[O] White Death - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [O] White Death (/showthread.php?tid=12631) |
|||||||
White Death - Mauja - 02-11-2014 Open for anyone. <3 Mauja Frosthjärta
It was at times like these that he hated his blaze. The thin silver stripe sat at the center of the bridge of his nose, perfectly imperfect with its slightly uneven shape, and emitted a faint glow. After his crystal escapades he'd rested up, and taken off in a different direction, passing a roaring waterfall on the way, and gradually the road he'd been following grew darker and darker. And the glow spreading in front of his eyes made him gloriously blind. It was superbly skilled at ruining his night vision, by preventing him from ever having it. Oh, how he hated that damned blaze and its veil of light sitting just in front of his eyes. He was a walking torch with no benefit at all from it, but everyone could see him. Splendid. Just brilliant. The presence of walls fell away. Drafts stirred the dry, cool air, and the ground had changed from the usual rocky footing to soft sand. Mauja paused, unwilling to step too far into the dark, unsure of what he would see, or find, or if he'd ever find the way back if he went into that vast shadowy sea. Blind as a bat he turned his head from side to side, but saw only the silver glow from his own face. It was.. depressing, really. He was white anyway, so what did he need a blaze for? And why on earth did he need a glowing blaze? It was so stupid. So stupid, and he turned his head from one side to the other again, but still saw nothing. Of course. The glow wasn't going to go away, so he was never going to see properly in this blackened room. He'd do best to just turn back the way he came, carefully retrace his steps, and return to the mossy room where he at least could see something. And eat. You couldn't eat sand. He lowered his head, muzzle brushing over the still grains. The air here was pleasantly cool without being cold, and if the smell—the faint movement of air—was anything to go by, it was a large cavern he'd found himself in. But how large? Slowly, closing his eyes and trusting in his spatial sense of awareness, Mauja turned 180 degrees and felt the sand for the uneven shape of his hoof prints. Their edges were a little wet from the frost still, and with his whiskers trailing just above the ground he went back to the cave mouth. His little adventure in the crystal maze had taught him not to go somewhere without taking note of the way, and so, he reached inside. He'd spent nearly all of his magic in the flight to safety, but it had since recovered somewhat, though he hadn't wanted to touch it—hadn't had a reason, either, but the slight effort would've sent his head pounding. Today he actually felt a bit better, but didn't dare trust it to last. Gently he coaxed a thin spire of ice from the sand, letting it rise neatly at the base of the cavern wall. It was just a nub, jutting less than half a foot above the surface, and knowing he'd marked the entrance he put his nose against the right-hand wall and began to walk, to figure out just how large the dark space was. A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way. RE: White Death - Quinn - 02-13-2014
RE: White Death - Mauja - 02-14-2014 Mauja Frosthjärta
[ Course it is :D ] "Hello?" A voice rang through the vast space, swallowed by the absolute darkness; no echo bounded through the abyss. But it was enough for Mauja to stop dead in his tracks, the near-silent shuffle of his feet turning over sand growing quiet too, though his heart started pounding, loudly. It was one thing to know you were not alone.. another when you knew you were visible from a thousand miles away, and saw jack shit yourself. He ground his jaws together in annoyance for a moment, shoulder resting against the cool, rough cavern wall. Well, what do you say to that, walking torch? Respond good-day and go on your way? Or.. if it'd been dark, he could've waited until the owner of the voice slipped away, or simply pretended he didn't exist and just kept going. But as it was, he knew he was too visible, too vulnerable, his thin blaze lighting up the space in front of his eyes. The time he had to answer before it got awkward was running out fast. "Never mind me," he found himself saying, voice steady in the darkness, despite not knowing who, or what, he talked to; a mortal or something so much more ancient and dark? "I'm just a man with a glowing face trying to get some privacy in an otherwise pitch-black room." His voice took on a note of self-deprecating humor—if he wasn't the one to strike the first blow to his damn lantern-of-a-face, she would, and he always felt better if he was the one who punched first.. even if the target was himself. (No, that was a lie; whenever Mauja was angry he needed someone to strike him in order to let go of control. Besides, it was always convenient to be able to say you were attacked first.) He sighed to himself, and kept leaning casually against the wall. He liked the touch of cold against his slightly hot, itching skin. "Alas, it's not working very well, as you can probably tell," he added after a moment, wondering how far in the sea of darkness he'd come. And how much further was there to go, before he'd done a complete circuit of the underground arena? He glanced upwards, but it was all silver-lit and dark. And how far did it stretch upwards? Could a Pegasus fly unhindered, or did it have a low-slung roof you struck your head on if you weren't careful? With his own inability to see he didn't have the faintest clue. And the mare, the one with the slightly cautious voice crying out into the unknown for whatever glowing ghost haunted these dark spaces.. who was she? Why was she here? What was she doing? Was she on the other wall, or somewhere in the middle? Was she lost? Did he care? Not really. A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way. RE: White Death - Quinn - 02-14-2014
