[O] transform the earth to your desire - 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] transform the earth to your desire (/showthread.php?tid=23992) Pages:
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transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 05-24-2016
You’ll find a purpose. Wasn’t that everyone’s intention in life? To search for something, anything, that caused them to wake in the morning, chisel and sculpt their way through lands, runes, and empires? Wasn’t everyone coated in ambition, in aspirations, in desires that fueled, that incensed, that ensured their life was worth meaning? Perhaps the prince was blinded by his own ventures. He’d been born craving everything – items, objects, knowledge, to become superior to everyone in every way. He’d watched the cold world spin around him, follow his father through reigning orders, listen to his mother on practical, noteworthy things, and chase after his friends down into networks, warrens, and paths of frenzy and mischief. He’d carved devilish notions from innocent deeds, he’d lied and practiced pretenses, and he’d watched a friend become nothing more than a soft, porcelain object in the snow. He’d embarked on blackened moments of complete, utter rage and wrath, whittled anger until it was poison, corruption, and fire on his tongue, in his figure, boiling and simmering, seething and tormenting. He’d smiled, then snickered, believed, then trembled, wanted, then lost. He’d stood friends on precipices and watched them fall. He’d traversed across the earth looking for murderers and battling monsters. He’d yearned, studied, and gained a companion, another devil on his broad, brawny shoulders. He’d promised vengeance. He’d offered his namesake on oaths and assurances. He’d battled friends and allies, brethren and kin, in order to become better, stronger, quicker, swifter, powerful, tenacious, unbending, and unbroken. But Erebos didn’t know what she coveted, and by all accounts, neither did she. Her existence seemed tangled and webbed by others, by concepts of what used to be, by sentiments and emotions no longer gathered by existing mortals. Perhaps she was in a transition, fearful of becoming absolutely nothing at all – one more piece of wind, one more speck of dust, one more rustic, forgotten piece of earth. She didn’t deserve that – no creature or cretin did, but so many managed it all the same. They wandered into forgotten mires, faces to names, shapes to figures, numbers to herds, then gone a season later, intangible, unseen, as if they’d been a part of the fog or mist. Maybe, by rummaging through the history texts, by conspiring over ruins and tracing foundations, she could find something of her own to claim. There had to be inspiration, muse, layered and lacquered over the wintry realm. It had been her mother’s throne, her dam’s castle, her lineage’s reign. Through all the ghosts, wraiths, and phantom tapestries, he had no doubt she’d find a stroke, a spark, a chilling catalyst. So the little beast, with his gallant heart and nefarious devilry, settled upon making their wayfaring journey amusing and diverting. As they crossed over valleys, he regaled her with silly movements and motions, interpretations of dances and waltzes, goofy caricatures and characterization of jester marionettes. As they wound their way through rivers and streams, he leaped along their foamy edges and stood upright over their waves, pretending he was Poseidon. As they ducked beneath boughs and branches he told her wild stories, all true, of how he’d scoured the countryside searching for an egg (even the tale of the giant turkey beneath the earth, how he’d cooked and polished and nothing had come of it except the feathers – and when he was sure she wouldn’t believe him, the boy showed her the massive wings he’d kept tucked in his mane). He was careful, quiet, about things that motivated him, because beneath the ruffian glamor and bestial charisma was a barbaric, bitter, rancorous boy who hungered for naught but revenge - and instead, as they traversed beneath the decaying Sentinels, he simply grinned, inviting. “Welcome back to the Basin,” he winked, he laughed, he smiled, before marching beyond the grave guards, and permitting her to dictate their scene. “What would you like to do first?” Explore? Speak with his father? Find out every avenue Psyche had traveled? This was her journey, and she had to be the one to write it. Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want @Själ RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 05-30-2016 Själ
He was charming, dangerously so, intriguing in the way that one regards a razor's edge and wonders how sharp it is. Though his guidance through the northlands and to the Basin's door was pleasant, almost fun, even, the girl could not help the suspicions that bubbled up within her breast. For all that he knew of her (little and less save her lineage), why was he taking her under his metaphorical wing? What did he have to gain from shepherding her, with a wolf's grin and a demon's wink, to her mother's empire? But it's his father's empire, now.
