milyora eklund

“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”

[ashfilledeyes]

ofbuildingwalls‌:

“You caught me.” Anton would openly acknowledge he was an asshole in general (although that was a rather mild term, in his opinion) but more often than not, he was being one on purpose. This time, the edge of irony in his tone had just…inadvertently slipped through, partly because he was distracted and partly because he hadn’t planned on having any company and wasn’t all too pleased with this turn of events. He winced, straightening himself, using the tree he’d been leaning against to stand up, which he’d already been in the process of doing when she’d heard him. “I was already here. You sneaked up on me.” well, in a manner of speaking. He could see her coming, after all.

Picking a cigarette out of his pocket, Anton lit it, keeping his mouth shut for a few seconds. He looked up as he breathed out the smoke, searching the sky for any break in the clouds, but the night was heavy, electrified, and that sensation was what had kept him up that night. Not that he slept much better any other time, but oncoming storms hadn’t been on his admittedly long list of things that kept him up until quite recently.

He had been worried what would happen if the sky broke and hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near people when it happened. And as usual, the universe didn’t give a flying fuck about what he wanted. “Do you want a smoke?” he finally remembered to ask, after a second drag of his cigarette.

          She snorts lightly and rolls her head in lieu of her eyes. “Funny that a woman without sight could sneak up on a perfectly capable man.” Her tone dripped with attitude. She did not want to have to deal with other people. Her bones buzzed with restlessness and she had hoped for silence to still them. Her hand dragged through her hair, pushing it from her face and shoulders. She hadn’t had many a conversation with the builder, they were near opposites and she had no need to speak to the man.

          A soft clearing of her throat could be heard between them as he started to smoke. She was never fond of the smell, nor the way it seemed to burn all the way down to her core. She shifted in her seat as she faced the other, grip on her guide somewhat tight. Humans made her nervous. Not nervous, just not comfortable. Especially with the crackle in the air. Especially after the events of the last storm.

         “No,” she said simply, running another hand through her hair. “Do you occasionally lurk in the woods, builder? Or is today a special day?”

[ashfilledeyes]

zak-the-teller‌:

“Never claimed to be a sneaky one.” Zak sat on the log next to her, cloak pulled tightly around him in the cool crisp autumn air. He had been lying awake, thinking of Kirra….the blood letting……his relationship with Ayanna. All the weight of his choices finally crushing onto his chest as he lay on his back trying to clench his eyes shut, trying to force sleep. It must have been three to four hours before he finally gave up and decided to take a stroll.

“Couldn’t seem to make myself fall asleep and it’s the last nights before the bitter cold will set in. There’s a haze around the moon tonight. he leaves are turning crisp and draining of the vibrant colors.” He could feel the death of autumn’s kiss against his cheeks as his nose moistened with the bitter chill of it. 

“Aren’t you cold? I am Zak, tribe wicked by the way. I don’t know that I recognize you, have we met?”

          Lips pursed at his words, eyebrows furrowing. She hadn’t been expecting company, especially not one of a Wicked, not at this hour. She hummed as he spoke, her face forward, almost seeming as if she’s squinting into the darkness. She’d have to find a more private spot next time, a small twinge reminding her of why she wanted to be alone. “Wouldn’t know much of vibrant colors,” she murmured. Those who knew her would’ve dismissed the words, but those who didn’t would assume she meant it bitterly. 

          Another hum had her turning towards the other, tilting her head. “You seem to be very trusting, Zak the Tribe Wicked. It is doubtful unless you were a vampire, which you’re not. Unless you’re a liar.” Her eyebrows perked up, teasing the other gently. Zak the Wicked.

          She held her tongue at a possible response to his question about the temperature, turning her face away. “I am not, are you?”

