Harle's Wanderlust...

[Harle]

((Ok, I figure... I'll make a post in this... realm. Since, none have been made yet. Heh, and I really don't know where to start, so yeah. ^_^;; ))

The moon hung languidly within the sky, casting its tritely seen and luminous glare upon the grassy meadow below. Crickets chirped with jocund pleasure as gentle breezes beat against the tall grasses and leafy underlings that felt the brute force of such winds. Such was the condition of the meadow grassland as Harle made her arrival. She came in most cases soundlessly, as though silence were truly akin to her in nature.

Her boots made grasses fall crippled and battered against the ground, as though she felt no remorse or compunction for them or even the world itself. Her cold blue eyes ignored the glimmer of the overbearing stars, and even the gentle swaying of the grasses that surrounded her within the area. She could at first glance appear to be rather harsh and stolid, but this was beyond and far from the truth. She was actually at peace, as her right hand held onto the center piece of her double-edged blade.

It was located securely behind her neck, as her gloved left hand encompassed the stem of a perennial rose. The gentle and deeply crimson petals of this flower brushed softly against the neighboring grasses, as it hung captively from Harle's obscure hand. Her dress with its layers of black fabric was not as gentle, as it buffeted each individual strand of grass, while towering over her legs. Many crickets chose to scurry at the point in time, as she either approached their jolly groups, or seemed to be slowly encroaching upon their territory.

But Harle had desired no other locations to tread within, she had found this meadow in particular to be quite pleasing. Not a soul was found within it, say for the few insects and animals that remained, as it was either their home or vacation spot. For Harle, this would only be one of the countless places that she would travel through, as she was just a wandering vagrant.

Unlike these creatures... I do not have a comfort zone...

The winds seemed to punish her for such a thought, as they blew about her veil and short lavender locks. This only produced a bit of flailing from her lavender strands and apparently cryptic veil. One could only wonder if she wore it, as if to prepare for the predestined demise of someone rather unlucky. Harle’s usually rosy lips seemed frozen in the pale moonlight, as the enigmatic glare only created a blanched effect upon her fair skin. She appeared as an envisioned porcelain doll.

Indigo lips, formed within a stoic thin line, skin, paler than even the moon it seemed: these were probably noticeable, second only to her dark attire, lavender locks, and silverish blue eyes. Silence only remained perpetual, aside from her motions amongst the grass, as she seemed to direct herself blindly. A limping willow lay ahead of her, forgotten it seemed in the mist of time as it was clearly decrepit and ancient. For some reason, that quality stood vociferously, despite the long leafy hairs that hung from its branches.

((Meh... not much, but a good start I guess. ))

[Harle]

The wind currents seemed more endearing towards the tree, as though it were sage a deserving what respect amounted from its wisdom. A plethora of crickets were placed about its trunk, as though they desired virtue and joy from the antiquated tree. But Harle sought nothing more than a resting ground, as she continued her steady approach, as the crickets seemed to beckon her leave from the meadow.

They cried almost shrilly as she grew closer and closer to their worshiped figure within the meadow. Even a few impudent rabbits began to pound their padded feet against the ground, trying their best to distract Harle. But nothing could deter her from the short rest from her wanderlust.

Hhmm... I don't wish to harm them, but their actions seem rather ridiculous.

Soon, there was nothing left to prevent, as Harle stood erect, facing the elderly willow as she lifted her blade. She permitted it to rest inertly at her right side as she lowered her darkly sleeved arm. It mimicked her youthful rose as it too rested placidly within her gloved hand. All seemed fair, despite the animals' boisterous objections. But her adjustments did not end there, as she gingerly laid her double-edged instrument against the hardened bark of the tree's thick base.

Its metal sharply reflected the lucent rays of the moon, as it continuously glowed amongst the ingenuous stars and hazy clouds. From there, Lenair lifted her once heavily weighed arm towards the twilight sky as she bent it behind her back, in a lethargic manner. Her gloved hand would follow as her right hand would return, composing itself near her torso. Both joined with intertwining fingers, as the rose became caught between the skin-tight embrace.

Harle's darkly blanketed back leaned upon the aged bark of the tree, as she made an earthbound plummet, while easing her feet outward against the gradients of soil. The ends of her dress would billow outward, shielding the surrounding ground and her stockinged legs as she plopped charily upon the tall-grassed dirt. Neither her body nor her weapon seemed visible from her current position, as she face arched upward, allowing her crystal blue eyes a viewing of the milky and flawless moon.

The grasses distorted her view of the moon, with their spewing seedlings which bordered the moon in an imaginary lion's mane. But nonetheless, this hindrance did not seem to faze her, while her eyes remained intent within their gaze, as though forcing themselves to become strained, just so that her tirelessness would cease for the night. Gradually, the apprehensive chirps of the crickets began to mellow somewhat, as no danger seemed imminent, despite the girl's intrusion upon their domain.

The once timid rabbits had also ended their vibrative calls as their padded feet lazed soundly against the dirt-covered ground.

((Just so that none are left in confusion, wanderlust simply means an impulse to travel. A very strong one at that... and this applies to Harle since... she's just a wanderer, all she does is travel, trying to find a place to belong. I guess. ^_^;; ))

[Harle]

((I'm hoping there isn't any confusion found within this post. I tried my best to fit in Harle's personality, and also a bit of primary description for the meadow itself.))

