HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun
[P] Blanket of Cinders - 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: [P] Blanket of Cinders (/showthread.php?tid=17149)



Blanket of Cinders - Erebos - 01-04-2015

Lilliputian infidel and miniscule barbarian maneuvered and stoked the fibers of his potency amidst the shepherd grasses and stone rubble, carefully, delicately, attempting to remember the fallacies that had forced his flames to burn. There’d been anger, raw and blunt, coarse and harsh, callous and enduring, fanning and unwinding until all he’d seen, all he’d felt, was the immense contempt, the intense loathing, of failure and defeat. The little prince’s senses had been measured in a sliding scale of control, of unease when the inferno scorched a friend, and then settled somewhere into thoughts of prowess, of potential, of knowing deep within his soul he contained some assemblage of strength and supremacy. In his overambitious, grasping, clenching mind, infamy and power laced conquering drums and wove immoral actions, stirred unholy designs and nefarious desires, toppling empires and rich sovereigns. He could be anything he wanted to be, if he honed his skill, if he triumphed over the delicate and the inept, if he traipsed and gleamed and prospered under the wayward sun and the hostile moon. Erebos’ dreams were wide and encompassing, broadened and heightened by the slight of a tiny ember, by the touch of a scalding coal, and he deigned to augment, to increase, the heartless wake of his abilities. So no sooner had he wandered from the Ancient Rotunda and its ruins, its myths, its legends and secrets, did he traverse into the earnest, yielding Thistle Meadow, and select a patch of growth near the winding stream.

Like a tiny master of secrets, a miniature Machiavelli, the blue prince nestled and folded his forelegs beneath his chest, curling himself into a small, unseen pocket, hidden and concealed to unearth his current mission. His temple, his mind, his sentiments yearned to replicate the actions of the passing day, and without lessons, without informing neither parent or any other supervising attendant, he was content to partake in the enigmatic shuffle of his own means. The only question left was, simply, clearly, how?

The first, and only, time the fires had appeared, bright, luminescent, coiling, had been out of ire and shame. Neither were emotions he currently felt, so he tilted his crown and frowned, then gestured wildly with his head, opening his maw to pretend his breath would shoot out terrible, terrifying fervency and set the grass ablaze. When naught happened, he thought of brutality, of savagery, of sinister acts that stirred and ignited his hatred, his wrath, his undying hostility. The only thing beyond failure, because the scion had no urgency to relive that particular experience, kindling his flesh, his veins, his emotions, was the memory of Aithniel, of Zikar’s delusions, of promises and predilections to remove her precious wings. He choked on the maddening bile, on the insurgency coasting through his wake, on the bestial shades turning his vision into infernal hues and conjuring all his defenses of her person (because he hadn’t seen her in so long – did she still have them? Was she still well? Was she still whole?). It flowed, rampant and rebellious, along his core and through his chest, with one singular touch of his lips upon a single blade of grass, a kiss, a caress, of the determined, of the bestial, of the wicked and depraved, he watched as it burst into flame.

@[Aithniel]

Image Credits



RE: Blanket of Cinders - Aithniel - 01-05-2015

Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze


Though born on the sands, her true beginning happened here among the rich grasses and luscious flowers. Here, Illynx had pulled her from the brink of death, inviting her into their fold with brothers Rikyn and Erebos. Yet her family had disappeared, lost now to whatever adventures took them hence. And she was left behind, a remnant, discarded among the rubble of Helovia. Moving on would be admitting her loss, a loss she did not want to face. Her warrior's heart was born broken, born abandoned, and compounding loss only served to fuel the fire of her anger and weaken her resolve.

Fires still burned in this world that were honest, even if they were few. Aithniel had discovered her abilities purely by accident - an accident born of childish clumsiness. Tumbling over her own hooves had produced a flame which had singed her tail, and there she had stood, striking together the cloven toes and watching sparks fly. At the time, she had thought this proved the fear that she was a freak, undeserving of love, affection or attention. Now, as bitterness, more aged than she, settled in, the fire represented power and a means to defend herself from naysayers and cruelty.

