Poetry and Prose

[Svasra]

Timestamp: Eve of 7th of Winter, 512 AV

What deemed something creative? Was it simply because it was new, and wild, and showed the ingenuity of man? Or was it something that was just a turn of phrase, a slight of hand, and a perspective no one dared to look from? Perhaps it was something deeper than that. Something in the mind that not even the most advanced philosophers could claim to understand. It was simple the power of imagination, and there was no explanation. Maybe that's what made it creative. There was simply no other way to explain it.

Svasra had these absent thoughts swirling in time with the change of lights that twinkled through her window. She didn't force her thoughts onto one pattern, or into one topic when she was trying to fall asleep. She let them wander, mystify, and even surprise herself.

When was the last time I wore pink?

That was something she couldn't find an answer to, and soon moved on to another trailing thought. Svasra found by letting her mind wander it soon ended up in the realm of dreams, before she even realized her eyes had closed, and her thoughts had begun to shift into vague images and soon a reality so vivid she swore she was awake.

---

This dream was something of an oddity. It was sharp, in shape and color, as though made of substances much more crisp than the winding dreams she often forgot when awake. Svasra had somehow stumbled into the land where dreams were not just dreamed alone, and her subconscious mind no longer had control. This land was foreign, and a bit frightening. It was something that was held as tense as a spring held together with last winter's twine. It was waiting. Not for her, not anymore. It was waiting for another to fall victim and stumble down into the mists of the place where souls could meet, though oceans may span between them.

She was in the sky. That much was obvious. The night spanned around her shadowy figure, that seemed indecisive on being there or not, sometimes solid, other times drifting into a cloud. When she looked down there seemed to be only blackness below her, a dark palate waiting to be painted by something she didn't have influence on. Svasra sat on the small twisting shape of Morwen's Light - was that present before? - and tried not to feel afraid.

The Vantha woman let her feet dangle over the side of the yellow strip of light that twirled through the sky, seemingly moving forwards though there was no sense of geography to confirm she was moving at all. Only the sharp wind, that should have given her shivers in the light coat she'd found herself in, offered any evidence of progression. Svasra reached upwards towards another piece of Morwen's display that painted the dark of night with diligent consistency. Seeing as she had somehow settled herself on one, Svasra figured this one might be hardened too, as though they were all just rippling pieces of ribbons.

Her hand passed through it though, and oddly tickled her outstretched fingers as they turned in the light that converged around them. "Well look at that," she said absently, blinking in mild surprise - and more concern at the thought her own would turn as insubstantial - as she drew back her arm. Svasra looked down once more, seeing figures begin to mold from the darkness, turning into both the familiar and not. "Where are we going, little light?" she asked, carefully lying down on her stomach to trail her hands through other lights as they passed - or perhaps the lights are just passing us? - and moved towards whatever goal this dream had in its mind.

[Gale Austin McCenry]

Dreams were a rare occasion now in days. The intricate fibers of creativity and inspiration use to flood the mind with thoughts and designs. Use to. What use to be a daily dose of motivation had now become “once in a while” events that the artist longed for more and more often. Gale had to admit, however, these recent seasons haven’t been too kind and rest had been a fairly common component that he had lacked. Nonetheless, the Winter took a leap in a new direction, gifting his very being with imagination, eagerness, and most of all, sleep. Even though the murderer’s dreams were still arguably uncommon, they have started to take their place in his subconscious, creating and making new like they once have been. This one was no different from the others.

It was a dark night lite by the midnight candles above. The smooth, silky wind wisping along the glistening, frosted ground. It looked about the twelfth bell in the middle of the night but, at least in this story, this was the artist’s normal time for thoughts. His discoveries of the day would be written on paper and put onto the stack that slowly built its way up, similar to a monument in progress. He’d look through them one of these days. When is undecided.

The bronze quill scratched and scrapped along the paper, placing ink precisely where he wanted it to, even creating magnificent flourishes that would never be seen in his original writing. What was he writing? He did not know. He did not remember what happened earlier, yet his hand continued to create letters and words before him on the loose piece of papyrus paper. He had completed several dozen pages on the topic he did not know, but he did not think much about it, for his attention was pulled away from the paper by the most peculiar sound.

It wasn’t fire but it popped and cracked like flame. It wasn’t chimes but it jingled like soft music notes. It wasn’t quite loud, but yet it sounded close, whispering and popping next to his ear. Raising his head and standing up from the large desk he had not recognized, the man strode over to the window, not observing anything inside the library like room. His head poked out of a hole in a tree, looking up at the lively lite heavens. At first, there was nothing to be seen, for the limbs of the flora above prevented the sandy blonde to see much further than ten feet. But with closer observation, a white light seemed to poke through the leaves and thick branches. At first just random specks, glimpses of something he did not know. Then it grew more consistent. After that, it started to expand, it seemed, and even seeming to grow louder, now echoing in his eardrums.

