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+--- Thread: Nova Peak pen-channas (/showthread.php?tid=40987)
pen-channas - Almárëa - April 23, 2020
”nuutas! jukkete—!” an irately whispered string of exclamations spat from her tongue.
legs atremble, sidling footfalls charted the mare's path over a steep decline. a misstep had her shifting and sliding amidst various sharp crags and outcrops. should one of her hooves get wedged as she slid, a fracture to the bone of one of her legs would mean certain death (either once the grizzlies found her, or deadly reperfusion came for her, or both; it was a matter of luck and the grim reaper's comedic timing).
thus, her painfully slow bitch of a descent had already consumed an hour of her time. sweat glinted off her figure as the sun beat down against her skin, but she wasn't feeling quite so compelled yet to hasten herself at this trajectory. she'd rather be hot and alive than dismembered amongst the shade. she stopped and entreated her balance not to fail her before proceeding.
she was not used to the slue or of such loose terrain; her homeplains did not have such perilous things as these scree fields. rather, if they did, she did not stupidly gallivant them. she was a woman of rolling hills, forest, wide-mouthed rivers, and mountains too distant for the fair recompense of the journey to them.
she’d never been made to navigate this damnable manner of countryside, and reminded herself presently that not every swathe of greenery needed to be pastured on. its ascent had been cautioned in its own right, but there was verdure and motley flora to be won, and she did not foresee the challenge she faced at the moment.
now, she felt like she had foolishly pocketed her earnings and then used them to gamble with her life. ”your tolde na-cumna, almárëa.” she eyed the rocks that came loose from above and tumbled down on either side of her when she grew overconfident and advanced a step too far. tensing her shoulders, hope that a large boulder wasn't coming for her a la wile e. coyote limned her soul.
she couldn’t imagine gluttony ever being her deadly sin, but now she was inwardly wondering if ere there was a sin more befitting a mare as she.
RE: pen-channas - Felaróf - April 24, 2020
finding nothing but wolves, felaróf looped back along his cut trail, keeping a steady gait. here a mountain had breathed fire, and too recently for his liking. in the lands of old, it had been dragons roiling beneath the earth, their breath emitted as ash and flame and death. the horselord shivered a sound beneath his breath, and cantered beyond long-sight of the fel mountain, stopping only when he was far beyond.
there was a more pleasant peak in sight when he broke his fast on soft green ridges, and for a long time felaróf only eyed it with mild intrigue. yet it reminded him too much of the great silvermist mountains to be left alone. at length he rested and pressed on, hooves eventually clacking against the loose rocks that had fallen down its sides.
he looked up the scraggy hillock, stepping back as stone tailings toiled their sharp way to level ground, and was stunned to behold that they fled hooves like his own. a vision of blooded symmetry and elegant even in her stumbles. "ni wold quet- as i héri -o i oronti!" the valar-blessed cried upward, stepping back as not to influence a more deliberate cascade.
there was a more pleasant peak in sight when he broke his fast on soft green ridges, and for a long time felaróf only eyed it with mild intrigue. yet it reminded him too much of the great silvermist mountains to be left alone. at length he rested and pressed on, hooves eventually clacking against the loose rocks that had fallen down its sides.
he looked up the scraggy hillock, stepping back as stone tailings toiled their sharp way to level ground, and was stunned to behold that they fled hooves like his own. a vision of blooded symmetry and elegant even in her stumbles. "ni wold quet- as i héri -o i oronti!" the valar-blessed cried upward, stepping back as not to influence a more deliberate cascade.
RE: pen-channas - Almárëa - April 24, 2020
fluted ears flurried toward the sound of her own cut-glass damtongue—privately intrigued more-so by its stentorian aspect—and the shock of having heard it at all startled her enough to nearly instigate a rockslide beneath the slew of her hooves. her hindquarters began to slide ahead of her before she could muster a proper glim at her onlooker.
"ar tye're welcome ana care- so, mime héru, though ni'm ruce- Her Eminence—" she grunted with nervous humor, looking 'round for a more traversable rut in the ashlar landscape. "na- a— a— whit ... preoccupied, at i moment." the westernesse lilted above the sound of rockclatter, feigning aristocratic gentility as her concentration ivied to each side of her for fear that any moment she would lose control of her bearings.