[ashfilledeyes]

          The howling of the wind screeched as it slithered in through the broken glass of the windows, causing the tattered curtains to flap wildly. Thankfully there was no snow, only forceful gusts of winds blowing in the remnants of the storm from three days previous. It had intimidated the small coals just barely holding onto ignition and Milyora was impressed by her comrade’s ability to sleep through such noise. But it wasn’t the noise that woke her, nor was it the way the moon spilled onto her face, nor the chill that the wind brought with it. It was the sky. The sky called to her, beckoned her outside. Not one to simply ignore such an invitation, the young woman grabbed all she came with and headed out under the deep black sea. Her face tilted up towards the moon, her dead eyes closing as she inhaled and started to walk. If she was going to be up and awake, the least she could do was check if they would have breakfast.

         The soft tap of the wood against the firm, cold ground was softened by the thick blanket of snow, the gentle crunch of her feet meeting the frozen coating almost a lullaby, or a secret. Her lips turned up slightly as the howl of the wind turned into a purr, gently rustling the leaves of the forest she carefully entered.

         Tap, first tree in, and a gentle coo of an owl could be heard, almost as if she had disturbed his hunt. Twenty steps in. The silence of the night would almost be threatening if not for the careful flap of wings, or occasional rustle of leaves.

         Tap, second tree in, make a right and after ten steps make a left. First trap. She paused briefly as the forest went silent, crouching to make herself almost invisible, hand searching for the trap as she heard another coo, this time louder. Safe. She let out a gentle breath. Empty, but disturbed. Damn owl. She stands, grabs her guide and continues on, making an immediate left.

         Tap, third tree in, near it will be a burrow. And near that would be a trap. She makes quick work of the rabbit caught in it, tying it onto her belt.

         Silence. Dead silence. Not even the wind dared to blow.

         Something’s wrong.

         In one hand she holds the knife and in the other, she grabs the stake. She’s as still as the leaves above her, as still as the air. She doesn’t breathe or blink, her ears listening, feeling. She whips around as fast as she can, facing the one to dare disturb the gentle night.

         “Milyora?” a voice asked, and she could swear it was as if a ghost had spoken her name. Her face falters and she grips the items tighter. “Milyora..” the voice sounds closer and she braces herself.

         Was that the voice of Death? Would Death be this cruel? For years the voice had lulled her to sleep, whispered stories of before the Plague, stories of childhood antics, romance, and true love. Reassurance. Love.

         It sounded as if it was warning her. As if it was in disbelief as well. As if to say, I can’t believe you’ve made it this far. As if to say, you don’t make it any further.

         Just as quick as it came, it was cone and Milyora crumpled under the weight of the silence she was left with. Her name echoed in her mind. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t. He sounded too much like her memories. He wouldn’t sound like that. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Almost as if it had been turned on with a switch, the forest came back to life, an almost deafening sound. Her ears rung as she stood, hurriedly making her way back. If the owls got the other rabbits, that was fine with her. She just needed to get back. Suddenly the sky didn’t feel as if it was inviting her, it felt as if she was intruding on it. She felt unwelcome, unsafe. She needed to leave.

         The smell of blood and the ringing of her ears, her own name bouncing in her mind, were the last thing she remembered from that night as she slipped into unconsciousness.

         Father.

[ashfilledeyes]

          It was often that Milyora found herself unable to sleep, especially as the air grew frigid and the clouds swelled, threatening to release whatever storm they saw fit. Nightmares she never remembers ( or can never make sense of ) wake her often, leaving her frustrated as she lay in her bed, greeted by the unbreakable darkness. And this night was no different. As her eyes snapped open, she let out a frustrated huff, sitting up, running her fingers through her long hair. Winter always made her nervous and more flighty than usual. Especially after the events of last winter and what followed after. While she personally wasn’t affected, the way the community swelled with anger and hatred was what put her on edge.

