...

SCREEE!!!

He jolted up, realizing he was about to collapse onto his companion. The right side of his head seemed twice as heavy to him, causing him to have it slightly cocked to the side. A certain pressure beginning to build behind the one droopy eye. Stuffy. But he remained in the present, at least he hoped this was the present. “There’s no such thing as silence here.” Wincing away the pain that returned to him with a vengeance, he pulled his face slightly back when seeing the other wolf bring their paw to it. Juryoku then receded, struggling to take a few steps back before plopping to the ground. He made sure the snow covered the right side of his face. Gazing up at the stranger, he continued. “What runs rampant up north. Have you not heard other beasts’ shriek against this world’s burden? Perhaps we’re all still grieving.” Now that he’s really paying attention, his fellow mountain dwellers have been awfully quiet. Mt. Naira has been quiet.

Or maybe he’s hushed them out, ignoring the physical world to address his inner one. He was looking at himself rather than those around him lately. “Warbling songbirds, rambunctious billy goats, giggling trees... why have they gone so quiet,” he trailed away. His nosebleed has slowed, if not stopped. But with blood-stained face and whiskers, its mess remained.


"Speaking"Xenon
Table @ Centience


@Aulë
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Aulë

of

4 y/o medium Male
© Rare
Sound of Silence

The world was different, its stories unique to each who drew their ears up to listen, who opened their hearts to understand the reality and truths of another. Aulë had come to know this, had understood his way to viewing the worlds beneath the darkness were far more unusual to the attested interest of others. To the stars, the worlds were merely a void of darkness, a place where all the bad and terrible thrived, born from the cruelty and want of the living. Finite, tiny lives, blazing bright as any spark, yet, vanishing all too quickly. Their fear of that fleetingness, the need to leave a mark, no matter how scarring, so that even when they perished, there was something... left. This need for action, was what drove the their place forward, was what created change, lilac eyes brought to dizzying clarity as he watched nations, families, species all brought into a new age in a mere fraction of a century. 

Their reality, and his own, were a far different feeling.

It was far too easy to walk into moments like this, dripping with unknown emotion, his own hidden reality brought to fruition by the simplest of remembering. Aulë's ears folded back at his response, though, in a way, he had come to know that such replies were not exactly uncommon outside of the basic communication. He himself often felt that curling, choking, shivering sensation; the pain of loneliness, the intrigue of his origins, the rejection. It was... a common theme, this inability to connect with those who did not act, look, or think the same. It pained him to see it, an all too common tether stretched thin across the eons. He did not... dislike them for it, found the wolves of Nidria all the more beautiful for their difference; if only they could see it themselves. 

'I... had no intention to mock. T-things that are accustom to you... are easily misunderstood or unknown to myself.'

Drawing back, a slow recline onto his haunches, it was a foolish notion of both comfort and respect born from the most fleeting of distances. He had seen it time and again, and while he couldn't quite see what it accomplished, it seemed to have worked before. If not for the man's diminutive state, fading fast as though fire consumed in water. Sizzling, choking, Aulë seen him waver, and while he wished to move forward to offer aid, felt that telltale sign of tension riddle against his bones like a creature testing its chain, he remained away, instead, offering what he had always done for the world in all its suffering; a watchful eye, an upturned ear. 'Silence is everywhere; all things are born from it..'

He listened to his grief and found his own legs sliding in the snow until dark fur touched its cool embrace. Water. Ice. They were the same, in a way. Perhaps it was why the leviathan turned here in his moment of suffering; a bond born perhaps not in the most conventional means. Or perhaps... a means of escape? It was in his nature wish to know why, to understand, and it was easy to find himself wondering these questions, resting his chin against delicate toes as the wolf shared his dispute. 'Crying out loud is not the only way of sharing grief. Its the most obvious... buts its not the most powerful.'