"tye fofrin mîth, tye!" she muttered to herself, negotiating the sheer scar of the mountainside with even more vexation onceupon finding she had a accumulated a small audience.
RE: pen-channas - Felaróf - April 25, 2020
the horselord watched the champagne beam descend, whickering lowly beneath his breath. she remained regal, proud, ever-willing the same to stumble and make of herself a fool. and fool she would have been, were it not for the westerland beauty she wore upon her fetlock and the make of her slender hocks.
"xaráre psare þúle," felaróf called up to her stone court, unable to keep the tongue of the mearas from dancing to fore.
presently his fine-shaped ears swept forward; he became worried that she might cut her delicate ankles upon the scree, and by turns he began to climb the fragmented side of the mountain. "á lave nin etelehta tye, mhuin," the stallion chuffed, extending the powerful arch of his neck and stone-hardened legs for the mare to lean upon during her descent.
"xaráre psare þúle," felaróf called up to her stone court, unable to keep the tongue of the mearas from dancing to fore.
presently his fine-shaped ears swept forward; he became worried that she might cut her delicate ankles upon the scree, and by turns he began to climb the fragmented side of the mountain. "á lave nin etelehta tye, mhuin," the stallion chuffed, extending the powerful arch of his neck and stone-hardened legs for the mare to lean upon during her descent.
RE: pen-channas - Almárëa - April 25, 2020
”ai! ye ontaner qalme.” she snorted at his hail.
just as he marveled at her descent …
(a dignified word for it, really—moreso picturesque of a debutante’s presence on the staircase during her courtier ball. her own was more suited to the depiction of a woman with too much wine in her bloodstream scrambling down a fire escape)
she marveled at his effortless ascent to reach her at her folly. ”kan,” she nickered, gleaning a proper look at the make of him, to be sure that her eyes confirmed what her ears contemplated; that she was not the only of her race to abide this region. an enduring lot, their architects, giving them lives so long they grew bored of their own climes throughout the extent of it.
as sure as the valar spun them from himself, this horselord was as his dialect imparted. mearas, true as she. unlike the common roughcast inalda-roccor, his height and sculpture complemented hers, and their coats remained bright even against dirt, selfsame. ”verime ehtelë—Á tule ninna. n- tára.” she openly appraised the moontulle of him as he sidled alongside to ballast her, wonderingly so—wary by virtue of his sex, but seized by a glint of charm despite herself. she hid it swiftly beneath an illegible countenance that cast about them with vigilance, watching for the larger rocks that were prone to slough from the mountain to the forests below.
she yearned to know if there were more of them—of their kind, but did not speak of it. the impending calamity of their meet had made short work of her observations. ”át auca” the mare snorted with mirth and chiding in twain, counter-balancing herself using the extension of his ply neck and stifle to guide them both to the fidelity of footholds. her sweating coat shivered against his cooler touch. ”... ar hantan tyen ar sa.” she said regardfully as they navigated the scree.
after a time, they were both on unshifting earth, to her private relief. cleaving herself from him, and finding curious reluctance in doing so, she turned to gently brush his muzzle, blowing air against the silvern stallion's nares in proper greeting and gratitude.
almárëa’s tired legs shuddered from her labors, and they longed to fold under her on the masonry presently supporting them, but she was restless for the high plains that had guarded her well during nights. fatigue would find her in the mouth of death if she attempted its trek, but she felt she had no other choice.
”tye péle- ana -lda lopsi ebmórilanta.” she would not bid anymore philanthropies from him (the first unbidden, in the first place!). how he came to be in this strange region was a question that tread imperious and desperate on her tongue, but her mouth had grown dry from the hours and sun and the idea of discussion grew less appealing.
though he, no less.
”enhantan ... ?” she wordlessly implored after his naming, though by any convention should have known it. his ancestral right, but the mearas had halved many generations ago during petty wars and phallic narcissism.
