unearthly refrain

Quote: It was amidst discordance that he had been born and it was amidst discordance he had taken it. A machination... as the dark tendrils of the abyss dragged him in further his mind had filled in the holes themselves - cotton, needles and glue. It was within the shades and the immensity of fragile dreams that he could often times hear it - formless to him, but afar from such to others. It was not something in which he mused or indulged, as he was pulled back his mind would snap and there he was, in motion again and within this motion it diminished, lingered briefly save for select times but otherwise: poof.



The east was far from barren, a place, no - a haven almost, for plenty beings, it seemed. Light filtered through gathering clouds, barely caressing the rocks and boulders of various size and shape that were scattered throughout the plains. It was supposedly dusk, and as dusk came way the land seemed to stir, rustle - areas becoming oceans of movements as the nocturnal dance was prepared and as the day gave way. However, was dusk only that - a passage to night, a signal for those who strive under the stars to wake?



The lanky, sick-looking fallen child of the "walking earth" had found himself here in typical aimless wander. Figure dark against the horizon as he stood upwards, his long ago stance of grace and nobility merely weathered somewhat over time as a rogue. It was not that he still held the pride of being of nobility, but it was mere habit - as was his bows and nods, his quiet mannerism of greeting others of any standing. He has questioned these manners, their necessity was naught on most occasions - he felt it as a...memento of sorts. Laurier's eyes - adjusting to the changing light - followed various rivers and formations of interest. He did not linger long, attention was wrought upon those who stood searching, and as he did not mind much for bringing attention at the moment, he had seen enough for now. A blurry outline - an idea, even, a course, was formed sparsely in his mind as Laurier aimed to survive.



Fickle was fate, as its reputation was, and if his calculations were correct - they often were in such situations - the familiar turn and twist of hunger would creep upon him, daring. It was...an old friend, almost and barely, hunger had aggressively and soothingly pulled him under and was one of the few things that could, alongside that of thirst, that did indeed threaten his sanity. He was well aware of how it threatened others integrity and sanity, of how a burning fear it was to many - to thirst and to starve, such a raw want that crippled the mind and shriveled it. However, such desperations were also rather personalized...and they were intriguing. Rather intriguing. Did it truly alter, although - or did it, perhaps only peel back the surface, slowly and manifest raw emotions, masked obscurities and so forth? Intriguing also. The variables and subjectivity were there, creating whole other veins to consider.



The screech of a bird lashed the skies. His ears flickered slightly, and then so he attempted to follow the noise with ear and eye to no avail. He stepped on, his form weaving in between rocks in no hurried pace.