Withdrawing his light, the soft haze upon his fur dimming until near absence, the song of light fell quiet, stealing away his words. Yet... Aulë had never spoken their words, his tongue capable of shaping only the most ancient of hymns, songs that meant nothing here in Nidria. How often the living sought to fill the void, steal away the weight of the silent moment, not wishing to know what existed beyond their own simple bubble. They feared what came when no more words followed, if only because they did not understand it. Inner reflection, change, acceptance; oft they came when no one else was around. 

The world would always have its burdens.

Lifting his head, he looked around, conscious of the quiet of the northern terrain; the snow thick upon aged, branches, laden so that no even the wind could make them groan. Muffled steps, frozen streams, beasts finding their refuge from the cold. Soon though, the thaw would be well underway; and waters would sing and the earth would erupt into a symphony; such was the way of the living. Looking back to the stranger; an odd thought entered his mind, brought on by his observations; quickened by the strange, half mumbled words. Was he even alive anymore?

'Maybe you are not ready to hear them yet.'


@Juryoku
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Juryoku

Frost Daemon of Mt. Naira

11 y/o large Male
Xenon, Female Wood stork
©
The pressure welling up against his forehead- he could take it no longer. His crimson eyes made their full retreat as eyelids blocked the light in which pierced into his mind. A suffering far more creative in its approach, but less different from each beating he endured previously. He convinced himself the fool. Always was, always will be. The title stamped upon each car his train of thought pulled. However, with this melody of self admittance flowing over his conscience, they were quiet. An audience, those fiends had spout not a chuckle. For once, the whiskered fellow found himself left with muted notions. Where were they? He... he needed to know if his folly was enough to make a stout king howl in laughter.

A light groan snuck up his throat. Xenon nibbled at his scruff before taking off into the pines that peered in contempt. He shifted to lay more on his right side, and his tail curled close to his underside—hiding the ugly, the hideousness engraved eternally upon his belly. Juryoku’s nose scrunched and brows furrowed at this stranger’s attempt to water down what was stated earlier. Soft had the rumble in his chest coated his cords. A few puffs of tiny clouds following one after the other. One crawled and curled over his muzzle during its escape, blanketing his sulky facade. “Hush with it. Just spit in my face and leave it. Your paws are no less filthy than the gods that have done the same,” he mustered up a heavy growl. Little did he see in this stranger’s means in justifying their rationale. He refused to hear anymore on the matter.

Begrudgingly peeking back out at the world, his crimson eye leered at the purple wolf. His tolerance tussled with the waves of pain, finding itself pinned down at the growing tsunamis crashing over it; but it braced and tried its best to uphold against the onslaught.

No wrong could he see from their statement on silence. Everywhere it indeed was. Always ready to dominate an area when sounds found no more power in its presence. Often, it held a calmness—many times, it riled up overloaded anxieties. The former was sweet enough to embrace him the most. However, the great fear for the day it would do all else but that. Something was brewing.

“The most dangerous. The most terrifying.” His claws gripped the snow, feeling most of it compact into a ball. Perhaps he cowered from its potential, its power. All he got from his grandfather was silence after discovering the leviathan’s disgraceful act. He remembered it well. How it devoured him, made him sick to his stomach, devoured his nerves. His regret ridiculing him at each quiet moment. It has been a while since he finally escaped the tension. He wouldn’t let it creep up on him once more, filling his soul with overwhelming sickness.

“I have heard enough. They know I have gone deaf to their words. Like a lone bird, they sing again and again, but all their notes fall flat.” Slowly, he rose off his side and back onto his belly. Juryoku’s head remained low with crooked ears and snow powered upon his pale face. It became clear. They realized it. Talk to him, tell him he’s good—tell him he’s bad. Applaud him, boo him. Praise him, beat him. Give him anything, but don’t give him nothing.

Looking to the pine trees near them, his eye then went to the heavens, and now Mt. Naira. “Silence broke me once, and they will use it to break me again,” he murmured. An honest conflict, a decision. He hovered between letting them win or standing his ground. Whatever they wanted, he wasn’t sure if it would be right to let them have it, or for him to keep it.


"Speaking"Xenon
Table @ Centience


@Aulë
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