RE: pen-channas - Felaróf - April 27, 2020
it could not be said that felaróf was a fair man, for he held any of the mearas in higher regard than the coarse dray of their kind, and a lady of those long sundered lands could only expect to be coiffed and coddled. she was, therefore, unflawed, tempestuous struggle over an iron balustrade notwithstanding.
therefore as she took the proverbial hand, outstretched to feather lightly against the starfall of her flesh, the stallion's alert skin prickled and twitched with a great sense of wonder. "yé mána ma," he breathed lightly, keeping hooves nocked and aware for the sort of roughage her long-lashed eyes sought. that she had only their stonefell surroundings as the sum of her focus titillated felaróf, brought a prouder arch to his elegant neck and the symphonic fall of his mane across it.
"harya-ala vessë," the horselord rumbled in return, sure-footed beneath her valar-granted beauty. gone from his mind now the lands of the east and of the west; their golden trees all tumbled down in the eye of his mind as he filled with reverence and bore her down the discordant slopes. not a wife, not a one, and certainly not many as her loquacious throat suggested.
when their footing was once more given, felaróf bowed low his regal head to take a chivalrous position a more appropriate distance away. "ni aiyo ndo-o brasseneth ar aegros," the stallion whickered in a proud show, tossing tresses of milkwhite silk against the round swell of his shoulders. "rokkohéru ar varni-o calenardhon."
"mal ni am felaróf, minya imbëi aranr -o i mearas, ar amanya ar valar."
RE: pen-channas - Almárëa - April 29, 2020
she found herself openly musing at his cloudweft crest, the proud crescent of his neck, the masterful masonry of his breast, traveling downwards—
remembering herself, she shied the azure ellipse of her indiscretion away and cleared her throat. ”ná sï manan tyë lendë mbairmma? híres, ahm ... vessë" she slid her eyes towards him, a soft and enigmatic listlessness to her gaze.
in the fells of ana-andúnë, after the méaras’ violent severence into western and eastern nations, culture in the west had changed from the long-established conventions of mearas to less dignified praxes. stallions were lords unto themselves and their thralled mares and sowed discord amongst one another in the name of covetous aphrodisia.
lopsi. not wives. mearas only by bloodline.
her own poll tipped at his courtly display, forelock curtaining the leadening of her lids. he regally professed his filiation with such proud gravitas of his bearing, it instilled a great rigor within her. in her best efforts to conceal her sentiments (the memory, just a filly she was, of her sister relating "don't show weakness, they will avail themselves of it!" hissed in her ear) she levied deferential genuflection upon him, "san alassenya nás ar laitië, felaróf, gonbrasseneth ar aegros, aryon-ana calenardhon, a ar rie ... amanya valaron."
she rose back into the fading cream of light as evenfall softened the sunglow behind them. for a moment she appeared translucent in the lighting, but shifting from the column revealed her and she bid with a tilt of her head for her eldritch lodestar to proceed in showing her down the mountainside. she sidled him, thoughts languid. ”essenya almárëa ná -o lothlórien,” she offered, foregoing her title in full: aranel-o lothlórien, in self-effacement and an unspoken worriment arrowing through her.
”indi -o lothuial ar silivrenor.”
she stripped her queen mother and king-regent father of their titles as well, fear in knowing there was a false king of the mearas in her homeland, and it was his erroneous decrees that had them all in gyves of despair. it was he she fled from, and her sisters! o! her poor sisters; he requisitioned carnal knowledge of them often ... and with her maidenhood— he nearly—
”nyarni -o coiviernya ndo-o brasseneth ar aegros.” she bantered with the suggestion of a smile, and so briskly after returning formalities. feigning fatigue, she lingered behind him a whit, appraising the bob of his untarnished buttocks before prancing up to flank him, tongue shorn of any interesting observations made privately in her mind.
leading them away from titles and assigns and coats-of-arms, she brushed her alabastrine shoulder against his, allowing ambrosian tresses to drape across his withers with the featherlight weight of a woman’s gentled fingertips accidentally skimming the hands of her beau as they saunter intimately side-by-side.
RE: pen-channas - Felaróf - May 02, 2020
almárëa. and as felaróf felt the satin-brush of her pelt skirt discreetly against his own, he felt that indeed it was a boon and a blessing that the valar had so instructed him to come here. the horselord was summarily stricken by the sound of her voice in the poured-champagne column of her throat, the sound of her well-shaped hooves clicking with a genteel elegance against the treacherous earth.