          She pulled a shawl around her shoulders and a cloak on top of that, pushing her feet into her shoes, leaving her guide to rest against the frame of her bed. She wouldn’t go far, at least, that’s what she told herself. She was restless and irritated, a sharp pain in her temple practically throbbing as she stepped outside into the cool air. The sounds of the night nearly mimicked the sounds of the day as the vampires worked and wandered, but Milyora was uninterested in making her way into the heart of town. She needed some peace. As she stood in the cool air, she took a long breath, closing her eyes as she simply waited for a moment, listening to the world around her. She moved almost as if a switch had been triggered, towards the darkened forest. 

          It didn’t take long for her to make her way to her favorite spot. She sat down on the fallen tree, hands sliding along its moss-covered bark, listening to the chirps of the crickets. Another long inhale was taken as her face tilted towards the sky, her headache nearly dispersing. “You’re not very sneaky,” she called out into the darkness, turning her head towards a gentle rustle of leaves. “You’d have to try harder than that.”

open

[ashfilledeyes]

( kaheerthehaunted‌ )

     Kaheer sat up swiftly, the kitten protesting the sudden movement by launching off of him. He watched it move towards the person who had startled him, winding through her legs. “No,” he said quietly, softly enough that it may have been caught up in the wind before reaching her, so he said again, “it is not.” Pain stabbed at his back but he made no noises of pain as he gently prodded across it, finding where he had bruised.

     “I am,” he answered, considering he had missed hitting his head on a stone but landed on it with his back instead, a few bruised ribs were favored over a split skull. “Bruises.” He explained, his gaze averted, a habit he’d always had since his time with the Wanderers, a habit he was trying to break. His gaze crept back up to hers. “Are you lost?”

          The feeling of the kitten between her legs made her smile, letting go of the knife in her bag to pick the frail animal up, holding it close to her chest. She hummed as she scratched its little head, eyes still forward. “How very brave of you,” she commented gently, only moving her head to press her lips to the animal’s head, eyes closing, humming. Setting the animal back down as to not upset the man, she shifted, switching her guide to her dominant hand. She hadn’t expected to encounter someone else. Not that she PARTICULARLY minded considering the man posed no threat. Yet.

          “Bruises heal. Well, everything heals, but bruises more quickly,” the murmur was nearly hidden in the wind, face tilting up, listening. But all she heard were the sounds of the forest and his voice. She barked out a laugh before snorting, shaking her head. “You ask a lot of questions for a bruised man on the ground.” She chuckled as she spoke, moving towards where she had heard his voice, eyes falling just below his head. 

          “I am not. I would go as far to say I know these woods better than the creatures that live in it. So with that, are you lost, kitten savior?”

[kaheerthehaunted-blog]

      It was windy and cold, trees wavering in wound up gusts and leaves scattered across the forest floor. It smelled of pine and wet earth and a fine mist seemed to coat the air, leaving things damp to the touch. The spirits were quiet, had been since the last time he had taken a life, but when he’d first arrived there were so many of them, their anger bolstering them. It was how he had found out most of the history of Sanctuary, of the events that had happened before Jaael and his arrival. Now, though, there was nothing but the howling wind and the whisper of leaves. Through the dense branches, a few meters up from the base of a tree, Kaheer sucked in a breath as the crack of a branch beneath his foot had him gripping the limbs higher up even tighter his full weight reliant on the sturdiness of them.

     The mud clinging to his shoes made his footing slippery as Kaheer tried to climb the tree, its bark digging into his palms as he hoisted himself up by his hands, arms trembling at the strain. He was still weak from his time on the run with Jaael through the wilderness, his body thin and his face still gaunt despite the month or two within Sanctuary. He breathed out, a puff of mist in cool air as he accidentally scraped an elbow against the bark, his foot slipping out for the nth time beneath him in his scramble to find another branch to support his weight. Above him there was a mewling mass of white and grey fur as a thin kitten kept her claws firmly implanted in a branch to keep from being jostled off of it in the wind. Leaves fell and skimmed him before landing on the ground as another gust bellowed through. 

