Living Life on the Edge - 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: Living Life on the Edge (/showthread.php?tid=23130) |
|||||
RE: Living Life on the Edge - Tiva - 03-16-2016 The EARTH has music for those who LISTEN
The flower child was late, but she could have cared less. Why did she have to go to these things when the herd always talked about everything anyway? There was much more important things to do than run after a meeting; food, and stallions being number one. The second reason was the whole point of her showing up anyway, maybe she could find a little fun at this meeting. Prancing as always the spotted mare flounced onto the scene solid silver eyes looking around curiously. It was easy to spy the king and queen, feeling generous the mare dipped her to the pair before looking for someone more attainable. The mare highly doubted the king would want such a reneged anyway, but it was still fin to try. She gazed over all the stallions, they came in all shapes and colors. Drool practically hanging from her mouth the hippie scouted the meat. Like a lioness she searched for the one that would be easy to take down. Putting an extra sway in her hips the mare strode forward bright eyes upon a very handsome stallion indeed. He was much taller than her, with three horns like knives upon his head. There was a crescent moon upon his blue hued body. His hair was long and mostly white, so soft looking. A smirk played upon her muzzle as she strode closer. Sweet lyrical words floated gracefully from her tender lips, "Hello." Pupil-less eyes shimmered teasingly as she blinked slowly fluttering her lashes as she moved closer. Carefully she angled her body along side his enjoying his deep scent and slender frame. He was handsome, and she longed to whisper things in his soft looking ears, but she held back. He seemed more reserved to her than most stallions, so why push it? Hello could be mysterious and playful all at the same time. Instead she listened to all that was being said around her; crafters had things to do, so did the healers. She wondered where she would fit in best, making things sounded exciting so did fixing people up though. A stallion, a healer, said he was going somewhere fancy. Finding her voice the mare spoke in her sweet carrying voice, "Sir, I would like to accompany you to the Riptide Isles." She smiled brightly lifting her long flowing tail in excitement. Exploring was always fun, not that having a fine stallion along would hurt the experience though. Talk Words;; 408 OOC/Tags;; Sorry it's so late, but we made it! She mentions @Alune, and agrees to go with @Tilney tiva RE: Living Life on the Edge - Jahzara - 03-17-2016
RE: Living Life on the Edge - Tembovu - 03-20-2016 tembovu
He cannot miss the surprised hurt emanating from Alysanne as he promoted Tilney— and he repressed a sigh. He needed to speak with his Moon Doctor; but that was for another time (a time he was not looking forward to). He keeps a benign half-smile on his face as she reminds all of her role as head doctor— though he must internally suppress an annoyed flare in his barrel. So touchy was the winged woman, since when had she become so sensitive? A quick, blurry image of Alysanne shouting at him flashes through his bond— and he is surprised that Mbwene could manage such a thing at so young an age. Attention drawn to her, he found Mbwene unwrapping her trunk from Tsavo to greet Tilney with a happy, muted trumpet and wave of her ears. She was very intrigued by the light and warmth coming from his lantern. An eye casted skyward, drawn to the white blob that was Irma wheeling in the winter winds. The King was surprised at the sharpness of pained disappointment that pierced his barrel; and that he took Mauja’s absence so personally. The only outwards sign he gave of such thoughts were a slight backward flick of an ear, returning his attention to those before him. Alysanne was mentioning a task for the healers. He nodded, supporting his Moon Doctor, despite the rift between them. His half-grin grew to a broad smile as the Engineer came forward and voiced his joining the crafter ranks, “I am glad to hear that. We will benefit from your expertise, Ulrik,” for, indeed, the King had seen the man craft a boat for the body of Mauja’s daughter. Clearly, the man knew how to create things. He then watched the remainder tardy ones appear, nodding to each in turn. His attention shifted to Canean, nodding in response to the dip of his horn, and spoke to answer his question about the Basin’s weaving, “If there are any who wish a woven item from the Basin, make it known and I or one of our crafters will accompany you there to make a trade.” His answer was meant for all in attendance. At Alune’s prolonged introspective silence (the ways of those dedicated to the Moon were as nebulous as they were mystifying) and Myrrine’s outburst of wishing to join the Seeing ranks, he opened his own mouth in the giant’s stead, addressing Dacianna and Myrrine, “Those who follow the path of the Moon or seek the tales of past lore, I task you all with reaching out to wise-ones of other herds and learning of their traditions and gods. Or bring back those who would be interested in learning of the Moon.” A hacking cough followed on the heels of his