RE: White Death - Mauja - 02-15-2014 Mauja Frosthjärta
If Mauja had had any concept of what being naked was like, he would've likened it to that—walking naked into a room full of people. A naked man had no privacy, not even when those in the room offers to avert their eyes, because once you've been made aware of the situation.. you don't exactly forget it. You know that they see what you're doing, even if it's just from the corner of their eye. So when she called him Firefly and offered to ignore him, what good would it do? He saw nothing of her; she saw him. For all her words she could follow every movement he made, slowly doing a circuit of the cave... He'd never felt as exposed in his entire life, so defenseless, and the idea to keep moving, doing what he wanted to do alone, with her eyes trailing his glowing face in the dark... It was like being that naked man in the room: if you stood still, maybe they forgot about you. Or like knowing someone watched you having sex, or taking a crap, or something. Try to relax then. So he remained silent, praying for some vestige of peace to return to him, for anything to blacken out the glow spreading from the thin silver stripe adorning his face, but it kept shining like a beacon of hope (or a bait) in the darkness, blinding him. Maybe it was fitting, that he was truly night-blind now after years of willfully closing his eyes to what he was and what he did, but shouldn't it have come a bit earlier? Shouldn't he be rid of it now that he stared the world in the eye, too awake to forget what he knew and felt? He bit down on his own teeth, shoulder against the wall. Strained in the darkness for the sound of her breathing (she was too far away), or some telltale sign of movement, that she was going, passing, to leave him alone—but only the heavy silence weighed on his ear drums, suffocating in all its primal wrath. And yet, it was gentle and soothing at the same time, a roar and a lullaby, except for the knowledge that someone else was there, breathing in the darkness together with him. "You're making that hard," he replied dryly, knowing that once again she was looking at him, seeing him, and he saw nothing, and he swallowed the dread weight in his throat. How many were in here with her? The air smelled stale and of the ever-present musk of horse which lingered in the sanctuary, worn in by these newcomers, visitors, who took refuge in the shelter of the Ancients: had they, too, sheltered here? From the storms of darkness and corruption, of undeath? His blind eyes flitted through the shadows, hip grating against the rough wall, grounding him in reality. "So maybe it's just better you show yourself or leave; I can't put this out," and you'll just keep watching me. Mauja swallowed again. Life was full of lessons of power. A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way. RE: White Death - Quinn - 02-16-2014
RE: White Death - Mauja - 02-22-2014 Mauja Frosthjärta
[ Sorry for the wait! ] Strange, how his heart pounded in the dark silence. It was like a beast of its own, the thunder of a storm, caged in flesh and bone; blood moved rapidly through the veins, fleet and fluttering. His mouth tasted of adrenaline, a strange kind of clarity and lightness so at odds with the sickness plaguing him—strange, how simply being alone with someone you couldn't see could do this to you. His ears strained into the darkness, every sense alert. Relaxing was the furthest thing from his mind, even though he wanted to. The wall, the floor, were the only solid things, the only things to hold onto, until a sound rose from the depths of darkness. It wasn't the moan of the air shifting, but something softer, subtler, rhythmic and gentle. It was the sound of sand being turned over and trod down by hooves, and following it was the disembodied voice again. Somewhat warmer now, good-humored. It was a fairly likeable voice, all things considered. Whoever it belonged to was not to blame for Mauja's foolish skittishness, after all. "I think we've lost many things in here," he murmured, not intending for her to hear; courage and faith, ways and friends and hope. Penned up like animals for the slaughter. The sound of her footfalls grew louder, always coming nearer. He could hear her soft breathing in the dark, smell her through the haze of other horses. Mare, definitely. And something older, musty. He turned his head to the side, cocked it, hoping to catch sight of her from behind his veil of spreading light—the silver glow caught on the outline of something pale, like a ghost appearing, traveled up from the rounded curvature of her nostrils along the straight plane of her nose bridge, up, the bulging of eyes and a shadow cast above, teeth— He reacted, instinct and memories of wolf-teeth scouring his hide mingling into a hellish blend; his entire body jerked forward half a step as the mindless beast within grasped for his magic, found the chill, the darkness, and from the ground ice rattled up. It was a thin, solitary spike, nearly faster than his thoughts. Nearly, but not quite. Something, something still functioned in his head, caught the outline of its shaggy body wrapped around the shady mare, the dull, dark empty spaces of its eyes; it smelled stale, had no hot, rancid breath in the