As they travelled, she laughed alongside him, cavorted in his wake, offered commentary on his achievements (all the while feeling the weight of her own insignificance). She danced through his valleys and pranced through his rivers, slipped through his forests and pressed through his drifts. His stories were brave, his tales were gallant, and the princess found herself enthralled in spite of herself. No matter how hard she tried to mistrust him, regardless of how many times she reminded herself that his intentions could not be true, she liked him. She wanted his eagerness to help her to be real, wanted to trust his help; and yet still she felt like a lamb being led to slaughter. Had he spoken of vengeance, perhaps it would have made him feel more real. The girl could not bring herself to trust motivations that she could not see. The Basin's sentinels stood tall above her, drawing her eyes up thoughtfully. The prince grinned, inviting her, in all his charm, into his fiefdom; she paused, dropping her gaze to his cheerful, mischievous face. I want... What did she want? What had she hoped to accomplish by coming all this way? Why, after all this time, had she still been drawn to her mother's legacy, even after having denounced its veracity? -- Yours, -- the voice was quiet and disembodied, its owner having disappeared into the evergreens that dotted the northern lands. Was the griffin right? Were these snows, and all they covered, truly hers for the taking? The girl looked at him closely, her emotions unreadable. She was no ruler, not now, not yet. But maybe, just maybe... maybe she could be. "Show me," she requested, and it was almost an order. Her amber eyes were feverish, passionate, anticipation rolling suddenly off her in waves. Her head had risen to survey her surroundings regally, curiosity burning hot on the surface. "Show me everything." A wicked, giddy grin to match his appeared, and she skipped past the sentinels, laughing over her shoulder as she escaped her unending freedom. "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 06-05-2016
They were on a whirlwind of fruition and ruin; he could feel it in his bones, notching through his veins, twisting over chords of sinewy muscle and strong, rancorous prowess, a child of the snow and sun. Show me, she’d said, and he saw the glimmer, the spark, the kindling finally take flame there, beneath the shadow of the Sentinels’ gaze and the roll of the chilling wind. Just what impaled and enlightened her there he couldn’t say, couldn’t define (that was her role in life, to find, to discover, to enhance and stitch back together the seams of her designs and desires), but he’d intend to coax to fruition all the same. Her demands curled and coiled, nearly distorted the fabric of quiet desolation, and his grin grew wider, feral, and devilishly handsome in the natural order of chaos and fiendish antics. “Of course!” His voice prevailed over the horizon in boisterous dedication, in livelihood and exuberance, bounding, leaping, tearing through melted rime and fertile valleys, chasing after the horizon like the princes in fairy tales and silly myths (because he was more the monster, more the fiend in regal clothing, more Lucifer garbed in armor and smiles), running after the void in all their hearts. He liked to see her smile instead of frown (or his least favorite – the nonchalant look, a veneer of disinterest piled upon years of nothingness and isolation). He liked to hear her laugh instead of pout, deny, or reject his (brief, fragile) notions of wisdom and sagacity. He liked to witness layers of ash and disappointment fall away; so that somehow, someway, he felt like he was helping instead of failing, faltering, and stumbling again. Never enough, he whispered into his heart, his mind, his skull – and all that mumbled back was Orsino’s scoff. He renewed his feral prowess in the midst of ivory lacquer and polished fortitude, bowing to the conviction of the mountains as he brought one of theirs home – whether she’d stay or go would be left to her own volitions and cravings. The boy ran down towards the furnished, furtive tent, racing ahead, all limbs and power, muscle, a savage on the rise, a dominion of potential finessed into too many pretenses to control; past her fleeting movements, a noble figure cut from brutal cloths. He tilted his head towards the bountiful lake with its pristine waters and quiet ambience, shouting behind him so she could hear the silly secrets of their world, their earth, their kingdom, their empire, and know what it meant to belong to something. “This is our lake! It never freezes!” He gave it a silly tap with his hoof to appease or amuse her, but the dagger remained on the surface, causing him to laugh then shy away, all glorious motion and silliness. The boisterous depth of his eyes gleamed towards a cave nearby, full of secrets and magic, enchantments and wisdom likely too much for even his mercenary, grasping, clawing mind to bear. “Over there is the Haruspex’s cave. I’ve never been inside, but that’s where our diviner summons the God of Spark and Time.” His voice grew hallowed, as if the mirror inside and all its containments should’ve been honored, revered, while all he longed, yearned, to do was create havoc and mischief. But he ceased there, giving her moments to reflect and conspire, to grow curious and wonder, before proceeding wherever they were due to roam. Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want @Själ RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 06-28-2016 Själ
The prince's enthusiasm was catching. Soon, the girl found herself alight with glee at the prospects (and there were so many, suddenly) that stretched before her, lingering lazily in the mountains' reflections. As the pair pranced past the statues adorning the entrance to the Basin, Själ found herself caught up in a daydream. What would it have been like, she wondered, to be the princess to his prince, a valued part of the camaraderie that blanketed Erebos like a cloak? What if she had been born here (as she ought to have been, claimed her mother's voice deep within her soul), left to meander the snowy cliffs and saunter past the shimmering lake, invited to grow tall and strong in the shadow of all that had been before her?