words, and his eyes shifted to Caenan, “I think you should visit our Moon Doctors to see after that cough, Sergeant,” he gaze flickered between Alysanne and the pirate. Then, for a beat, his powerful heart swelling with pride as his cobalt eyes scanned over those gathered. Despite all that had transpired, despite any lingering unease, he was proud to see the Edge have swollen in number. He was glad to see those step forward to help their herd and fill their ranks. And so it was on a genuine grin that he closed the meeting, “You all make me proud to be King of World’s Edge. Thank you for attending,” and with a deep nod of his massive head, the meeting was done. He blew a long breath out from his nostrils, dropping his head from his proud height to look at Elsa beside him, now that he had dismissed the herd. Instinctively leaning his large, hot shoulder into her smaller, cold one, he quietly spoke to his Queen, “We will need to address those who did heed our call to this meeting.” Though he found it necessary to discover why those had not attended (usually it was personal troubles, rarely was it for a happy reason), he did not enjoy calling forth the delinquents. But he is relieved to have a Queen alongside him, this time. The last meeting he had been alone. the elephant king @Myrrine @Dacianna your task is to go talk to Wise Ones of other herds and learn about their gods/traditions! Thank you for the great meeting, everyone! :D RE: Living Life on the Edge - Mauja - 03-22-2016 but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams Had he truly lost all his purpose? All his worth? He was a remnant of an era gone by, a relic, a piece of the past; did he have a place in this future? Their future?
Our? Our future... To be a part of something again. (Again? When were you ever—) Myrrine had already run past him, a spotty blur in the misty forest, the flutter of her wings a memory carved into his skull. Myrrine was part of the future, and in a symbolism surely lost on her, she had left him behind. He knew nothing of the in-betweens of life; either he was the bedrock foundation, or he was the tallest, highest peaks breathing the thin air of royalty. The roots, the rocks, the trees, the lowest reaches of the sky—they were mysteries, unexplored. They were the realm of mortality. His eyes spun. They were the realm he had forsaken. They were the realm he had destroyed. With his head bent into the wind he had carried the world on his shoulders, until the weight had broken him, and he had soared into the sky. Untouchable. He had left the scythe behind but not the haughty arrogance it had embedded within him. He supposed he was not used to freedom. The freedom of choice. He could do what he wanted, go where he wanted—cut all ties, start over. He did not need to bear the Edge up. He did not need to lead it. He did not need to take orders. He did not need a guide. He glanced down into the snow. But he had never known any other life. Freedom frightened him. He did not know what to do with it, or what it would do to him. Sighing softly he drifted closer to the meeting. The crystal staff across his back felt like a curse, a chain, an anchor to keep him mired in his bloody past. “You all make me proud to be King of World’s Edge. Thank you for attending,” and that was that. He had officially missed the meeting, coming up in the forest line with his head held high but something forlorn about his stance. His lost eyes traveled the masses gathered as the wind blew his long forelock about his face. So many.. Were they so many? He had seen them from the air, from Irma's perspective, but to see them in the flesh—from the ground—they were too many and he wanted to run— But he remained where he was, motionless. Irma sailed down on wide wings, settling on his withers, her scouting duty done. What would happen now? Would anyone approach? He should just melt back— Fuck— The flare of anger was hot in his breast, a lightning glitch through his skull: his eyes darkened, lips curling back in a sneer. Was that what he thought it was? Was that Tembovu dearest leaning into Elsa? In a way that seemed intimately, thoughtlessly at odds with the shattered Queen's frigid demeanor? Before he knew it, the staff was in his mouth. It was lighter than his body remembered, balancing easily between his teeth; its shape unbroken by the scythe blade stowed away in darkness. It hurt. It hurt to see everything he didn't even know that he wanted handed out to others; it hurt to see the familiarity of bonds that went deep, bonds unknown. You came to Helovia to start over, not to bring your baggage with you. Who else had come here and brought their friends? Mauja hadn't suspected it could happen, not quite, not really, yet here he stood and stared at what could only be Tembovu's old friend and a new friend, his latest crush perhaps, that handsome bulk of his attracting mares like moths, his smooth-talking tongue pulling them in— What had he done? What had he done to Tembovu? What had he done to Helovia? What had he done to himself? A single tear fell solemnly from the corner of his blue, blue eye. [ In case anyone was unsure, the scythe blade is NOT summoned, so it's just a regular staff. ^^ ] Mauja
the white queen RE: Living Life on the Edge - Tembovu - 03-26-2016 tembovu
