[Shaynn]

Reserve

Name: Carel

[a sky full of stars]

{I kindly ask you listen to the link below as you scroll through my form}

xxx

The Old Castle - Mussorgsky

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***

The ancient peoples of the north speak of many myths and legends, though many never pass the lips of those entrusted with such knowledge, and fade away with the tarnished winds of time and the wayward touch of nature. It is in the woodland groves of a place so wild it bears no name, where the ancient peoples of svaldbard were originally birthed. It is here the trunks of trees are glistening silver, their branches interwoven tightly so that darkness roams beyond, and light dusts of snowfall scatter upon the bark with a softest touch some dare even call magic - such was the way it placed itself, and glimmered in the halflight when light chanced to shine. It was here that the peoples treasured and nurtured fylgja; their fates. These creatures took animalian forms, and were deeply interwoven with the fates and hearts of the young race of scandinavian peoples. They were powerful spirits, though not unkind, and many shimmering lights could be sighted among the pines and bare-branched birch - places where the darkness proved too much for the intelligent people, who knew a place where they were not intended to stride. There was one here, sleek and wispy, a shimmering creature of the darkest black, of which the northern people sung and Voror was he blessed. He was adored and respected by the people, and literally named 'warden' in the language of the north.


Här väntar vi på dig
var har du sover lite ande ?
Genom gnista av eld har vi väntat dig
och med glimmande ljus av gryningen har du bleknat
Adjö , adjö
till kväll vi möts igen


And the spirits would follow Voror of the nightingale into the dawn, whilst the snow flitted down to announce the morning, and the people of the north watched the creatures fade away.

***

username; a sky full of stars - otherwise known as 42
name; voror - though as it is his true name and one too close to his heart to be used as a mere label, he is known to most as nikolai
gender; male
personality; gentle - reserved - protective - loving - adventurous - affectionate - vague

The sun has risen and you shall wake.

The creature sighed from deep within and seemed to swallow the sun in his awakening - as upon his feet he stood, the more radiant he glowed and life seemed to brim from within his joyous eyes. It was here in the sunlight that he faded away, his normally dark pelt indistinguishable from the silver trees that glittered in the dawn sun. The forest hummed with the many little consciences of the spirits about him, and such a warmth emanated from the pines and snow-dappled birch that though cold was the morning, warm were the thoughts of the creature and all other company among the barren mountains and landscapes of the neglected wild. For long had the world moved as such, where rose the sun and breathed the spirits, swayed the trees and lived the creatures below - all of which were overlooked by the fylgja, whose tender touches kept hither harm.
The morning, to the peoples of the snow, was announced by the rustling business of the gyrfalcon, the not unkindly calls and nosy to-dos of the creature. The spirit-creature, known to them as Voror, made his way away from the company of men and animal, and strode down beneath the jagged rocks and slopes of the varying forest, terrains untouched by the brutish boots of men - though, such cruel words could not be said about the ancient peoples of this area, for a conservative patience accompanied their lives, respected deeply by Voror and the fylgja.
Onwards trode Voror, till at last the precarious rock-faces and snowscapes panned out to a flat of gleaming snow, overlooking the treacherous valleys below. Bad spirits lurked here, their shadows sometimes disturbing the bubble of peace held by the fylgja and the ancient men, corrupt men dwelled there also, their hearts wicked in the frost and fiery in the heat of flame. Voror watched them, his gaze always careful as he examined their corrupt ways - no good would it do for such matters to fall into the hands of any far from the valley. It was peaceful here, a place overlooked by the loud terns and shy snowhares, and sheltered nicely from the storm below. It was for a while that Voror perched here, watching with the quiet clarity brought upon the by snow and sleet. On below a storm brewed, grey and fierce, and colder than the wildest snows within the mountains.
There is a feeling and desire found within the hearts of all creatures, and within spirits it lives no different. It is a bright kind of desire, rarely cruel, though often precarious. It is the wish to know more, the painful urge to understand and explore. Though called simply curiosity, and seemingly harmless, such possessive wanting stems from it, and such a feeling did Voror of the north feel twist within him.
It was not a feeling to be ignored, and nor did the spirit abandon it; making his way down the rocky cliff-face to the land of dark spirits below, where the deviously wrought creatures of darkness and hate lurked below.
Though to eyes of you and me, Voror would have been nothing more than a bright glimmer upon the sunlit snow, those of spirit kind viewed each other with a keener eye, and Voror was not disclosed below the cliffs above. Soon the ragged voices of the dark spirits reached his ears, and Voror wished to weep and cry and scream until all the fire within him was burned to ash, such a terrible sound were their mutterings.
Many a vicious thing then occurred, for the spirits of valley below were not kindly toward ethereal presences of a variant type. The details are better left to the wind, but Voror returned wounded and battered to the camp of the men, just as night was dawning. The fire of their camp lit his eyes, and in it only could sorrow be seen, such a wretched creature had Voror become - to the men he prayed for help, but so mangled was their guardian, that only fear was mustered within the campside company at his dishevelled words. As a beast he appeared to them, and the fought him with fist and fire, until the sparks burned away at his eyes and he cried for the mercy of his people.
It was then, too late, that they understood.
Already Voror had fled, into the secluded forest to the sanctuary of the other fylgja, bus still the men wept. It was their blindness that had made another blind, and battered and terribly broken Voror left the snowscapes of his birthing. The heavy winter blizzards threatened to blow his presence away at any instant, and only more biting did the winters ever prove. The fylgja faded away with time too, less kindly were they with men, though they did not blame them for Voror's misfortune. No people had they to watch over, and no fate had they to live for, as the shamed men left the cold wilderness of the north. Even the bad spirits were slightly tamed with Voror's absence, without such magic as he once contained, the wilderness again turned less kindly and the wind battered the foulness within the creatures until a reprieve of such ways was necessary.
The desolation of the North had lost its charm, and the mystic became nothing, Voror just a shell.