The history of the land emboldened her, drawing a wicked smile to her face. There was no malice in her now, no half-hearted mask; there was fire in her eyes and passion in her heart, shining through for all the world to see. For the first time in many weeks, the memory of her mother returned - not to haunt her nor chastise her, but to beckon her forward with a feral smile and a proud nod. Despite the closeness that she felt with the DarkEmpress here, there were no unfulfilled expectations, no lingering guilt. Ansgar took to the skies, sending images periodically to her bonded in an effort to contribute to the ever-growing mental map in the girl's mind. To the east and west, mountains rose into the northern sky, towering over the Basin below. At the base of the western mountains lay a huge lake ("It never freezes!" Erebos exclaimed proudly); to the north, far in the distance, additional waters lay flat, discernible only to Ansgar's keen gaze. Forest dotted the eastern half of the valley, providing cover for the inhabitants. Throughout the herd land were caves and caverns, no doubt homes for any who stayed long enough to claim them. "Never?" the girl queried, raising an eyebrow at the bold claim. "Is it magic?" Excitement permeated the air between them - however silly and childish her questions, she could not shake the sudden feeling of home. A cavern across the lake was called to her attention (she and Ansgar marked it on their mental map). A Haruspex, diviner, summoning the God of Spark and Time... "You can summon a god?" "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos - okay so like forever later here it is. /dead RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 07-02-2016
The prince saw temptation there – lingering and lurking, sparking and flaring along her face, beautiful and wicked. It made her incandescent instead of murky and muddled – like she was alive, no longer wandering and searching, hiding and sulking. The boy knew the charms of enticement, of allure, of mischief well; it flowed through his bones, through his blood, through his skull in so many waking, conspiring moments. It dazed and confused, it mottled and rattled, it dipped and twirled, then sauntered again, bright and illustrious, cool and confident, and those dark, devilish munitions had found embers to scorch into their powder. He’d played in those wicked contortions before, venturing across the countryside alongside his fellow musketeers as they rampaged into the Throat with false names and composed souls. He’d strummed the immoral reveries as he found power and salvation in magic and invocations, when enchantments bubbled to the surface (like hate manifested, like pride unleashed). He’d danced on the edge with Enna and their ridiculous means of recruiting, he’d simmered between the layers of prestige and prowess, and he’d beckoned, howled for the allure of strength. But Sjal had found it nestled in the groves of ice and the walls of snow; where mountains transfixed, where determination coiled, where perseverance and forbearance were ichor of the living, where her mother had reigned, been Queen, been summoned and called the DarkEmpress. “Could be!” He winked and tossed, because he wanted the capers and nonsense to continue, because he thrived under the maelstrom of chaos and silliness, because he hadn’t brushed against ebullience in what felt like a lifetime. But it was the notion of Gods that seemed to pull her further into the devilish reach, and the youth seized it, snatched it from the air, set his sights upon the cave and slowed his approach. Erebos ceased his movement on a puff of cool, crisp air and nonchalant grace, eyes locked onto hers, amused at the restlessness, the curiosity, developing and igniting what used to be dim and grim. “Have you ever seen one?” He ran on her inquiry and interest, channeling all his notions, all his sights, all his memories of beasts, of cretins, of madness and monsters, dead and gone, buried by their weapons, their power, their strength. “I've met the Sun God before.” The scion nodded at this affirmation, pretending as if he'd never befriended the daughter of the aforementioned divinity, peeking into the shadow of the cavern as he did so, as if to see if there was a deity resting in there now, waiting for mortals to bask in his essence. “He gave me a quest to improve my magic.” His stare riveted to the mirror for a moment, glistening and shining, a strange, otherworldly beacon he didn’t quite understand; he thought Ashamin might appear before them then, perhaps scolding, hardly indulgent towards a pair of youths knocking at a celestial being’s door. “I’m not sure how we would summon a God,” and here his gaze became the embodiment of delinquency and wickedness itself, a notion of quiet, unholy sin pressing on and through him (he heard Orsino’s laughter through his mind, sharp and shrill, beguiled by the heresy, by the irreverence, by the fiendishness crackling between their souls), turning upon her with Cheshire delight, a ravishing grin. “Do you want to try?” Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want @Själ RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 07-02-2016 Själ