The girl shoved a rock with her toe as she shoved through tall blades, not paying a bit of attention to where she was going. Her eyes were in her mind and not on the path ahead of her - and that did make sense if you thought about it long enough. Aithniel did not see Erebos bowed in the shadows, concentrating on the small flame which erupted seductively on a single blade. Instead, she came right upon him until the heat of his body and smell of another snapped her from her thoughts. Aithniel quickly scrambled backward, apologizing profusely until she realized who she had almost just run over.

"Erebos?" she asked, confused. What was he doing all the way out here? Then, she saw the flame. "OH COOL!" she exclaimed, jumping to punctuate her excitement. "Did you make that? Can you make fire too?" The light in her bright, silver orbs was evidence as she looked at him, troubles and bitterness fading away to the innocent, soft soul inside - so rarely seen. If he could make fire, that would mean she was not alone entirely.

"Hey, look... this just started to happen to me too..." she said, opening her wings carefully and shaking the feathers. Ash like apocalyptic snow rained from them, dancing around the grass and disappearing on the wind.


Credits: Image by Tabini with many thanks from Blu



RE: Blanket of Cinders - Erebos - 01-05-2015

Absorbed in his task, the demonic prince laid foundations to the whistling embers and the withering flames, attempting to coax it to further fruition, to damnation, to heresy, to condemnation amidst the clambering swallow songs and daffodil bulrushes. His gaze narrowed and his spine straightened, elongated the power of his neck as he measured its prowess and faculty. Too little, too mundane, not nearly potent enough to swallow and devour an army, not nearly puissant or pernicious: a minute fortification, tired and soulless, wavering and festering. He uttered an earnest sigh, as though he traveled great lengths and scoured many a countryside for the answer to life’s riddles instead of spending several moments strengthening a waning, dying coal – but he was not a creature of grand patience like his father or mother. Too frivolous, too zealous, too energetic and ebullient, bounding in deer leaps and stag crescendos with no presiding factions or fables to deliver his audacious splendor, the notion of forbearance was lost to him. While he could bear and endure the wake of perseverance, the stubborn bridges of tenacity, the harpooning lances of resolution, he was also too quick to indulge in whims and fancies. The world took its time, nurtured and developed, explored and unraveled, coaxed and enticed, and he already been tempted and allured by the gravity, by the spellbinding conventions of power and prestige to let it waste another moment wrenched away from his grasp. Unfortunately, either his young body couldn’t pour the entire livelihood of its corporeal abyss into the tiny fire, or he simply hadn’t amassed and conjured the heartless, rancorous bits of his dominion. It was another interesting puzzle to reflect upon, and he may have stayed there a few junctures more, lost in wayward trains of thought, had a familiar, albeit befuddled, voice not broken into the mind muddling and the furrowed brow.

Poseidon’s scion was very nearly run over, and he swiftly backed away from the last coils of his invocations, eyes enlarged and alarmed for a fraction; only to return to their normal composure once he realized who swiftly tore amidst his ardent rehearsal. Aithniel, still intact, still unimpaired, unscathed from the calculations of elders and machinations of otherworldly pursuits – the thought alone etched and sketched a boyish grin across his features, failed endeavors forgotten for the sight, the vision, of his untarnished friend. She even seemed excited for him, jumping and bouncing, bounding and vaulting in mid-air, and he could barely get a word in before she exalted the harmonious too and the beast realized he wasn’t alone. Prowess and abilities were nestled in both of them, alive and well, beating and fleeting, fire and ash, cinders and embers, sprinkled in idle, unknown treachery; danger not a notion, not a thought, as they increased their abilities, scaled and laced them across empires and factions. He was rendered partially speechless as she danced her volcanic solo, plumes extending an undying flourish, bits and pieces of phoenix dust and resurrected incantations, finding his voice only after she’d completed her renewal recital. “Amazing!” An understatement of the moment, perhaps, but his eyes were more enlightened, more ignited, more kindled than junctures before, staring down at the fallen ash, at the evidence of her capability, and all at once he wanted to seize and possess the extended instances for a chance, for an opportunity, to learn and be a disciple of the wicked. “How can you do that so easily?” Erebos frowned, dared to peer at the little barb of choked, stifled, smothered grass already extinguished and dead, crumbling from the unnecessary damage done to its soul. Why had it seemed so simple for her, and so difficult for him? Had she had more practice? Had she found a way to hone her skill, instead of discovering it on mere whim and circumstance?

@[Aithniel]

Image Credits