                                                          Almost there. 

     He found purchase on a thick limb and put his weight on it and pushed up to his full height, remaining steady all the way. He was eye level with the small creature now. “It’s scary up here.It’s okay I’ve got you.” He spoke softly, his hand moving beneath the kitten to dislodge her from the branch and bring it to his chest, where its claws dug deep in lieu of the branch, but he barely felt the sting. With one hand he began to navigate back down, slowly and steadily until his foot slipped once more, and without a free hand to rescue them, he fell the rest of the way down, his body hitting the leaf padded ground with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. The kitten leapt up, still mewling and stepping on him but Kaheer remained still, staring up at the pieces of sky through the branches. 

       “You okay?” He asked the kitten, the sound of rustling lost with the wind.

[ashfilledeyes]

          It had been what seemed like ages since Milyora found herself in the surrounding forest. She had missed the way the trees felt like watchful guardians, the way they whispered and roared with the hiss of the wind. Even on days like this where the cold pierced through one’s heart like an uncaring lover. She felt at home in the forest. The most at peace she would ever be in this unrelenting world of theirs. The tap of her guide was nearly silent, drowned out by the howling of the wind, her hands sliding across the bark of the trees carefully, counting. She had set up a few traps, as to not rely on the hunts done by the others and to stay sharp if anything were to happen to her home. She hummed along with the wind, her thoughts nearly engulfing her, her body simply going through the motions. That was until she heard a crack from a tree barely a meter from where she stood.

          Her eyes narrowed as she slowed, mind suddenly clear, approaching the tree with caution. One hand slid into her bag, gripping the handle of the dagger. As she listened, she frowned, the noise sounding as if someone were climbing the tree. Or something. She lifted her face as she continued to listen, nearly flinching at the final sound of a thud, slowing approaching it. Before she could open her mouth, it spoke, confusing her until the tiny mewls of the kitten could be heard through the roar of the wind tearing its way through the trees.

         “Oh, I’m fine,” she murmured, smart ass, though didn’t loosen her grip on the dagger. “Are you? Sounded like quite the fall.” She didn’t get too close, not wanting to startle him, but also giving enough room to flee ( if she could ). “Not many would climb a tree for an animal. Is it yours?” Her eyes stayed raised, turning her head slightly to where the man could be.

[ashfilledeyes]

          It was a rare occurrence that Milyora found herself in need of visiting the Town Hall and an even rarer occurrence that she felt the need to visit the Bone Queen. Never had she spoken to the intimidating, seemingly cold woman, nor had she ever spoken to the former King. There was no NEED. She wasn’t royalty, she had nothing of use to offer either the Matriarch nor the Patriarch of their supernatural comrades. But the Bone Queen had something SHE wanted. Something she had her eye on, so to speak, since the Uypr arrived in Sanctuary. The library. Anyone who knew Milyora would laugh right in her face at her hope for the Bone Queen to allow her, a human- a BLIND human, to be allowed to enter the library. But the woman was stubborn, she had leverage, and finally had the courage to approach the Queen.           Being without sight had proven difficult her whole life. Or rather it was one of the hardest things for a human to be in the world they lived in. She was treated with scorn and disgust and many a time was her life in danger without her even knowing it. Even after decades of living with the disability, Milyora hoped for a CURE. She hoped it was simply a curse that could be lifted. That it wasn’t some cruel fate she was destined to live out. While she would never speak of such matters out loud, especially not to any of the other humans, the library was the closest feeling of hope she experienced in a very long time.           Tap, tap, tap, went the guide as she made her way along the familiar streets, grateful of the sun’s rays blessing her cheeks. She took a small pause, lifting her hand until the warmth on her face was shadowed, she stood there a moment, counting, calculating before she moved again. Her walk was filled with confidence and determination, milky eyes set dead ahead, almost as if they were fixated on her destination, her GOAL. When she felt resistance, she paused, almost looking up at the building in front of her. The Town Hall. A gentle, silent inhalation of breath was taken before she made her way into the building.           Tap, tap, tap echoed against the walls. The Keeper had been so kind as to set up the meeting beforehand, so all the woman had to do was show up. Two more gentle taps before she paused, standing in silence, listening, feeling.           “Bone Queen,” she said confidently, her sightless eyes narrowing slightly. “I hope I didn’t make you wait.” She knew she was on time. 

