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 Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2006 10:18 am
Memory of a Feather: Part 5
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
It had taken Tsai some time to calm the young god down. To say he was baffled was an understatement. But his hands had felt the wings that Byrne had used to wipe his eyes, and the total truth of the words had struck him in a way no lie could ever have.
This was a guardian. A god that he spoke with.
The shimmering tears that were on his hands were of a sacred origin. He dared not wipe them away.
"You have yet to taste your apple." he prompted gently. "The Orchard it comes from cannot be royal, but it is nourishing nonetheless."
Byrne sniffled rather noisily and took a chomp out of the fruit. The flesh was ripe and not too mushy. Sweet, but as already stated...not of a royal line.
Still, the bite had awakened the memory of hunger and he polished it off quickly, licking his lips when done. "Thank you." he said, handing the core back.
The man took it with reverence. "I will plant this, Lord. And will hope these seeds will father a new tree for you."
Byrne shook his head. "Why don't you hate me?"
"Hate you, Lord?" his voice was fainly tinged with awe, but also confusion. "How could I do anything but revere the good fortune of your coming? You say that you can do nothing against the coming of this destruction. That is Karma, and it seems that the gods, too are not exempt. And yet by honoring this temple, you bring the very hope and truth of things greater. How can such a thing not be a cause for joy and reverence?"
He sensed unease and hastened to say "Lord, there is no expectation for action in this. You have explained quite clearly that you are both newly awakened, as well as the trials of the Destruction. But can you not allow a humble servant to merely find hope in your visit? It requires of you nothing other than what you have already done."
Byrne hesitated, "all right." he said reluctantly. He did not want to hurt the man, who had been kindly to him. "But are you sure? There are others around that are better than me. There's Illumin, and Beryl and-"
"They have not come to me." the man replied firmly. "Or spoken to me. Or graced this small temple by prescence. What you say is true. That Destruction holds sway. Very well, we all must endure this trial. But I believe that you have the hope that all of us will need now. The hope of a new beginning. The hope of a more favorable rebirth."
"I hope so." he murmurred, no longer feeling it. "I hope your tree grows."
"It will, Lord." Tsai replied firmly. "And this temple is now yours, should you desire it. It is small, and not at all what should be for you. But until such time as a rightful one can be constructed...please know that you are welcome to hold court here." He bowed low. "My daughter and I pledge fealty to you, My Lord. All that we have is now yours."
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Posted: Wed Jun 14, 2006 2:44 pm
Memory of a Feather: Part 6
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
He was flying again, the direction random. So long as it was not back where he had come from, he did not mind. His stop had been cause for more thought, and he was tired of it. A slight ache amongst his eyes that made his nose twitch.
He had been introduced to Tomo, a shy little thing. Her wide eyes taking in his appearance with stark fascination. He could not feel uneasy at such an expression. He wasn't sure how he felt, really.
Well, he did. Old. But not in a good way. Not in a wise or a confident way. Not in a godly way. He felt aged. Weak and helpless under the weight of it. He searched within for that spark of comfort that was always there. Was there still. But even that sleeping comfort was of little help to him.
He had not expected to find a home, although he prefered it to Beryl's. At least ... he preferred the thought of it being his own. But there was a lonliness that wasn't going away. That too, made him feel old.
He missed all those things. The legends, the stories. The trees and the quests. He missed being a thing desired...he missed being loved.
Harmodious had loved him. Just because he was. That was the kind of love the two at the temple were offering. But was it enough? He pushed the feeling away. He tried to tell them to love something else. Something that was of worth. But they hadn't listened. And he hadn't had the heart to insist.
In fact, he had craved it. But now he felt ashamed of that fact.
Chaeval would have been able to help him explain this. Even a "parent" could have. Harmodious could have. But none of them were there.
Miserably, he continued on. He didn't know how to answer what needed to be answered. He just knew more questions than he felt ready to look at. They nipped at his wings and feet as he fled them.
They followed.
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Posted: Wed Jun 14, 2006 4:58 pm
Memory of a Feather : Part 7
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand...
--William Butler Yeats "The second coming"
The town that sprawled below him could have been one he had seen before. But it would now be impossible to tell. Things there moved sluggishly, if at all.
Rats or humans, at his height they would have looked the same. Dipping in lower, he frowned as his wings folded neatly behind him and he dove, screaming through the air as a hawk on prey.
Once, the sensation of a freefall would have tickled him. Caused laughter or even a squeal of delight. Now, however; there was still a toughtful frown on his lips as he pulled up just short of splattering on the ground.