"ni vanta símen ana rimbë-rokko." but the gods-blessing beside him had been the first aside from himself that he had seen. "omótien nyarnan sina andave," the stallion went on, twitching his skin against the bite of inferior insects that sought to sully his untarnished starglow with their biting ways.
felaróf passed his haughty gaze upon the woman, now gone soft with longing and utterly devoted to any whim her courtly mind might inspire. had he less mindlessness, he might have grasped upon the reticence of the mare. yet the king saw only a feminine wile there, the veiling of true self and true desire to glean a fitting courtship.
"mal lumbor ear pícë i nór." the horselord had found no worth in the wild lash of feral, untamed weald that crawled with snarling vermin. "lin-savarna suimima gwelu." the lady too delicate a creation to be left to such crude teeth.
he lowered his muzzle, breathed into a knightly bow. "á tule asenye-iel -o i mearas." for was his rightful place not at her flank? to stave off injury and death? such was the devotion of the horselord bred into him since boyhood for the women of his kith.
silent now, felaróf journeyed alongside her, repeating within his mind her minor titles that contradicted the compelling grace of her figure. but even a handmaid of his homeland would bear more royal gold hewn into her blood than the most civilized of kings in this wilderness.
"ni vanta símen ana rimbë-rokko." but the gods-blessing beside him had been the first aside from himself that he had seen. "omótien nyarnan sina andave," the stallion went on, twitching his skin against the bite of inferior insects that sought to sully his untarnished starglow with their biting ways.
felaróf passed his haughty gaze upon the woman, now gone soft with longing and utterly devoted to any whim her courtly mind might inspire. had he less mindlessness, he might have grasped upon the reticence of the mare. yet the king saw only a feminine wile there, the veiling of true self and true desire to glean a fitting courtship.
"mal lumbor ear pícë i nór." the horselord had found no worth in the wild lash of feral, untamed weald that crawled with snarling vermin. "lin-savarna suimima gwelu." the lady too delicate a creation to be left to such crude teeth.
he lowered his muzzle, breathed into a knightly bow. "á tule asenye-iel -o i mearas." for was his rightful place not at her flank? to stave off injury and death? such was the devotion of the horselord bred into him since boyhood for the women of his kith.
silent now, felaróf journeyed alongside her, repeating within his mind her minor titles that contradicted the compelling grace of her figure. but even a handmaid of his homeland would bear more royal gold hewn into her blood than the most civilized of kings in this wilderness.
RE: pen-channas - Almárëa - May 08, 2020
hope nobody here is fluent in this language bc i'm phoning it tf in lmao
she mastered in silence while felaróf spoke of his labours in these wilds, content to lend a ruched ear and an aureole, the outline to his milkglass prestige as he clipped alongside her. her own hide vexed by insects as well, she dispatched them with a lash of her tail and arched her lissome crest to nip at one of the minikin devils on her breast, keeping an ear rounded on him to hear tell of his further troubles—ñarmo.
her ears twitched but otherwise the mare’s expression communicated neither surprise nor alarm. if anything, it rumored her disenchantment in regard to the mangy churls. a single one, even a pair, warranted little agitation. even so, an entire pack made a sport of menacing herds. they were a breed sprung up from the stink quagmires at the beginning of the world, and she would have them each pinned under her hooves if she had her way.
”nása,” she sighed, then snorted with displeasure. ”ná. hlarn tú, ñoltu. mai qe-tuluva tu·tuluval ki.” almárëa blew through her nostrils and strummed the velvet of her nose along the sinewed shape his proud neck, sundering out the winged pestilence dislimning her lodestar’s brightness with a delicacy yet firmness likened to a hand plucking the stem of a stubborn orchid. gentle mouthed, she groomed him in such a way—it was the commerce of their kith, the comfort and giving of comfort in such intimate manner, to bequeath doting touch.
hers may have been a tad more lingering.
she lipped his mane, a dulcet nicker imparted when his smoldering gaze usurped her presence of mind. she went soft, too soft, too yearning under his contemplations of her, and her contemplations of him. a schema of chivlary! the gravitas! king of the mearas: nightshaded claimant, and yet here with her in sterling flesh, true in name. in whorling beholds, lost herself in him—he was the valar’s paragon—and she had not to offer.