@ashescshes

[bloodvbonerpg]

BASICS :

Name: Milyora Eklund Age: 35 Race: Human Occupation: Citizen Faceclaim: Melanie Scrofano Sexuality: Pansexual Status: Taken

TRAITS :

+ : enduring, resourceful, familial

- : stubborn, fierce, doubting

THE STORY :

The first memory she could conjure was of her mother’s sobs. She could never remember how old she was, but she could remember how the air felt against her exposed skin, the way the breeze stung her nose, lifting the smell of an autumnal morning up to it. She remembered how the leaves sounded when she stepped on them. She remembered being confused, almost lost. And of course, the sound of her mother sobbing. No words were said, no hushed voices of any other being, just the sobs of her mother and the crunch of her leaves. The sting of the cool breeze. And the deep darkness. The darkness that reminded her that she would never last in the world she was born into.

With the birth of the first child into their tribe being without sight, Milyora was seen as an omen. Some members of the tribe insisted that the poor girl had somehow gotten the plague, while others fought that she was a Wicked and to be cast out immediately, left for dead. The more rational members of the tribe claimed that her disability was rare, but not something to be feared and that they should simply wait to cast out a child; it was cruel to want to see just a babe suffer and starve. And stay they did, but not without ridicule, Milyora, her mother, and her father’s every action scrutinized. The members of the tribe spat what felt like curses at the woman and her child, making wild claims that her womb was cursed, that the child was cursed, and that they would be rid of her eventually. That it was only a matter of time before the child, along with her mother, would slip up and give the other members a reason to be cast out.

The years went on and her mother could take it no longer. She decided she would rather bare the loneliness and risk of the outside world than live with those who feared a child to the point of cruelly spouting nonsense and abuse. While living on their own produced obvious challenges, her father’s knowledge of hunting and her mother’s knowledge of the nature surrounding them certainly bode well for them. They were surviving. Moving often to avoid being caught in a Blood Hunt, Milyora found solace in the wooded areas they would visit. She loved the way the birds sang to one another in at dawn and the soft coos in the evening. The way the bark felt against her hands and the mud between her toes. She felt at home. So at home that often, she would end up wandering on her own, without realizing how far she had gone. The seemingly blissful ignorance of not being able to see the cruelty of the world around her mixed with the innocence of a child was a dangerous concoction for the young human. Despite the constant warnings of her mother and the watchful words of her father, Milyora was without fear of what lay beyond, no matter how much her parents attempted to instill that fear into her heart.

Milyora was five when her father went missing during a hunt. It was too close to the darkness, too dangerous to go out, her mother had insisted, rubbing the ever growing bump that nearly looked as if it would pop. He had insisted it was fine, he wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour or so, plenty of time. But he was gone. They dangerously kept the fire lit all night, her mother holding the young girl close, eyes staring out into the darkness that threatened to take over their sad, little camp. The darkness that snatched away her husband. And that morning, as the child woke from her fitful slumber, she could hear her mother sobbing. It was a muffled sob, but still loud enough to rouse her. She could feel the small drip of her mother’s tears against her face, the shaking of her body as the pain of loss wretched through her. It was enough to bring the girl to tears, though she wasn’t sure what she was crying about. That was the last time her mother held her. And that was the first memory she could remember.

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SUGGESTED CONNECTIONS :

Rayyad Wolfgang-Child : Anton the Bright : Valeriu Szabo :

FC is NON-NEGOTIABLE