He had left the temple still in the clutches of whatever had driven him there to begin with. The feeling in the pit of his toes had not abated. Rather, it had begun gnawing on him almost incessently. He simply did not understand it. Although that had never bothered him before, as there were many things that confounded his brain.
It had not troubled him until recent. That there seemed to be bits and pieces of him missing. He might have searched for them in the closets and under the beds of the temple or the shop...but he felt instinctively they would not be there.
He had not asked Beryl or Ea to help, for neither had been around much. Ea least of all. Beryl had tended to smother, and then completely disappear for long times. It was as bewildering as his missing bits made him.
He might have asked Illumin, save that for the one time he had shown kindness unparalleled...Byrne barely knew him. He was sure Light might have illuminated much...but maybe not what he needed.
He certainly had no desire to petition what Harmodious was. Neither the reminder of his own failure, or the promises that Destruction would remember his "offering" recommended that course of action.
That left no option but to continue onward until something DID reveal itself to him. And that had meant leaving.
He was sure Beryl would be sore at him, if she even noticed him missing. Although her cats might have told her of the fact. He wasn't sure. But Beryl was not his to worry about anymore.
Clutching the cloak that Tsai had given him about himself as one would a talisman or ward, he walked quietly into an already deathly silent town.
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Posted: Sat Jun 17, 2006 10:32 am
Memory of a Feather : Part 8
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
Empty chairs at empty tables....
--Les Miserables
The wind within the town carried the scents of dryness and stale decay. Not of fresh breads or spices, or even the scent of men and perfumes. It was a muted form of the same theme of destruction, but with the few subtle differences mentioned.
The buildings were more or less intact...a broken window here, a off hinge door there...but overall seeming to be still standing, if not proudly or solidly.
The only apparent life was the scuttling of small unseen feet. Too small to be human. Too small to be even a large dog. Rodents, he supposed.
Everything was locked up so tightly, when possible. Signs blared "CLOSED" everywhere he looked. Boards over the unbroken windows, and weird symbols scrawled over doors and windows. Some were in charcoal, some in a smelly type of paint...others in blood.
He stopped to stare at one of them, touching the dried substance. The power in it was muted, old. But there had been life once that this substance carried.
Blood.
What was going on here?
Byrne decided easily that he liked this no more than being out of the town. And yet he still wandered through it, senses tingling and toes itching.
Peering through some windows, he saw dust, but few cobwebs. Signs that the abandonment was still fairly recent. Inside the gloomy taverns and shops he could see shadows of the fleet footed mice and rats that scurried to and from their new domains.
Unconsciously, he shuddered a bit. There was slim comfort that he had yet to see bodies, but his nose told him that it was a mere matter of time.
Something was seriously wrong here. Even more so than elsewhere.
Or was it just him?
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Posted: Wed Jun 28, 2006 4:24 pm
Memory of a Feather : Part 9
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
Byrne was sure that he was hearing something other than mice, but he was unable to catch more than a fleeting motion out of the corner of his eye. While once this could have been a glorious game of cat and mouse...of hide and seek...now it merely became added anxiety.
He was sure he didn't like it here. But here he was and here he had landed. So here was where he would stay for a bit.
Whatever that had happened could not have been too long ago, for there were still the shapes of cats and mongrels that would slink and stare as he tread carefully along dusty roads. Other sounds that he could not immediately place.
Passing by a dilapidated shack, he peered into the gloom and saw something that peered from the darkness there. And then a loud braying sound that caused him to give a startled shout and fall gracelessly onto his rump. Feathers crinkled and he squinched his nose. It was too late, and a large sneeze burst forth that seemed to just cause another blast of noice from the darkness.
Byrne was caught in a nonpluss stare as a flicker of an elongated ear and a clomp of an impatient hoof echoed. Then the grizzled muzzle of an old a**.
"A donkey..." he muttered. But what a miserable sight it was. Obviously it had resorted to eating the sparce and cracked grass that was around...poor nutrition that was.
Feeling pity, he pulled an apple that he had taken from Tsai and offered it to the bared teeth. "Here." he said. "You need it more."
The eyes swiveled in distrust, even as the ears did, but nothing could be as unmoving as a god when one chose to be, and so Byrne became a positive statue. Finally the apple was peeled from his fingers even as the gaze never left him.
The donkey still looked cross as it munched hungrily on the morsel. Byrne set about looking for a catch release for the door. When he found it, half the gate and fence collapsed.
"oops." he muttered. "Not like you couldn't have gotten out if you had wanted to.; . . so why not?"
The Donkey merely bared its teeth and brayed its accusation.
"Im SORRY." Byrne argued. "I was just trying to help. Fine, be that way. Stay here. I don't care." vexed he crossed his arms and stalked off, leaving a suddenly nonplussed jackass staring at him.