her gaze went listless, faraway and lonely without his image. white lashes fell in a bid to veil her eyes and slammed shut their gateways. "naite tye híres nyando, melhér.” she looked up from her fairfeather veil, guilt sitting as a heavy stone in her stomach.
castamir. imperious bastard king, somewhere
wrong king
here?
near?
would have me under him—
don’t name me
when they were nearing the end of their descent together, she departed from her ministrations and backed several steps to extend him the full breadth of his propriety. a proposal, or a proposition? was there a difference to males? pleading. adamant, somehow, either or the other. ”ai a pusta lé luhtar, nányë umir luhta ana. aþal.” she did not wish him indignation or dishonor, but the production of it made her look around with her heart in her mouth.
they walked again in pensive silence. his own musing gave her an interval of time to consider his offer. together they were as they were meant to be. the mearas in one breath, in one voice. how could she? she could not refuse him this, could not renounce vala by refusing him.
”aique ni polatsa, sercë niva sercë.” she finally answered, listing towards him to pull playfully at the argent tresses of his mane before lifting her forehooves off the ground in a small rear and striking out beyond his reach through a stand of trees leading into the forestlands.
RE: pen-channas - Felaróf - May 14, 2020
"mal ni mére- lala exa," felaróf fretted in a manner more masculine than he had meant — or cared to consider. she was the long-limbed avalê, and the silken feather of her mouth upon his flesh had fired the horselord into a nature that welcomed her challenge.
putting aside the argument forming for his great tributes in the direction of her valar-made fetlocks, the stallion coursed after the mare in a giddy confoundment of enrapturement and desire. perhaps first king of the mearas might have put up a finer dance for his intended, but felaróf found himself compelled by the aching strain of her supple flanks and the globose beauty of her more archly parts, tail a banner of satin that caught his muzzle.
he pursued the elentári through her chosen court, enthralled now by the taste of loam in the air, the little tufts of softgrass kicked up by their hoofbeats. in moments the horselord had come to her side, and now in his throat the trumpet of the great arched halls in their silverwork, a ringing-out of adulation. gone were all thoughts of the wolves; felaróf curved his gait to breathe close, skimming his own lips against the round base of one blessed ear. "valda."
what manner of evil had suggested to her that she was not worthy of his obeisances? she was here, same as he; the land lay unbroken and green and wild before them. why then would the valar bring them to such a place if not in sanctity as one? he was king, and kings made courtship before their chosen heart.
he would run with she who breathed the words of the old places, the sprawling forest enveloping their bodies and dappling the pair with splotches of brave sunlight. legs folded smoothly; the stallion sailed over an old son of the onodrim slumbering upon the ground and cantered less distantly again with a laugh. "ni sam-rembina tye hol."
putting aside the argument forming for his great tributes in the direction of her valar-made fetlocks, the stallion coursed after the mare in a giddy confoundment of enrapturement and desire. perhaps first king of the mearas might have put up a finer dance for his intended, but felaróf found himself compelled by the aching strain of her supple flanks and the globose beauty of her more archly parts, tail a banner of satin that caught his muzzle.
he pursued the elentári through her chosen court, enthralled now by the taste of loam in the air, the little tufts of softgrass kicked up by their hoofbeats. in moments the horselord had come to her side, and now in his throat the trumpet of the great arched halls in their silverwork, a ringing-out of adulation. gone were all thoughts of the wolves; felaróf curved his gait to breathe close, skimming his own lips against the round base of one blessed ear. "valda."
what manner of evil had suggested to her that she was not worthy of his obeisances? she was here, same as he; the land lay unbroken and green and wild before them. why then would the valar bring them to such a place if not in sanctity as one? he was king, and kings made courtship before their chosen heart.
he would run with she who breathed the words of the old places, the sprawling forest enveloping their bodies and dappling the pair with splotches of brave sunlight. legs folded smoothly; the stallion sailed over an old son of the onodrim slumbering upon the ground and cantered less distantly again with a laugh. "ni sam-rembina tye hol."