The coolness of the Icebound’s shoulder against his own was interrupted by another chill; not of the cold winter winds, but some kind of icy heat. The moment nerves sense something so frigid that their chaotic and desperate firing causes an instant of confusion between heat and cold— that was what skittered and rippled across the King’s hide, snapping his great head up and away from Elsa’s face and lighting a spark of surprise in his eyes. But that spark died as his rapidly scanning gaze landing on the frozen smolder of Mauja’s ice-blue stare. The Elephant had seen many emotions flicker through those eyes in their brief (but hadn’t it been a lifetime?) relationship. He had seen pain, sadness, emptiness, short flickers of amusement. But never had he seen anger. And there, beneath those hurt and angry eyes, was the dark-moon staff wielding between bared teeth. The cold heat of that gaze pierced his this hide, settling and weighing uneasily in his barrel, as thick legs began to move toward the Frozen Light of their own volition. Mbwene had shuffled close to his haunches, despite him mentally urging her to stay with Tsavo and Tilney. “Mauja?” His low rumble was a cacophony of intonations: surprise, uncertainty, concern, apprehension. Was there an undercurrent of dread in his voice? What he doing? Why did he avoid the meeting (ignore the meeting?), only to appear with a silent threat of violence? Black-rimmed ears tilted back, had Tembovu been wrong in thinking amends had been made? “What are you doing, my friend?” Now his voice was deeper, stronger, and overrun with regret. He subconsciously cataloged those lingering at the end of the meeting— those who might be injured, those he would shield with his great bulk. But would it come to that? He halted his strides before the spotted, the cold wind whipped his coarse tail around his haunches. Dark eyes scanned the pale face, a face he had seen half-charred by his own rage. His giant shoulders and neck were within reach of the Moon’s staff Mauja clenched in mouth… Perhaps it was some show of goodwill that he came into range of the weapon? The blade was sheathed, after all. He stood, stock still and tense, face pinched and eyes darkened, staring at the dethroned king. the elephant king To clarify: the meeting is over! You may reply if you want, but there's no longer 'rounds' of the meeting! @Elsa @Mauja RE: Living Life on the Edge - Mauja - 03-26-2016 but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams He crumbled.
The ghosts in his head were loud, and heavy; they pressed on his mind with sadistic urgency, they shrieked in his ears with bitter glee, and they pressed painfully against the back of his eyes. The past, the present, the future—it blended, grew into a blur, spinning revoltingly, focused around a single, cursed point in time. Blood soaked the sands of a foreign island, a body laid to waste by the miseries of greed and anger and hate and hurt; and in the blood-soaked, tear-stained sand lay that metaphorical crown, at the large feet of a shadowed, hooded creature. But it hadn't been a crown—it had been his heart. His frozen, frosty heart. (Blue eyes wide, unseeing—) The Edge had been his everything. The Edge had been his world. It had been his legacy, his present, his past. But the death of Snö had torn it straight out of his chest— No— He had torn it out, overcome with its stinging, lashing pain, overwhelmed by the fury of his grief; without a heart, how could he feel? Because he hadn't wanted to feel—he had wanted to disappear, to sink into the sands, into the underworld, into the embrace of the warm, blue waters. Anything, but to lay on the beach cradling the dead, bloodied body of his daughter, knowing that he would have to rise in the glory of the dawn once again and pretend that he was fine— —because he had been a Queen, and all Kings and Queens are heartless. So he had cast it all aside, a reckless, thoughtless move, hoping it would cure him of all the pain he felt. But that space where his heart used to be had filled up with pain anyway; sorrow, bitterness, envy, apathy. They were his four horsemen. Navy eyes swum in the field of his vision, blotting out the edge, the ocean, the world. They were blurry, set in a light face but aptly cast in dark stripes—black running down his throat, covering his chest, covering the scar where his heart had been ripped out because he was a King now— “What are you doing, my friend?” The staff dropped by his feet, forgotten, as his jaws moved to reply. "I killed you," he whispered, his wide, unfocused gaze staring straight through the ghost of Tembovu, "when I gave you this. I took your heart. I took your right to live." And his horn waved drunkenly to the scenery about them, at the bodies gathered, at the trees, the wind, the sky itself. "I wanted to die, but I couldn't, and you can't—you can't—" But the words lodged in his throat and refused to come out. Miserable, he let his gaze sweep the area once again, before coming back to the stallion standing in front of him. "Kill me," he finally said, softly, the words drifting gently into Tembovu's black ears—and his only, for they were light as the breath he wished to be denied. "I want to feel what it's like to die." Mauja