It didn’t strike Gale that it wasn’t growing at all, but coming towards him until the snapping of branched and the cracking of twigs overlapped with the songful tunes. His eyes widened and he ducked back inside the tree house. If he hadn’t, his head would be on the ground while his body would have hung as limp as a string in the branches. The tearing and the ripping of the trees continued for quite some time, he must have been relatively high up.

The hum remained but with a loud, thundering roar, the demolishing of trees was over. Had it hit the ground? Cautiously, and very easily, Gale looked out the hole once more. It wasn’t hard to see the path that it had taken, considering the kickball sized hole it distinctly creating between the twigs, and the black burnt edges. Given that path, he his ocean blue eyes followed it and spotted the landing point of the…whatever it was. It looked phenomenal. He had to get a closer look.

Zipping back across the room, the artistic hands snatched a heavy duty cloth and a backpack, and immediately went to the “window” and jumped out. His body slid off the branches, one after the other, gradually making his way down to solid ground. With a bellowing groan when his feet finally hit the ground bouncing off the bark and foliage, he sprinted towards what he was considering the light, until proven otherwise.

Gale slowed to a stop a few feet from it, it still looking like a pure white, light source that had magically fallen from the sky. It was absolutely fascinating. The orb had a fuzzy, cloudy type of look to it. As if you touch it, it would be soft and plush. What a strange combination of noises and characteristics.

The curious man plopped his backpack on the ground and knelt in front of it, opening its only content, that being the cloth. Gripping it in his fingers, Gale looked at the sphere and attempted to make a decision. He couldn’t just pick it up, it would be too dangerous. But he wasn’t going to just leave it either. Never has he seen anything of the sort in his findings or research. It was something new, from his knowledge perspective.

He would try just the cloth. His hand flicked and the piece of cotton was flung over and onto the object, Gale instantly covering his eyes in case, though his distance was completely contradictory to the entire meaning of the word safety. Nonetheless, even after a full tick, there was no reaction. Lifting his hands, the hypocrite smiled. At least it didn’t seem to affect cotton. But does it affect skin? The think fingers slowly and carefully reached towards it, paying careful attention to any heat changes, or standing hair, plus or minus tingling. But neither were an effect, even as his hands hovered only millimeters over the object. So far, it seemed safe enough to pick up. But he better not touch it quite yet.

Making sure to pick it up by the cloth, the Zeltivan delicately lifted it up from the ground, looking at it if it was the most magnificent thing in the world, and as of now, it technically was. While his left hand held the sphere, his right pulled his back over, so he can take it back into the tree and observe it more thoroughly. However, it touched his thumb when he was sliding it in the empty pack.

And agonizing yelp erupted from the man’s throat, his arm being engulfed by antagonizing pain. If Gale hadn’t known better, he would have guessed someone decided to stick a needle into every single pore in his arm and most of his shoulder. “ Motherpieceofshykepetch!”

Much like the cursing blonde’s mouth, the globe like light burst into life and flew started to fly away. Seeing this, after he was able to open his eyes, he cursed again and went to reach for his pack, but his right arm didn’t move. With an overly irritated groan, he slung the backpack over his shoulder with his left arm and stood up, taking off after it, his right arm like a limp flag flailing in the breeze behind him.

_______

“This is ridiculous.” He muttered under his breath, weaving through the trees until the chase hit the clearing, which seemed to be hours. The artist was so close now, he was only a yard or two away by now, his heart racing to keep up with him. He got this. He was going to catch it! If he didn’t catch this stupid orb he was going to- there was a rock!

In the middle of the clearing was a large, boulder like rock that slanted almost perfectly. Maybe, just maybe... But he had to get it to go near it. Trying to think fast, Gale started to pursue it on its opposite as the boulder. Just as suspected, it shifted directions and was lingering towards the large rock. Yes!

The small sphere and the man continued to run, though Gale glanced to his left, seeing something in the sky. Was that a person? Now Gale was having a controversy. He could remain chasing the light or he could pursue the new occurrence. He shook his head and locked his eyes on the orb. If he didn’t catch it then he could possibly go after the floating person in the sky. If not then boohoo.

The grass and dirt shifted under the man’s feet, lunging him forward to keep up with the fast pace. The determination that Gale held was almost as overwhelming as the negative sensations his body was giving his brain. With his arm still limp, flapping behind him pointlessly, his feet hit stone and he ran up the slope, leaping off of it, bag in hand and cocked back. Was he going to get it?! He better not miss it!!

The man slapped onto the ground, what air that was once present in his lungs exiting in an instant. The dirt in his mouth tasted of…well dirt. To be general about it, it didn’t feel too good to face plant into the ground. The thin face raised off the grass and spat out the hunk of mud, looking at the bag, seeing the faint glow of white coming out of the cracks of the bag.

Yes!! He did it!! What now, sucka!! It your FACE!! Woo!! You can’t get away from him that easily!! It takes a lot more than running to stop Gale McCenry from- OH MY GODS!!