RE: pen-channas - Almárëa - May 19, 2020
from the gold-inlaid fane of her throat a mirthful duet answering his own cry chorussed into the air as she cavorted his pursuit, maintaining an easy distance between them that insinuated her lack of endeavouring to truly resist his conquering of her as through the trees they played betwixt, flirted, rounded on each other with libertine airs. ”valda,” he breathed molten-hot against the velvet moulding of her ear; another flint-strike against her breast. she paused, then her gilded diadem ducked him and she pranced coquettishly, encircling her lodestar, bidding her argent temple to take what he wanted ... only to reel away again with a bray, dancing from him just out of reach.
worthy was an intoxicating feeling, a aphrodisiacal libation to partake of, and she drained her chalice—glorying in the effects of her sudden methomania. the mare again moved into his orbit, a game of catch-and-release; she now the harvest moon to his paling mercury, lipped at the creased tender spot behind his ear to whisper; "aucië." malapert with elfin grin, dulcet and birdsweet besides as she quibbled with his verdict.
those evils requesting parliament with his conscious, insisting themselves upon him like minxes and queans, couldn’t be dispelled by her. bear it she could not. whether the westernesse cabal’s presence imposed on her in these faraway lands or not, could not be helped. the debt of her upbringing in suchlike philistinism would always come due. she would always fear it, fear him, fear for her sisters.
perhaps her gravest mistake was in not telling the true king of mearas of the pretend-prince; she regretted his wrath would only cleave him from her, send him into the choke of that armoured fist from which she’d fled. she would speak no such word of it.
neither knew these forestlands. all the same both journeyed through its dusk-traced boulevards with a self-assuredness only mearas could truly possess, and the forest would always lead the king to his desired, as sure as green follows rain. almárëa arched across the fell onodrim, pressing further until they were in a clearing flush with shades of evening; the final, glowing embers of the sun cosseted behind her as she came to a prancing meander around the glade, regarding him with squinting mirth at his suggestion. "sí samlye?" she teased, laughing, placing her steps more deliberately now as she obscured her laboring waistline behind a half-lit pine. "mana-ia ni kauva cara cé ni rembinā aqua?" she made her lament to the treetops, as might a wayward belle cornered by brigands.
RE: pen-channas - Felaróf - May 24, 2020
felaróf lowered his kingly countenance, brushed earthside with a humble hoof. "Á lave nin aþya le," he chuffed brazenly, watching how the light in the forest winnowed itself down for a shaft that provided her beauty no unobstruction. a lady of the mearas through and through; he would expect to court her back from beneatht he boughs.
alert now, the horselord too glided into the dappled shadows, swimming amiably after her with an unhurried gait. "nalyë lúcë," he told to her latticed self in the shade of trees that were young as the grass of their homeland. and yet too they spoke the old spiraling creaking language. he stopped to listen, questing velveteen muzzle tilted skyward.
and then felaróf belonged to her again, stopping to sidle his smoothwhey shoulder against the etched trunk of a nearby sycamore, marveling at its largesse before he cast off after insilmë; tracing her scent into the fibers of himself until he felt as though his spirit might soar from the finebone confines of his ribcage.
what was this? but scarce a moment to wonder before he pranced to another tree, vied for her hallowed gaze in the glim of another elderleaf. "ñoltuvan le," and silent he offered the breadth of his soul in a silent prayer to the moonbow.
alert now, the horselord too glided into the dappled shadows, swimming amiably after her with an unhurried gait. "nalyë lúcë," he told to her latticed self in the shade of trees that were young as the grass of their homeland. and yet too they spoke the old spiraling creaking language. he stopped to listen, questing velveteen muzzle tilted skyward.
and then felaróf belonged to her again, stopping to sidle his smoothwhey shoulder against the etched trunk of a nearby sycamore, marveling at its largesse before he cast off after insilmë; tracing her scent into the fibers of himself until he felt as though his spirit might soar from the finebone confines of his ribcage.
what was this? but scarce a moment to wonder before he pranced to another tree, vied for her hallowed gaze in the glim of another elderleaf. "ñoltuvan le," and silent he offered the breadth of his soul in a silent prayer to the moonbow.