That the gods existed was a reality that Själ rarely, if ever, considered. Oh, she knew about them - after all, it had been the Moon Goddess who had been responsible for the DarkEmpress's untimely demise - but she didn't bother herself with them. Now, though... well, she was the rightful princess of the north, if her mother was to be believed; and even if Erebos had managed to direct the girl's intentions down a more appropriate path, she could not help but wonder if the gods would know her name.
Maybe they would have the answers she had been looking for so desperately. Did she even want to know anymore? The Moon Goddess killed my mother with her puppet, the girl thought, but no words emerged. She tilted her head thoughtfully to the side, her gaze fixated on the cave, her thoughts on vengeance. Her return to the Aurora Basin had brought back some of the girl's old spark, the passion that had driven her to come to Helovia in the first place; it was evident now in the cold anger that blazed briefly in her amber eyes. It was malicious, it was cunning, it was a shadow of the DarkEmpress before her; it was everything that her mother had imagined she would be and more. But, like her mother, Själ had the tact to know how to turn her emotions on a dime; and before Erebos could notice her distraction, her eyes had regained their cheerful, mischievous glint. "Let's do it," she agreed with a grin, winking as she turned to make her way for the cave. "I've never met a god before." "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 07-03-2016
The boy had been too young to fully understand the implications, the treachery, the Moon Goddess had committed during her reign of terror. He’d been small and insignificant, and used the opportunities of broken bodies he barely knew to search, to discover, to learn beside Rikyn and his teammates. He hadn’t even truly comprehended death – even when he saw his cousin, Ode, still, silent, at the back of the caves (and later when he had risen again – what had that phenomenon been?). Only when he’d seen Arwen’s battered form, lying on blood-stained snow, did the notion of what passing and demise meant flicker through his skull (and vengeance too, the feverish rush of requital, disaster, ripping, maiming, the glory of hate and the revolution of wrath). The lad had never processed that they’d all been victims of the Gods themselves, that Gaucho had been just one more puppet in their regime, placed here and there, beside chess pieces and chosen casualties because they’d wanted to do it, because it was easy, because it’d been a display, an oeuvre, a measure of their true weight and might. He didn’t even recall seeing Psyche amongst the departed, but he remembered his father staying to watch her funeral pyre, late to come home to the icy walls and the safe, guarded territory of the Basin. To him, as he searched Sjal’s face, as he waited for her expression to anoint and consecrate their movements, their motions, he presumed the DarkEmpress was behind her eyes or in the slate of her smile (anger, spite, malice, had crossed them for a moment, he recognized its worth, its merit, for he had the same emotions rampaging through his in some days, in some moments, stretched into contempt and loathing), maybe even the mischievous glint replacing the menace. He revered the deities, what little he’d ever glimpsed, because they were a tie to glory, to triumph, to power - all he’d ever wanted. When they graced mere mortals with their presence, they were fire and ash, deliverance and strength, predilection and cunning. When they tore across the sky and landed at their feet, they were prestige and capacity. When the Sun God blessed him, showed him the way, he’d been grateful, ashamed, tossed and torn into so many differing, altering directions (and when they’d discovered the inferno being had been Aithniel’s father, they were unworthy all over again). So as she agreed, he didn’t feel any apprehension. He didn’t feel any anxiety. The prince delved, full force, headstrong, impulsive and wily, into the sanctity of the stones and mirror, waiting for them to be blessed. The fiend’s feet stepped lightly along the cold floor, his eyes watched the reflection closely, and saw nothing at all. “I think they use the mirror,” he shrugged, tilting his cranium in obvious uncertainty. “But I don’t see anything in it.” Perhaps it was as empty as promises left by friends and companions. Maybe no God, neither laden by Spark or Time, resided there, and it was all a hollow hoax. “Do you?” His gaze riveted back to hers, mischievous and devilish, sparking and incensing on the delight of the hour, on the chance, the opportunity, to delve deeper into wild, untamed, savage conspiracies and notations. He didn’t feel the looming, ominous shadow behind them until it reached, chilling and firm, unyielding and possessive, across the frigid marble. Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want [Deimos incoming. Give me a moment. ;D] @Själ RE: transform the earth to your desire - Deimos - 07-03-2016
RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 07-04-2016 Själ