For many nights and days he wandered, alone amid the snow, 'till at last he was met upon by snowbirds, who guided him away to the shelters of a kinder wood. Here Voror slept, for long expanses of time, unable to process the thought of awakening to a world dark. His last sight was violence and the terrible burning of fire, and so many beautiful things had he once known, that it was such a pity to end the light without them. So sleep on he did, until higher they bid him wake, and on and on he wandered, praying to the darkness.
Prayed him this:

Oh darkness, darkness here, be my friend.


To betray him once with curiosity it did, but prayed he on that never again deceitful would it prove.


***


The whispers in the night awoke him, sharp had his ears become, and long had his coat grown, thick fur felt naught of the icy cold of the night. They called him, the whispers, softly guiding him to his feet and away down the slopes onward. It was a starless night, and had Voror known it he would have wept, few nights were the skies dark back home, and never was the land so dark. He trudged onwards, little did his weary feet care anymore for distance, and the whispers soon faded away and left the little spirit alone. Not even the sharp ears of Voror can hear the soundless, but eyes who saw the light Voror no longer possessed, and quickly assumed that alone he had been left. Naught was the case, and when at last he felt the many presences about him, such a smile split his lips that few could not help but laugh in delight.
'We have found you Voror of the North, and though we must leave you, forever shall we watch over you and never again shall you be alone.' These words brought comfort to the spirit who recognised a few faithful fylgja, friends from long ago.
'I thank my finest friends,' came Voror's response, a silken sound sweet to the ears of the listener.
So gradually they left, until it was merely one that stayed with Voror, and Vallen were they blessed.
'It is time for us to go now,' they spoke, 'You are not what you were, but you are something different, and so much more shall we finally learn.'
Together the two moved onward, such terrible things lay before them, but a new fire had kindled within Voror, and as eager as ever was he to continue, until the time when he would see the light again.