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Posted: Wed Jun 28, 2006 4:31 pm
Memory of a Feather : Part 10
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
Never sigh for better world
It's already composed, played and told
Every thought the music I write
Everything a wish for the night
Wrote for the eclipse, wrote for the virgin
Died for the beauty the one in the garden
Created a kingdom, reached for the wisdom
Failed in becoming a god...
"If you read this line, remember not the hand that wrote it
Remember only the verse, songmaker's cry the one without tears
For I've given this its strength and it has become my only strength.
Comforting home, mother's lap, chance for immortality
Where being wanted became a thrill I never knew
The sweet piano writing down my life"
--Nightwish : Dead Boy's Poem
Once he had begun to walk again, he banished from his mind the ungrateful donkey. Not that it was hard to do...his mind had its own way of sieving what it considered neccessary and not. While Sherlock Holmes would liken the mind to an attic that needed to be purged of the un-needed thoughts lest they take up precious room, Byrne's mind was merely so open that things fell out with little provocation.
The buildings this way seemed less damaged, less complaining of the things that were about. They were still empty and mostly boarded up, but they lacked the hopeless abandon of the ones he had passed earlier. One guilding was particularly colorful, with many flapping papers plastered to it. Of course, that was the one that caught his interest.
Shiny and colorful things so often did. The fluttering in the breeze also captured his attention.
Walking forward, he bent over, observing the various flyers and advertisments that littered the side. Bold lettering and faux glitter, slogans and taglines were all read with the same voraciousness.
Many of these spoke of hope, and even if it was fleeting and long past the time of hope, he hungered after the morsels of them.
One in particular caught his eye and he opened his mouth in amazement. Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
Then closed it again.
This went on for some time, as he seemed to have gone off on a tangent of opening and closing his mouth, until the paper caught his eye again and he remembered why it was that he was standing there opening and closing his mouth.
Once he remembered, he again felt the need to open and close his mouth again a few more time. Then he ripped the page carefully from the wall, underneath the announcement "NOW SHOWING" and pushed his way into the dusty and seemingly empty building called "THEATRE"
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Posted: Sat Feb 17, 2007 4:52 pm
Memory of a Feather: Part 11
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
The inside was as gloomy as the outside, if it could be believed. To most, this would make sense. It merely lowered Byrne's morale that much further to experience it.
Where was it? The paper said...
Clutching at the abused sheet he had torn from the building, he pushed his way more deeply into the area. He did not call out as he might once had. He had respect for the gloom to that extent.
He stopped and blinked once he found his way to the main stage. Row upon row of seating gazed emptily at the wood and props still littered on the front. It was as if whatever happened had occurred prior to a finished performance. Leaving spilled props as mute rebuke against the calamity.
It was empty...and appeared to have been for quite some time. Peering about, his face lit up momentarily as he saw what appeared to be an equine form...but it was ultimately just a makeshift pony, stuffed with wool and sawdust.
"I don't suppose you're her" he sighed. "What am I supposed to do? What can I do? Why am I even here?" he stared morosely at the plastic eyes that gazed back without expression.
"it was fun dancing. The sky all lit up with morning. The taste of spirits and flour mixed together...it was ...really nice."
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Posted: Wed Feb 21, 2007 8:04 pm
Memory of a Feather: Part 12
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
Byrne walked over to the stuffed horse and patted it awkwardly, dust rising from the matted tapestry of its hide. Coughing, he wrinkled his nose as several tattered moths flew lazily into the air, and then tumbled to the ground.
He had taken a startled step backward at the sight, and then sat down. "Poor moths." he murmurred. They were likely not equipped to handle life in destruction. And the ragtag pony offered ill protection from the Destruction. It was ultimately the same tragedy playing on a larger scale all around. It hurt to see it on any scale though.
He had been considering it for a while, he was not sure how long entirely; his eyes trailing back up to the scratched and marred surface of plastic eyes. They looked more sympathetic now.
"Are you sure..." he said "that you are NOT "her"?"
There was no answer, and he assumed that meant there would be none.
But it suddenly seemed a long time since the last time he had seen friendly eyes, and so he patted the fur again, ignoring the dust politely this time.
"You know..." he began gently "you really are beautiful when you are really you. You look a little messy now, but you aren't always like that. In fact " he added with a frown "I don't think I've ever seen you looking so beat up. Everything seems that way now. I hope I can see you pretty again soon."
He stretched, and turned very slowly, arms outstretched. "I remember the Orchard and the Apples. And I remember the way you sparkled and glowed. You were like a star, all firey and bright. The ground under you took on its own life then, flowers grew and trees dropped golden leaves." he gave a small laugh "you always so liked to show off!"