The ball was apparently strong. Whether Gale was holding it or not, it managed to drag him across the ground anyway. Gale was like a thread, flapping and “grunting” (which sounded more like squeaks) across the ground. He couldn’t let it go, though!! He might not be able to breathe but that was apparently no excuse to let go! You had to fight through the pain!!...Apparently.

With this “motivating” thought in mind, Gale curled his arm so the bag was against his chest. It had to stop sometime. But no. With its endless amount of stamina and agility, it slipped under the bag and torturously “happened” to graze his forearm. The same sensation of millions of needles going through his arm repeated itself in his left arm, leaving Gale on the ground with two limp arms, on the ground, with the strange light flying and floating away.

Ho- wh- wha-…Blast it!

Managing to roll over onto his back, Gale laid there, staring at the sky in sheer and utter defeat, left to wallow in it with only the sensation of disapproval and agonizing pain coming from his muscles and lungs to accompany him in his conquest .

[Svasra]

She had to admit, it was boring to just drift along this endless landscape. It was beginning to take form beneath her, slowly emerging from the shadows as though the black was being slowly dripped off their forms. Shimmering with silver moonlight, Svasra watched the trees come into sharp reality, having little yellow lights shining midst their branches as though some soul lit up inside. She wondered what was inside. Was it the life of the tree ... or the fire of another being? Svasra peered over the side of the light, dangling off at a dangerous angle as she tried to see. They were whizzing past quite quickly now, and Svasra found herself growing dizzy by attempting to see the lights as they flickered.

Sighing and flopping back, Svasra made herself comfortable and watched the lights as they began to twirl overhead. In this cathartic state was when Svasra heard it. It wasn't a popping noise, though it was certainly surprising. Neither was it chimes; it was brutal and angry. It wasn't soft, it was very loud and obnoxiously rammed into her eardrums. It was simply a loud exclamation of, "Motherpieceofshykepetch!" from somewhere below.

Svasra sat upright with a squeal, looking around as though another Vantha might be casually floating along with her. Had she been that ignorant? No one was in sight though, and the voice had stopped. Though the words had been completely understandable, Svasra found they had an odd lilt that might have been pleasant were the words not so ... violent. There was nothing now, and Svasra could only sit back - when had the light turned into a chair? - and continue on.

Svasra swore she would have fallen asleep in her dream had the trees not given away to a clearing. There was absolutely nothing interesting about glowing trees and twirling lights. By now, hers was the only one that dared to continue twisting its ribbony path in the sky, moving at a fast pace of something determined.

There was a man in the clearing. Svasra was almost certain it was a man anyways. It had some odd trailing appendage that appeared quite comical, she had to say. "My my, what do we have here, little light?" The light just hummed its electric voice as it descended lower. Svasra watched the man from her still lofty height. It appeared he was chasing something? Looking ahead, Svasra assumed she might see an animal running off - if the bag he flailed behind him was any inclination.

From what the Vantha woman could see though was ... nothing. Just more trees. And, of course the rock the man was running towards. Svasra tilted her head with a mild noise of confusion, she watched the man - she was certain of it now - run in an awkward manner. He was out of breath, but a determined stride kept him running. The appendage Svasra previously thought was an odd tail, was actually his arm, limp and apparently light as the wind. He ran up the slope. Svasra was about to call out - did he not see the edge?!

He launched off anyways. Svasra couldn't help but feel stunned as her eyes widened in concern and surprise. She walked a few steps towards him - when had she landed? - and stopped. The man had completely gone face-first into the dirt and was currently in the process of peeking at that bag of his. She took another cautious step forwards.

Then, of all the things, the bag hauled him across the landscape. Svasra jerked to a halt, and watched in fascination. The man skipped like a stone across the bumps and knolls, squeaking like a toy for a few moments. "Uh ... Sir?" she said weakly.

In a few chimes the man was flat on his back, obviously exhausted, and not very pleased.

Svasra hesitated to approach. Was it he safe? Not only in his own body, but to her? She had just witnessed a man run across a field, dive face-first off a rock, be dragged by some invisible force, and now - instead of walking off or disappearing or whatever - he laid down on the cool earth. The better side of her consciousness propelled Svasra's feet forwards.

Clearing her throat to warn the figment of the dream of her presence - she was having a hard time coming to terms that he was a sane human - Svasra strolled up with her arms behind her back. The young Vantha woman stood over the man and looked down, eyes whirling through the colors of the Aurora in her mix of amusement, confusion, concern, and wariness.

For a moment, Svasra said nothing, just peering down at the man on the ground. He was human-looking, that was for sure. Deep blue eyes greeted her curious gaze, with dirty blond hair splayed like an odd fan around him. She brushed a piece of black hair behind her ear, which currently held a deep green hue in the moonlight. "My, you have had quite the run," she began. Pausing, Svasra let the silence spread between them for a chime as searched the man's eyes for something insane to explain his actions. "Need a hand?" finally came Svasra's light voice, one made to sing and entice listeners on a long night. The Snowsong woman extended her coffee-colored left hand, the gnosis of her goddess imprinted in a pale shade the inside of her wrist.

If he tried to hurt her, maybe the light would come back?