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Time had moved, and so had the city grown, and still did the creature who once was Voror could not feel his heart rest. The city was sweet, but awfully fake seemed its lights and so shallow were the footprints left by its inhabitants. Nikolai was the name he had taken, his past name too painful to speak or be heard of, and powerful forces were contained within it, forces that blew away in the chilled winds of the upper norths but here that lurked and danced and sparked attention unwanted. Nikolai was less conspicuous, though only to some extent, however Voror himself was of a quirky nature and those who are different are not easily made inconspicuous. Behind him always was spotted Vallen, who as loyal as ever and trailed behind sporting the bright ginger tail any other fox from the snowfields would bear. It had been many years since Voror had left his happy home, lodging thereafter in the bustling cities of Oslo and Copenhagen. The snows that fell were sweet, yet not as untarnished and wild as the home of the two companions, but that was to be expected. Many happy adventures and paths did the pair take, where Voror danced and explored and lived - a life slightly hollower, but solid all the same.
However, the itching desire to feel the wind of the birchwoods again tugged hard at the heartstrings and so away the pair went. Trudging upon the icy paths few ever strode, with a lighter excitement dimmed by the ignorant rush of the city. It was with great sadness and pity that the pair came upon their home, a desolate landscape broken by negligence and cruelty it now was. Whilst the blind creature wept for the cold whispering winds that no longer sang, and the soft frozen snow that now bit with the bitterness of wintertime, the shrinking colony of men, of whom Voror used to know emerged, hearing the terrible cries of which were more broken than the heavens. When they sighted the all familiar spirit, such regret and pain emerged from within their hearts, unlike any felt by any mortal man today, so sorry were they.
'Voror,' one spoke, not touching the spirit, but gently making their presence known, 'We have caused you much pain, for we are the terribly broken men of the earth and our naivety is our downfall. We pray for forgiveness, for your pain is ours, and much do we owe you that is lost.'
Voror raised his head, shimmering tears rolling down his cheeks.
'The north has fallen to the denouement of inadvertence, my failed protection. I have failed you, as you have failed me.'
The velvet voice of the spirit was hollow, but the men were familiar with what was to come.
'It would then seem,' spoke one, 'That it is time for us to part and forget all that fell between us.'
'I am sorry,' breathed Voror, 'Yes, now we must part.'
And on heel the little spirit turned, and bounded away into the ever darkening sky, the furry form of Vallen beside him.
'What is the future like Vallen? Shall I like it?'
'The future is dark, but only because the stars can't shine that many light years away. We will see soon.' Vallen smiled to the night and bounded down the trailing slopes, Voror in trail. No footprints did they leave, so light did they tread and when they came upon the city, it was to the docks they headed, onto the sailing boats that headed for the seas beyond.
Away they went, beyond the realms of mortal men.

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art;
i. pixel by the kind aiode.
ii. in the darkness there is always light by the lovely Valute
iii.
iv.
v.

all art above belongs to the winner

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[Pyromaniacal]

People often ask me what it's like to be blind. "Isn't it horrible?" they ask. "You must bump into everything." But you see, it's not really like I just closed my eyes, not when I was blind from birth. I don't know what it's like to see; therefore I do not miss it. I really don't care if I'm blind or not. My senses of hearing and smell all but make up for my lack of vision, and although I fundamentally suck at board games I generally can do most things a normal person can. You see, it's not like I just closed my eyes when my eyes always were closed; though perhaps they were always open, and it is only those who can see who have really closed their eyes.

My mother named me Auckland after the largest city in New Zealand, although truthfully said I have never been to the southern hemisphere and seriously doubt I ever will. When I was little, I would ask her about my name: "Why Auckland?" She would tell me that I was unique, so I deserved a unique name as well. I suppose I was named for my coloring and markings, a lot like grass and rain and the open night sky (at least to my mother), and how my blindness separates me from my peers, as most of them had more common names like Jack or Joe instead of being named after a town of 1.4 million.

I've always had a close connection with my mother, although she stays put in one place and I love to travel, and I am a total procrastinator and she needs to get everything done right off the bat. We are both reserved and socially awkward, and we share a profound love of chocolate. The main reason we are so close, however, is that my mother is probably the only person in the world who truly understands me, who truly loves me for who I am. Most people I meet either pity me for my disability or ignore me for my detachment from society, but my mom... no one gives hugs like my mom. I suppose I'm a little old to be living with my parents, but if home is where your heart is then my home sure is there.

My parents live in Massachusetts, and as far as I know always have. Although I live with them, I have traveled the world and even spent eight months in England for my career. I mainly specialize in natural history, the study of living organisms through observation and scientific research. Although I have not made any major breakthroughs, I find the subject interesting and have overcome a few of the difficulties in my job despite my disability.

I like living things. I'm not sure why, never was. Even if they are ugly, dangerous, or aggressive, there's something about them that fills me with warmth, with meaning, with happiness. I can't see them, but I... I pick up their aura or something. I keep all sorts of pets — mainly cats and birds — for this reason. If I ever have a bad day, I just come home, find one of my pets, and sit with them for a couple of minutes. It works wonders, I swear. Other kias can have this effect on me as well, especially my mother.