And so they entered the Haruspex cave, lighthearted mischief disguising the wickedness within. To summon a god, the princess thought, would be to finally accomplish something, to finally prove that she was capable, that she was worthy, that perhaps the poison her mother had dripped so tantalizingly into her ear hadn't been for naught, after all. Perhaps the God of Spark and Time, as Erebos had so reverently (or not) referred to him, would have the answers she had sought for so long. Little did the girl know that it was that very god that had granted her mother dominion over the Aurora Basin in the first place.
The mirror gleamed tall and silent before the intruders, who peered carefully into its face before settling (metaphorically) upon their haunches in disappointment. Erebos turned to her, never losing that charismatic cheshire grin, the vaguely disobedient gleam in his eyes; the girl looked back to the mirror, body stepped closer to it. "Maybe," she began, "We have to touch it -" She reached out, her muzzle growing dangerously, torturously close to the smooth surface. A shriek from outside the cave accompanied a sudden image thrust into her mind: a tall, lurking shadow was entering the cave, seemingly intent upon the two children as its prey. Ansgar, from outside the cavern, had seen its approach. She dove from the sky toward the cave, knowing that she would not arrive quickly enough but ensuring that her bonded had received a warning. The girl spun suddenly around, grasped suddenly by an icy grip unlike anything she had ever felt: the world was darkness, death lurked nearby, and she was hurtling towards its cold grip with a surreal quickness - Within moments, the feeling had disappeared, leaving her standing in an unsettled silence, her chest heaving as she recovered from what she could only describe as the hold of death itself. Ansgar, seeing through her bonded's eyes and realizing that there was no danger, slowed her descent; she coasted into the mouth of the cave, skimmed along the ceiling, and landed silently upon the girl's haunches to glare at the imposing stallion who had entered. Despite the dear that had accompanied the stallion's entry, the princess found she could not part with the confidence that Erebos had instilled in her - she raised her head defiantly, regarding the shadow-king with a wary (only slightly terrified) gaze. "Själ," she responded, proud to find that her voice did not shake. And then, because it seemed important: "Daughter of Psyche the DarkEmpress." "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 07-05-2016
They’d pushed too far – he realized that now – crossed too many lines, forged one too many eldritch incantations. He’d jerked back, away from the mirror, facing his sire as quickly as he’d felt the magic filling the air, the plumes, the atmosphere, eyes widened and jaw slacked. It’d been foolish to have been caught in the silliness of their game, and even more so because he’d been snagged by his father. For a moment, he simply lowered his head and took the scolding - not your wisest choice - and the boy knew there would be far more inept decisions along his road to growth, vengeance, and power, but he hoped there wouldn’t be anymore that disappointed the King. He’d rather shine and walk between Deimos’ shadows, follow in the wake of disaster, ruin, and protection, the way the Lord of the Basin always seemed to safeguard the icy realm, like he was a part of the glacial grounds, like he was rooted to the winter landscape, perhaps as much as Psyche had been. “Sorry, father,” he managed, staring down at the cold floor, hoping the apology sounded contrite and remorseful (because a portion of him wasn’t; he would’ve loved to have summoned their God, to listen to his speech, to hear what he had to say, to linger on the throngs of devilry and reverence), then glancing over to Sjal, her companion, and fierce (but frightened?) gaze. The prince thought about stepping before Deimos’ piercing stare and shielding the girl from its puncturing, lacerating depths, thought about smiling and grinning, putting everything behind them, as if nothing had happened and they’d only been up to youthful antics. But her gaze said it all, her words bore everything, and he loosened the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Stalwart, strong, even with the stinging reprimand resounding, reverberating through his skull, the boy drew closer, with a warm smile, something his mother might have worn, and his eyes lanced over to Deimos, responding in kind to the boldness of the lost princess. “She came to learn more about her mother.” Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want RE: transform the earth to your desire - Deimos - 07-07-2016
RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 07-09-2016 Själ
Something was happening in the cave of the Haruspex, something that the girl was struggling to understand. The shadow-king had entered, wroth with their childish antics, bringing with him the enveloping darkness of death, giving the pair of them a taste of the nothingness that lay beyond - and then it retracted, and she could breathe again. The princess would not - could not apologize for her actions, not when it felt like so much was riding on this moment. This was her mother's successor, the Lord of the Basin, the ruler of all that should have been hers. This was her chance, her opportunity, perhaps the only one she would ever have, to show him that she was a child worthy of her mother's lineage.