the white queen RE: Living Life on the Edge - Roskuld - 03-26-2016 Roskuld Where There's No Law Tying My Heart From The Start
*"A lurker I suppose? I am Katerina."* RE: Living Life on the Edge - Myrrine - 03-27-2016
@Mauja @Tembovu RE: Living Life on the Edge - Tembovu - 03-28-2016 tembovu
An ear flicked to the side as Myrrine approached, but his dark gaze did not waver from Mauja’s face even as the butterfly spoke. There was concern that leaked into her voice and radiated from her form was palpable— but that is not where his attention was focused. His mind was focused on the dropping staff, navy eyes flickering once towards its forgotten thud on the snow dust, before retraining on the white, ink-splattered face. He hadn’t known what to expect from his friend— but watching him crumble before him was cruel to his mind; he wanted to move forward to embrace him. But— “I killed you”— he was held in place by shock. What was he saying? Dark eyes follow the waving tip of his horn as he choking words eventually halt. “I am alive, Mauja?” His deep roll ends in a question, “I am alive, with a purpose, and am able to build rather than destroy. My heart feels for you, for the Edge, for—” “Kill me.” Mbwene, hovering at her big man’s haunches, grumbled a trumpet at the sudden, roiling waves of turmoil that flooded through their bond. What had been triumph and pride at the end of the meeting had morphed to agonized concern and now imploded into confused pain. And she was annoyed with this rollercoaster— as well as alarmed at the sudden powerful, dark undercurrent that spanned their bond. Tembovu’s demons had awoken. They were thrilled at this prospect. They rolled form the back of his mind, sweeping their blackness to the front of his skull, sheathing the softness of his eyes into shadows. They pounced on the grey area that the Elephant found himself in— there was no right or wrong here. There was no real death. And there was a reason to cave to Mauja’s entreaty. The reason was guilt. Guilt made him reluctant to deny this man his request (any request). How, after burning him alive— a fate he knew, in his own way, to be awful— how could he deny him his wish? What right did he have? And the Frozen Light (he could not think of him as friend in this moment, for one does not A low, shaken breath expelled from his black nostrils. Navy eyes had widened, white rims stark against the hard cobalt. A low whine came from Mbwene’s trunk as it wrapped in uncertainty around his hock. His head began to drop, jaw tucking as his thick horn skated through the air— such close quarters to the Frozen’s face. It dropped to the level of his chest, sharp point aiming to begin to press against the white flesh there. His mind raced. And it was blank. The shadows reigned. And yet light burned as bright heat behind his eyes— blinding as if to sear this moment out of existence before it even occurred. And then his unseeing eyes sudden saw the gentle, delicate outreached muzzle of Myrrine. The speckled velvet moving out of emotion, out of a need to help. The image stayed his horn, the gentle push of the the sharp point against muscle halting as he began to try to withdraw, Mbwene trunk squeezing tightly against his hock. “Of all things to ask of me, why this?” the elephant king RE: Living Life on the Edge - Mauja - 03-29-2016 but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams Myrrine was there.
Innocence embodied— Or was she? She could be just another lie thrown in his face by the cruel world, another stab in his heart like Kahlua— There were many things he hadn't thought of the happy, easygoing Queen, and yet he had seen her eyes grow dark as stormclouds when she yelled murder at him and came for him: ready to jail him. So easily had she forgiven his sins, and so easily had she hung them about his neck again, and in a manner so at odds with her childish nature she had borne the child of another man. He was watching Myrrine from the corner of a wild eye, acutely aware of how little he knew of her—how little he knew of anyone. The fundamentals of life, of how to act, of what it was safe to assume about others, had escaped him his entire life, and now they burned in his mind. Kahlua had slept with someone. Tembovu flirted with mares. And Myrrine? Myrrine spread her wings for older, unknown men. What the fuck do you know about anything? And so, the final betrayal to all things good in the world, Mauja chose to believe that she could not save him. That no one could. Because they were all tainted by this world, impure, sharing a secret he had never been let in on— But his self-righteous, passive anger bled out like blood in the sand once Tembovu's horn began to lower. And it began to bloom. Fierce and wild and beautiful, flowers sprouted in the destruction and havoc of his life; they began to unfurl, each movement a searing blast through his skull, a ragged breath coming out of dark nostrils. This— (—was love.) His eyes began to overflow with tears, an expression so at odds with the fierce joy and light burning behind their blurry facade; and his heart ached, proud and wild and terrified all at once, as the sharp tip of that cruelly curved horn touched his white chest. (You'll only find darkness trapped in there.) But the thrust never came. The pain never came. Tembovu, the