darkness. He broke his own magic. The spire snapped halfway before it could reach the soft underside of her body, fell with a quiet thud onto the dark sands. For a moment, Mauja was silent, and the ice's edges grew soft with the relative warmth of the cavern. He blinked. Gave his head a tentative shake, and peered at her through the silvery haze. Had she even noticed, how close he'd been to trying to kill her? Or had all she'd seen been the aggressive jerk of his body? "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, voice husky with the aftermath of adrenaline. Damn, but he'd not expected to see a bear come riding the mare out of the shadows, like some hellish creature spawned just to give him nightmares. He flicked an ear back, then forward again. Cocked his hips, rested a hind hoof on its tip. "I wasn't prepared to see a beast." And his dark lips tugged into a slight, amiable smile. A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way. RE: White Death - Quinn - 02-25-2014
RE: White Death - Mauja - 02-27-2014 Mauja Frosthjärta
Was that a silver flash of fear arcing across her eyes? Did her gaze harden, muscles tense, as he nearly lunged forward? Or was it only a trick of the meager light playing across stone walls and bodies? He couldn't properly trust anything he saw in the darkness, blinded by himself, and his damnable glow. But one thing was certain: just as surely as he broke off his attack, she didn't initiate one of her own. She remained put, the bear's head hanging like a shadow above her pale face, white light glinting off its dull, dead fangs. In his current state, with the sudden fear just barely out of his system, it was a rather sobering thought, how easy it would be for two strangers to start clashing in the darkness. Instincts were dangerous things, and yet they were there for a reason. Sometimes, the outcome was just tragic (his mind traced that cursed name), but sometimes it saved your life. It seemed he was forgiven, though. Perhaps she understood what it was like, to suddenly come face to face with the unexpected, something monstrous.. surprising, most of all. Oddly enough, he found himself glad that she didn't hold it against him. Since when had he become so nice that he cared what others thought? That he felt like everyone was a potential friend? It wasn't like him, but he filed the thought away, saved it for another day, or some other ambling, rambling corridor full of silvery light and shadows. "Beast," he repeated, teasing her, humor in his clear voice. "Beast and Firefly. Off on ghastly, monstrous adventures in the dark pits, the deep belly of the earth..." It sounded like a tale you'd tell foals, of the adventurous, strong female warrior clad in an old bear, and her companion the light-faced stallion.. but what for? To warn against the dark? Or to encourage courage, curiosity, to believe in yourself, and your strength? He laughed, quietly, shoulder firmly pressed against the wall as he'd fallen back again. It was nice and cold to lean against, and these days, he found that having some kind of chilling support did him good—it felt nice, and sort of grounded his ever-present headache. Right now, it was nothing but a ghost-throb, in synch with his pulse. He cocked his head to the side, the silver glow catching on all the strands of his long forelock. "Except I don't feel particularly adventurous, when I don't see shit." A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way. RE: White Death - Quinn - 02-27-2014
RE: White Death - Mauja - 03-01-2014 Mauja Frosthjärta
He wasn't at all sure what they were doing—what he was doing. But she reminded him of the warrior mares back home, the ones that were full of fire and life and flame.. the ones that shouldered in with the stallions, sometimes so much coarser. It was something about the way she laughed, her next words, the sentence they formed when strung together.. and the splendid imagery they supplied. He snorted, while she laughed, or guffawed more like it. Was it his icy control that smothered his own mirth? Or was he simply not the type to throw back his head and roar with laughter? Mauja was all silent smiles, amusement dancing in his eyes instead of on the wind—and, he thought as his lips curled into a crooked grin, it wasn't only because he was controlled. It was simply who he was. "I guess that's where we all go in the end," he replied, theatrically turning his glowing head to peer in an arc from left to right. Which way lay the earth's ass? Had they entered the Sanctuary through the mouth, and would they leave it in another direction? The sound of her laughter was large in the cavern, and yet oddly small, bouncing through the blackness and swallowed by the sand. The echo died surprisingly quick once she'd smothered her own joy (he sort of wondered what kind of humor she had, if imagining over-sized, underground asses made her laugh so badly). He shifted on the ground. Probably the sand. "Aah.." he sighed, wistfully almost, exhaling long and slowly into the blackness. His tail whipped against the wall, unseen by his hocks. "Alas, I would if I could. I think if we ever walk that far, you'd have to raise on your bear-paws and hold across my face, for this glow cannot go out." He spoke with a tragic, grave voice, as if bearing dire, or sorrowful, news, but the corner of his mouth was flicked upwards. He peered into the dark beside her for a moment. Was it all just fancy talk, or would they actually go exploring, seeking the earth's rectum? [ xD This was #777 ] A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way. RE: White Death - Quinn - 03-07-2014
|