And so she forced herself to look him in the eyes, refused to allow herself to drop her gaze and act like the chastised child that she was. And, much to her surprise, the fury that had enveloped the shadow-king seemed to melt away. Her ears flicked backward ever-so-slightly as she considered this strange facade, this odd trick that he seemed to be playing on her. Suspicion flickered warily in her eyes as the great stallion lowered his head as though to regard her more carefully; still she held his gaze. Somehow, this moment felt important in a way that she could not explain. Somehow, this felt like the beginning of everything. Deimos, she repeated silently, filing away the name and titles. Her mind wandered over what little information she had gleaned from her mother before the DarkEmpress's untimely demise. The queen had been cast out by those who had once been loyal to her (or so she had told the child). And yet she had seemed quite sure that some of those very unicorns would welcome her daughter back with open arms, having realized their idiocy and cowardice in sending their Empress on her way; that they would perhaps even assist in her ascension to power. Which are you, Lord Deimos? she wondered. The traitor or the craven? "What do you wish to know?" he asked her, and suddenly she was falling through all of her old questions and insecurities, and for a moment all she could do was regard him coolly with that signature amber gaze. Everything she had ever wanted to know was tumbling through her mind, laying itself at her feet, building a long, golden road to her inevitable future. Why had she been running for so long when everything she had ever wanted - everything that she could have known - had been right here, just waiting for her to stumble in? "Everything," she told Deimos, the passion of Psyche present in her amber eyes. "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 07-11-2016
The prince faded into the background, stilled along the cavern floor and the catacomb walls. The mirror was a forgotten piece of scenery too, glinting and glistening behind them, untouched and untarnished from their previous exploits. The focus was entirely on the other two beings, threading through lineages, through stories, through pursuits and purposes, and he watched them, his father and the former Lady’s daughter, as they sorted amidst travesties, trials, and tribulations. He knew the stories, perhaps not all, but many, of how they’d been torn apart, of how they’d been marooned upon winter depths and snow capsules, about how they’d all been led into this grand, wondrous land, served the Time God, battled demons and monsters, fled from wraiths and treachery, from ghosts wandering halls and meadows, from murderers in masquerade. He knew the weight clinging to his father’s chest, even when he said nothing, nothing at all, he knew the way shame and guilt consumed, and he knew, somehow, someway, the Reaper could be healed in this moment and all the following ones, if he simply tried. The boy could see it in the stark contrast of stares and features, of haunted, poignant, sharp veneer cracking and splitting, of a girl’s face drawn and sketched to look like someone he’d never seen (but heard so much about). The boy wanted to hear them all again, each and every moment, from start to finish, so he could trace over the foundations, learn about his sire, Psyche, Ulrik the Engineer, Mauja the Frostheart, and all the other legends that had come before them (giants, tall and grand, majestic and wonderful, crafting and honing, shaping the land they now stood upon) again and again. When she proclaimed everything, his smile appeared again, wide and enveloping, inviting and imploring, as fervent, as eager, as the next, to watch his sire come to life again, to witness the daughter of a Queen remember her place in the world. His eyes drifted towards Deimos’ (the same, bright, vivid hue, even when the King’s were frozen, devastating, piercing portals, sculpted to conquer and the son’s were luminescent, brilliant, and twisted, designed to captivate), the grin apparent on a sparse symphony of words. “The Edge?” To start where it all began? His brow arched, his regal mannerisms defined, and his eyes went back and forth to them again, ready to reach out to whomever needed him the most. Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want RE: transform the earth to your desire - Deimos - 07-15-2016
[there will be more, but damn I wouldn't be able to fit it all in one post. XD #epicBasinhistory] @Själ RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 08-05-2016 Själ
There was a moment's pause, enough to give the girl time to flick her gaze from Deimos to Erebos and back again. She wondered if she reflected Psyche in the same way that the prince reflected the lord - there was no mistaking the kinship of the two. There were differences, too, though, noticeable even to a relative newcomer - Erebos held mischief as a candle to navigate the darkness that embraced him; Deimos, on the other hand, was the stoic death that threatened to come for them all. What had Psyche been like, when she had been in her prime? Was her daughter anything at all like her? And, more importantly, did she want to be?