valiant Elephant King, halted, paused, seemed to glance at Myrrine (—her plush muzzle pressed against his shoulder, breathing hot air on his scarred skin). But what did it matter that she was there? Truly? The whole fucking herd was gathered to witness his devotion— “Of all things to ask of me, why this?” Without thinking, Mauja's bunched hindquarters pushed him forward, an inch, no more, stubbornly trying to maintain contact with the black horn. His mind raced— (His heart broke.) Would his strength fail here, at the threshold of such unconditional affection? Would his courage stick its head in the sand, afraid of committing what looked like treason before the whole herd? (Worry not, I will exonerate you—) Did he think it unseemly to risk spattering the innocent young with hot blood? Mauja's teeth ground together, his expression suddenly distraught, but still unfocused, like he was only halfway there—his thoughts as flawed as his logic. Tembovu had lost to death. Yet Tembovu knew that he would not die, so why—why did he hesitate? Would it still feel like murder? Was he afraid of the herd's judgment? Did he think Mauja would regret it? Did he mistrust the Moon? It was cruel and selfish to ask this of the King, but... Mauja had lived his whole life for others. He had always paused, silenced his own desires, and acted upon what others wanted, what others expected, when had he ever taken something for himself? When had he ever done something because he had wanted to? He wanted to be selfish, now, to feel Tembovu's loyalty and trust like a spear in his chest, to—to feel the hot tide of blood rushing out of severed arteries, and feel the darkness descend on his mind. He didn't want to be sensible. He didn't want to give in to the quiet, affectionate touch of Myrrine, or the (pained?) doubt of Tembovu's voice; he didn't want to just calm and settle down, to swallow logic like a brief and bitter remedy and be sensible just because it would cause a fucking scene. He wasn't alright. He wasn't okay. And for the first time in his life, he had wanted the world to know that. But the beauty of the moment was ruined. His trust was ruined. He could fling himself at the horn, but it would be but a shadow of glory, nothing but a reminder of what he had lost, right here, right now. He could take off, leap off of the Edge, but bodies crowded the space between him and the glorious free-fall. He could beg, but he didn't want to argue; he had— (He had wanted trust.) And he had almost gotten it. Almost. With a silent look of utmost hurt and betrayal, Mauja turned upon his ghostly haunches and fled the scene, leaving a single drop of red upon the tip of Tembovu's horn. Mauja
the white queen RE: Living Life on the Edge - Myrrine - 03-29-2016
RE: Living Life on the Edge - Tembovu - 03-30-2016 tembovu
Mauja’s pale, speckled breast followed his horn for a breath as he tried to draw away— a sharp, cold breath stung his nostrils as horror, with serrated shadows, ripped out the bottom of his barrel. Would the Frozen Light impale himself on his massive horn in a frenzied crusade of his immortality? But that moment of dread (of the world shrinking to the point of his horn) lived only for half a breath. The white chest flesh, his thick horn withdrew, blessed distance growing between the two baptized by blood. The crimson droplet clung to the tip, hesitating at the sharp point, a the precipice of this moment— —and then it slid down the loosely spiraled spear of the King as navy eyes (still wide as relief replaced agony) rose to the silent look of betrayal on the Frozen’s face. Dark and clamorous, his anger arose, unbidden, at the hurt look he received in answer to his question. No explanation. No reason. Only fleeing, white haunches. And loss— a loss (a pain) he felt acutely in his chest. It only fed the flames of anger. To give no answer, to run away with a treacherous look… After asking for death (be it a temporary one)? The heat spread, licking around the icy block that had solidified in his chest after burning the man in the forest. But who was that man? Was it the same man he had held (comforted) on the god’s black rock? Had supported on the daughter’s blood drenched sands in the Isles? Followed through the Moon blessed mists of his ascendancy? Was that the man that left him, silently, brokenly, after asking for a murder? Lips pressed together, eyes lined with these unsettled and angering thoughts. But his ears remain forward, perked and straining to hear the spotted stallion’s But his hoof fell with a thud back to the earth as Myrrine’s own, betrayed and confused eyes bored into his face before she, herself, chased after the illusory immortal. The deceptive, the deceitful— for had Mauja just used him? Just taken a trust so deep (had he made it so deep?) and turned it on him? For, if he had just given a man life, why was it he who felt angered and shamed? Ears pin flush with his head as he tore his gaze away from the dark trees that had swallowed Mauja. He began to move away, roughly shaking his head as the drop of blood tickled the skin at the the base of his horn, only to be halted by an approaching Naerys. the elephant king I needed closure from this (breakup?) :| Never have I written so many questions in a post before. |