Most animalistic functions within the meadow had resumed as before, as though Harle had not even treaded into the grassy plain. The rabbits scurried about, whether joining in courtship dances, or choosing to simply star gaze. Many had their own array of colors and deviations, whether being long-eared, short-eared, thick furred, or long furred. Though the majority were painted in dark brown shades, a few stood out with shiny white fur and tangy prints and spots.

Harle's ears tingled with the gentle padding of rabbit's feet and nibbling, as the animals remained active despite her invasion. Even the harmonious chirps of the once fearful crickets had subsided into a sound lullaby, which traveled throughout the copious meadow. The insectile message was carried over the grassland area, and through the skies, as though taunting the childish stars with alluring music.

This song, which was one of the many guises of nature, flowed soundly through Harle's ears, casting her into a deep state of placidity. The long and forest green hairs of the willow tree hovered above her, while some chose to fall closely towards her dark being. The tree's limbs almost seemed to embrace her within their youthful arms, as though accepting her as one of the many animals of the meadow.

But she ignored this given comfort, and brushed away the tree's hairs as she shifted somewhat against the tree's base. Her blade rested at her right side, while glinting majestically against the moon's comely light. Her palms rested against her dress, as she sat there, almost appearing to be in deep contemplation. But that was possibly just a facade, brought on so others would gaze and understand what deep amount of alienation she had faced in her painstaking life.

Her right hand soon became the individual as it rose away from her darkly clad attire, and made its soundless approach towards her blade. A single pale finger brushed up against the familiar metal of her weapon, as she rested her hand upon the lower half of her sword. Gradually, her fingers began to teasingly caress the shiny material, as though soothing a savage beast that laid within. Her left hand cotinued to hold the perennial rose captive within her grip. Though her eyes never reached her weapon, they remained glued onto the wholesome visage of the moon.

The moon, an emblem of unrequited love, admiration, solitude, and most of all change; all these she sought to avoid. Yet, that spacious rock always brought a childish interest within her mind, as she could never tear her gaze away. It brought nostalgic memories, of the joyous times lost, and the tainted ones that were discovered. No matter what, it always seemed to follow her, ever since her rising to the planet's surface.

But I can never remember... how I had gotten here. I just can't... I was never able to, even when I was in Regis' care. I suppose those angels had done a pretty fair job of beating me... so much that I still suffer from slight amnesia.

A fit of bitter laughter rolled from her lips, sounding incongruously gentle and almost childlike. Just like the tree, she too was caught within the mist of time, unable to age for centuries at a time. That was one of the many reasons to her constant traveling, suspicions would arise if any grew near to her and noticed her ageless guise. Such an occurrence had been rare, but one had led to the death of a few hapless individuals. They had been a group of cowardice bandits, that promised her a prize for her good deed.

That had been her first position as a hired killer. But the occupation was short lived as the prize they presented to her was a family heirloom, the double-edged blade that she now carried. It had been a gift, given to her father by Lucifer himself. It was rumored to have even been bathed within the blood of the anti-Christ. But Harle was always one to feel incredulous about such conditional statements. Still, the bandits did not live too long past that event, as she slaughtered them in the name of her family and Lucifer. The scent of their blood had never left her blade, and neither did the coppery taste, as she had been lost within blood lust.

"Foolish bandits," she muttered venomously," it serves them right, they had probably been in league with the angels all along." Though this had never been proven, her pride would not allow her to believe anything else. They truly did live up to their names, even until their gory and untimely end. They had taken something not even meant for mortal hands, a blade born within Hell. She too had been birthed in the fiery oblivion. While most would consider it to be a place of eternal suffering and despair, she very much loved her home, and held it high with nationalistic pride.

But even so, she could never return. It wasn't as though her body had willed her not to, she just felt herself to be a disgrace in the eyes of Lucifer. Her family had died for his sake, valiantly in the face of danger, but she had not met her demise, she simply survived after a bit of torture. Thus, she felt herself too worthless.

A low sigh fell gently from her violet lips as her eyes closed momentarily, before redirecting her gaze upon the moon. Her black veil billowed against the coming winds, as her short lavender hair simply endured the wind's mischievous play. Her sky-like eyes appeared contorted with underlying emotions, as she continued to stare. Her fingers never ceased in caressing the lower section of her sword, as she appeared intangible amongst the towering grasses.

[Harle]

((Wow... I feel drained with this one. But I guess I have a few more things that I can do. Heh, just a bit later though.))

[Harle]

((*comforts topic* Wow... to be neglected for so long. -_- Ah well, there's no promise of my posting here after a while; but I may. Just... don't feel much. Since I don't want any blood shed here, and I don't feel like working on a temporary NPC for her to talk to. Hhmm... already too occupied with Gaia, so I don't want to bear bringing in another character unless Harle dies. Heh, and I don't plan on having my demon die. *sighs* Not as though I can interfere with these early senses of fellowship between most of you... so yeah, I may just disperse.))

[Umbra]

((I could have Umbra join the thread if you want, but it kinda seems like this is a one person thing, either way, let me know))

[Harle]

((Oh, okkie. Hhm... it depends. I mean, the field is vast, this is just one tree she's by. Others could be meandering or just resting. And sorry for the solitary feel. ^_^;; ))

[Umbra]

((Oh no, no problem, at all, I've had entirely solitary threads, I was just wondering. I belive I'll leave that one to you and work on an intro thread for James Conner Andrews.))