The prince mentioned the Edge, and the girl raised a brow. She had heard of the World's Edge, though she had not visited it. From what she knew, it was a land of mists and darkness, the kind of land in which she imagined (now that they mentioned it) her mother might have thrived. She would have asked what the distant herdland had to do with Psyche, but it was at that moment that Deimos began to speak and the young mare settled into a kind of stupor, her gaze no longer wavering from his as he began to tell the tale of the DarkEmpress and her loyal followers. She listened greedily, soaking up the history that he offered her, grasping onto it desperately in an attempt to truly know and understand her mother. Mauja - the name was vaguely familiar to the girl, as though perhaps she had heard it half a lifetime ago but could no longer place the source. It was a ghost, a spectre from a time that the girl could no longer remember, raising a momentary pause in her mind as she tried to remember if she had ever heard it before - if anyone here had mentioned the name, if perhaps Mother... but the girl came up empty-handed, and she quickly gave up on what was no doubt some odd case of deja vu. "... allied with the Dragon's Throat..." Wait, what? But that was where Zekle was from - did he mean to say that they might have been enemies in the past? The girl remembered Tae, the daughter of the Sultan of the Dragon's Throat, the daughter of her mother's murderer. At the time, she had been nonchalant about the realization, thinking it silly to hold a grudge against an entire civilization just because one idiot stallion had been puppeteered into murder. now, though... perhaps it wasn't that simple. Perhaps she should be angry with the Dragon's Throat for their role in her mother's history. But pride blossomed in her chest as she heard that her mother had risen from the ashes of defeat to build the beginnings of an empire. There was something enticing about the concept of revenge, and the girl found herself pleased by the notion that Psyche had found a way to exact vengeance on those who had wronged the Edge herd. "My mother knew the Time God?" she asked before she could stop herself, realizing that he was the very deity that she and Erebos had been about to try to summon. Would he have recognized her, if they had succeeded? Would he have welcomed her back, invited her to stay? But that wasn't her most pressing question; no, she was still haunted by the newfound knowledge that she had almost followed Zekle to his home, to the Dragon's Throat, almost become one with her mother's former enemies. The girl knew that alliances shifted with time, but she was too young and stubborn to just let go of a perceived wrong - particularly when it was such a great one as forcing her mother from her home. "Would the Edge have won, if not for the Dragon's Throat?" "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 08-15-2016
He listened to the subtle change, to the sketches of history lodged in his father’s mind, in his throat, reverberating along the walls for Sjal’s benefit. There was pain glorified in there too, of a time and place where even someone named the Reaper could’ve done nothing to escape the feeling of complete, utter failure - but he remembered, knew all too well, that faltering and stumbling only burned, only ignited, only incensed those truly resolute. Deimos had risen, intact, just as the Basin had, thriving on the myths, demons, and embers of their prior defeat, smoking, fueled, inspired by the bestial slate of defeat. They’d become something because they’d seen their realm altered and skewed by others, taken from their claws, from their mouths, from their annals of treachery and deceit – what better way to motivate a barbarous group of mercenaries? He almost smiled, imagining the cloaks and daggers of their predecessors, marching and avaricious, toiling amongst graves and heathens, painstakingly devouring the rapture and reverie of another day when they would conquer and thrive. But instead, the youth remained tied and tethered to his section, eyes following lines of movement and motion made by Sjal, made by Deimos, made by the chronicles, memories, and sagas tucked and lacquered within their walls. The girl’s interest seemed genuine, kindled, sparked, just as he’d hoped, and despite her queries and questions, he knew he couldn’t answer them. They were for the Lord – the only one present who could’ve recalled the way numbers swayed, the expectancy of winning or losing, or the change in outcomes. The prince almost wondered why it mattered, because they couldn’t rewrite any of it; but then he pondered on pride, and if the girl strived to believe her mother incapable of fumbling. But they all were – each and every one of them could stumble, could tip, could fall. How they managed to climb back up was always the soul of the story. Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want RE: transform the earth to your desire - Deimos - 09-22-2016
[this post took far too long for something so bad omg forgive me.] @Själ RE: transform the earth to your desire - Själ - 10-01-2016 Själ
She thought of many things just then, none of which made her feel particularly better.