I absolutely love to travel, if not for my career then for my need to move around. Of the types of people I've observed in the world, there is a type who, like me, loves to migrate from place to place. I do have a home base, but I'm almost always somewhere else, chasing fauna of every variety. I wish my mother shared this need, this feeling, because then she would come with me. I took her to Canada once and she told me that of all the places in the world, she would still love Massachusetts best. I respect that, but it doesn't keep me from wishing.

I guess I wish a lot — I mean, I don't particularly notice but as far as I can tell it's more than the average kia — and I usually wish about things I should do but haven't the time, energy, or motivation to work on. I'm fairly nostalgic and child-like at heart as well, as my body's in its late twenties and my mind's nine — cheerful, bouncy, perseverant, and not quite able to realize that eating an entire Hershey's queen-size chocolate bar in a single sitting will only result in a sugar high. I treasure even the smallest, most seemingly meaningless things I own. I absolutely adore stuffed animals and other similar stuffed toys and have quite a collection. It's hard for me to get rid of something I own and love, though I'm not a hoarder and I don't particularly want to put my paws on every single thing I vaguely like somewhere.

Most of the things I like are soft, fluffy, or very, very squishy. I absolutely hate taxidermists and things made from real skins — they just reek of death. Synthetics and harm-free fabrics such as wool are almost always better in my opinion, and I will not hesitate to surround myself with them. I tend to adore soft things, especially alpaca yarn because, believe me, it's so fluffy it might as well be made of whipped cream.

I've traveled all over Europe, Asia, North Africa, and North and Central America studying life, but I've never seemed to make it over the equator — I'm not sure why. I'd love to go to South America or Africa to study the natural organisms there but... it's never happened. I don't want to be very pessimistic but I seriously doubt I ever will make it to the Southern Hemisphere. They tell me I'm a globe hopper but I'm really not... I mean, what kind of globe hopper has never hopped to two and a half major continents? In all thirty years? Give me a break.

I grew up like any normal kia would, in the heart of Massachusetts with my loving mother and over-protective father. I made friends who lived in the area and nobody particularly cared that I was disabled and couldn't see their cool new hairstyle — not that any of us cared about our hair at that point. As tots we would play tag (which I did fine at — four-year-olds make an awful lot of noise as they run around) and make the adults read us stories. I went to a local kindergarten, where I would socialize with pups from all over the area and learn how to intonate my speech correctly. It was a good life.

My mother decided to homeschool me my primary school years. I learned how to read Braille and write English from my mother, and although she wasn't a professional tutor she did do a good job, I suppose (who knew one's mother learned to read Braille in college as a hobby?) Although I can't draw real well my writing is usually pretty neat, which I suppose is an asset — for some reason, people always seem awfully impressed when I can scribble my name legibly on a paper plate. I learned math, science, and history just as any normal pup would. My mother never considered hiring a tutor for me and I'm glad she didn't — after all, she did know that I didn't consider my blindness as being all that, well, special. I was completely used to it; I had no idea what it was like to see.

Eventually she decided to enroll me in junior high in the local district. I was able to make stronger contacts with old friends but unfortunately for me it took my teachers an awfully long time to figure out what to do with me. I was bullied a little bit, I suppose, but I never really noticed.

I graduated high school with no bumps along the way and got my feather the day after, as is the custom in my family. I got a college application accepted and took the longest trip from my home I had ever had before. College was great, but I got very homesick and spent all my recesses back at home. Eventually I graduated and got a job at a nearby zoo.

My time at the zoo was probably the best fun I've had in my life. I loved learning more about the exotic animals populating it and then teaching it to the kids that came to visit. I was a tour guide and would lead small tour groups on what I hope were very informational and inspiring zoo expeditions.

After a few years of my zoo job I decided to go after a career that was a little more relevant to what I had studied in college: natural history. I suppose it's a bit of a hobbyist job, but I get paid well and man is it entertaining. I've had some wild rides in the half-decade I've been doing it and I don't plan on giving it up soon, and I hope one day I'll get across the line that splits the world in two.

[glassesprotag]

possible mark c:

[Agent Shark]

possible mark

[Beta.]

reserve with the name Shilo!

Name; Shilo
Gender; Male
Personality;
Art;
Likes/Dislikes;
Short History;
Other;

[hiyorin]

possible reserve O:

[shuhalo]

Yesyesyes
reserve maybe?

[cece.]

res

[Doggeh.]

Marks eue

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