Byrne contemplated the stuffed beast again. It had still not moved. He tried once more to cajole the spirit of the pony he knew must be nearby. She always was where they mentioned and celebrated her.
"I particularly liked the white flowers." he prodded. "They looked like little bells, and they really did ring. Very, very softly though! But they made me want to dance and clap and sing then."
He gave a few twirling steps, leaving it incomplete for her to join if she so chose. But there was no answering bow and twirl. Did the eyes look on knowingly now? Or was it the same tired stare?
"Your skin was like the starry sky." he continued "velvety soft and it felt nice when I put my cheek against it." He stroked it the fur again. "Not so soft now." he sounded sad.
"Your hooves were all silver and light, they made sparks when you walked, but nothing got hurt by them, they grew flowers." he looked at it again. "Don't you miss it?"
"Fascinating!" a voice came from the back of the theatre. "I MUST meet this creature!"
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2007 9:18 am
Memory of a Feather: Part 12
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
We'd fight with the gods for our dreams
Where paradise falls eternity screams
--Sarah Brightman : How can Heaven love you?
Byrne turned, his wings attempting to Arc, but failing under the cumbersome cloak he wore. He looked...rather like a coat rack for a moment.
A somewhat frightened coat rack.
Rushing up the aisle with eager steps was a rather startling sight. Floppy hat, elongated, pointy nose and a mustache that did not so much fall but stream in two well groomed rivers. They met the sprouting goatee at a ford and proceeded down the chest.
The outfit he wore was a menagerie of old fashion and rags. As he moved, moths lazily escaped from the folds.
A slight giggle escaped from Byrne as he observed the man coming to a halt and bowind with the studied grace of a courtier...followed by the failing body of the post middle aged crowd. Wincing, the man put his hand on his back and straightened out a little more slowly and less gracefully.
"...apologies...my Lord." he said, voice gasping slightly from the exertion. "I was afraid you were merely a phantom and would vanish once your tale concluded. I could not let you slip from my fingers, phantasm or no!"
"Um." Byrne said. Then smiled brightly "Hello!"
"My Lord!" the man replied, bowing slightly less deep this time. "I am your humble servent, Amaros. I could not but listen raptly at your description of this beast of purity and nobility. By chance is it a Unicorn you seek?"
"...no." he answered hesitantly "just...just a pony."
"A...pony?" he seemed rather crestfallen "surely not! Some mythic pegasus? A fabled Khirisa? Perhaps a-"
"A pony."
"...a pony" the man answered in resignation "my heart! Wounded and undone by the mundane! Surely not!"
"well..." Byrne said, rather sympathetically "she's a special pony. Magical."
"A...magic pony?" the man inquired.
"Yes. Very."
"A... MAGIC pony." he said to himself. "possibly by destressing the fact that it is not itself an innately noble creature, and focusing on the inherited nature of its powers... yes, yes that would work!" he seemed to come out of his funk rather quickly. "Quick! Where is this creature?"
"Um." Byrne was crestfallen "Im not sure yet."
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Posted: Wed Feb 13, 2008 2:09 pm
Memory of a Feather: Part 13
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
--
This seemed to be most dire news indeed. For the man's nose quivered in quite the distressing fashion. His drooping hat seemed to collapse even further, and a cave in seemed imminent. But resilience struck.
"A quest!" came the triumphant yelp. "Most truly and wonderously portrayed! This is most epic and esoteric a mission!" and he bowed again, til his back groaned. "I beg you to take me as a squire! A more loyal handman and ally you will not ever have! I will spin of this the most noble yarn, a tale that will make the grown men weep and women swoon!"
"Um." Byrne said, seeming eclipsed by an energry beyond his own at the moment. "okay...I guess." Perhaps it was the bombastic delivery or the vocabulary larger than his own ken. "But I'm still not sure where to look."
This seemed not at all to distract the man, now on the scent of some truly magnificent story or play. "You seek the most thaumaturgic of diminutive equines, yes?"
"A magic pony." he affirmed.
Again the man's nostrils seemed to falter at this mundane reduction of his grand vision, but he soldiered on.
"and my lord is also a master of the mystical?"
Byrne blinked. "huh?"
"You are a creature of magic." he seemed to almost wail the words.
"Oh!" he blinked again. "yes."
"Then summon it to you!"
He tilted his head. "Summon?"
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Posted: Tue Jul 01, 2008 6:24 pm
Memory of a Feather: Part 14
Solo Post : Byrne : Quest
Dark blue sea, calling me.
Songs of waves, keep me safe.
Sky's so deep, there's no end
the moon still asleep, the bed of stars for me
--Tarja, The Great Divide
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