She thought of the spirit-child at the Blood Falls, the one who'd claimed that her father had been the one to kill Psyche, the one who had wondered if they ought to be enemies as a result of their parents' deeds. Would it make any difference for her to consider the Dragon's Throat her enemy now, so long after the war had passed? Would it prove fruitful for her to declare vengeance, even privately, against those who had thwarted her mother's attempts to rebuild what once was? Was it better to just forget, to forgive, to move on to greener pastures? She thought of Zèklè, her best friend, the one creature in Helovia who she could honestly say that she cared for. Sure, there had been Nymeria, and there was Erebos, and perhaps even Rikyn... but none of them matched Zero. What would it mean for their friendship if she hated his home, his family? What would happen if one day she acted upon her anger and came face-to-face with him in battle? Would he ever forgive her if she decided, upon hearing only one side of a generations-old story, to hate where he came from? And even if she wanted to, could she ever bring herself to do that to him? With or without the Dragon's Throat interfering, Psyche had lost. Her plan had failed. Was this where it all ended for the DarkEmpress? Was this why she had been so lost through the first months of Själ's life? Was this what had driven her to wander from her home, to give up, to pass on tales of a legacy to be reclaimed? But surely her mother hadn't simply quit when times became difficult - to do that was to be a poor ruler, and the girl could not imagine her mother to be so weak. No - there had to be more to come, more to break the Queen, more to drive her into solitude. "Please," she agreed, a request and an order all at once. "Speak." --Ansgar.-- @Erebos RE: transform the earth to your desire - Erebos - 10-16-2016
There was always more, more and more and more, pouring from the lungs of yesteryear and the souls of tomorrow. The boy wondered, quiet and silent, vigilant and hushed, how many times the same bearings had been repeated, if anyone truly learned from history, if mistakes were made in the same convolution, doomed by revolution and cycles. What would Sjal learn from her mother’s errors and glories? What would he, the blue prince, learn from his own sire’s flaws, imperfections, fumbling, and triumphs? And would it be enough to safe them from a lifetime of ineptitude, trying to scale the same grew heights as their forefathers, yearning to reach, to touch, thrones and realms just as they had, and stumbling even further, falling even harder? Would they be overshadowed by the myths of their ancestors and be utterly incapable of reaching beyond those veils, those shrouds, those cloaks and daggers? Or would they strive for something else, something greater, something grander, something beyond the scope of their heritage, better, wiser, and stronger? He didn’t know what Sjal wanted. The youth was only acutely aware of what he sought – some days it was simple, other days it was so shrouded in dissolution and improbability that he sneered and growled at his constant flux of faults, limitations, and inadequacies. Erebos was a determined soul, born from the mountains, from rain, from death, and knew strength, fortitude, and might came from within, from striving, from trying, from believing, but there were hours where everything seemed impossible at best. But he never gave in, because his father had showed him greatness could be achieved despite weaknesses and shortcomings, because the summits were always resolute and he should be too – because amidst this earth were a thousand beasts who could plague, who could destroy, but only if you allowed it to happen. They were better than that. Erebos i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want RE: transform the earth to your desire - Deimos - 10-22-2016
@Själ |